Soul Weary

I want to fight
To have the energy to stand up for what I believe in
But some days I don't know what that is
And most days I'm too afraid to admit it in public even if I do know where I stand
Most days I'm so tired
Tired of the fighting and the hatred
Coming from both sides
But too tired to feel love
Or pain
Or anything at all
My soul is weary
It is heavy and hard to carry
It's hard to explain why I don't see much to believe in at the moment
Or maybe it's not hard at all
I don't know where to go
For a safe space
For the truth
Who can tell me
Who can answer my questions
Who can give my soul the strength it needs to go on
I'm so
Tired
Of the fighting.

Chasing the sunset

I went chasing after the colors of the sunset tonight
As the sky turned from whites and blues to pinks and purples and blush, and finally a deep dark indigo, the color I'd imagine ink would be
I drove following the road and the sky
Watching it get swallowed up in the trees
As the road narrowed and the trees thickened and the sky darkened
And I lost my sense of direction
Assuming I had any to begin with
I let the road direct me as one by one cars turned corners and there were no headlights in front of me and none behind and I was alone on this dark road the sky was gone, but the smells, the sounds, the feel of my heart jumping as a deer appeared in my headlights
And the calm, the giddiness the happiness
That came with peace and contentment
Destressing
Reconnecting
Relearning how to breath
To think
Uninterrupted
And as the night turned darker and darker
And I began to think that maybe I should find my way back home
That is when everything started to become clear
And I am hopeful
That tomorrow will bring more clarity still.

The Hopefuls

I see no discernible path through the debris
But they do,
They make their way stepping gingerly over mounds of dirt
scraps of wood
piles of pebbles
particles, pieces
that start as nothing
and become something
become a house,
a home.
A mother, baby on her hip
a father helping a small child through the doorway
a handful more kids trailing behind
her with a snood and modest clothing
him in a white shirt and black pants,
traditional garb,
traditional is what we call them.
They step through the opening
disappearing inside
trying to imagine where their furniture might go,
or where they'd put their Shabbos table.
From its infancy
I watched it take shape
through my window
always watching
growing and shaping and forming by the day
imagining people and children and lights
and laughter
the place this family may soon call home.

Like an adult

The moon is bright tonight. It's so beautiful that I think if I blink and look away it'll be gone. It's hard to distinguish between the light of the moon and the lights of the parking lot. Even out here, away from the city it's still hard to get the beauty unfiltered.

It was a hot day today. I watched kids from morning till evening. We decided to turn on the sprinkler. The kids got soaking wet and loved it. They took buckets of water and dumped it over their heads while shouting "ice bucket challenge!" I'm not even sure how they know what that is.

I bought cherries. My mom loves cherries and I used to think I hated them, until I realized that I never actually tried fresh cherries and the only thing I had to go on were cherry flavored licorice and fake cherry flavored cake and soda. The first time I tried fresh cherries I wondered what took me so long to find them.

Today was the first day of summer. I miss summer. Even though I basically had summer weather this whole past year, whenever it's not summer, I miss it. And when it finally comes, I'm already sad anticipating its farewell.

It's been a year since I finished school. I miss that too. I never thought I'd say that about school, but I miss the classrooms and the learning, even the papers and the deadlines. The difference for me between being a high school student and a college student was my choices, my autonomy. I liked being able to choose my own classes and arrange my schedule. I like being in charge of my own destiny.

I have a job now. It's no different for me since I had various jobs for the past few years and worked all through college. The difference now is that I have a degree. I know it's not a magic wand and you don't just suddenly have this great awesome future handed to you when you leave college. I know it's hard work and things take time. But I thought at least that school would help me figure out what I wanted to do with my future.

I thought I'd be this big great writer someday, but I see all these people, essentially my peers passing me by and instead of feeling motivated or challenged, I end up feeling bad about how small my progress has been in the past few years and how my ship has sailed.

I'm an adult now. I have a job and a college degree and a car.

I'm an adult and I live with my parents and am currently debating about paying them rent.

I'm an adult and I sometimes cook my own dinners and sometimes just eat what's in the fridge.

I'm an adult and that means nothing to me, except that now I have to choose and pay for my own health insurance. Schedule my own dental appointments. Put myself to bed at a reasonable hour. Convince myself to not eat a bajillion donuts just because they taste good. Put on sneakers and go walking/jogging even though I'm tired and I don't really want to.

I haven't passed any major milestones and this is not just occurring to me. But every year I get older and wonder when I will feel like an adult. It hasn't happened yet.

Maybe this year.

Normalcy

I left to go to the supermarket, and ended up at the lake. I guess food was not what my soul really craved.

It is so peaceful here. Close your eyes, and you can hear the wind rustling the leaves, the water gently lapping at the rocks, the chirps of the birds and honking of the geese.

It says "no swimming" but I just want to dive into the water, swim across to the other side. I know I'd probably panic even though I know how to swim, because I get scared when my feet can't touch the ground. But the smell of the water, the smell brings back summers of long ago, at different lakes, the rocks cutting my feet but the water, like a hug enveloping me.

Routine is a funny thing. Since I started coming here to walk/jog a few times a week, I started seeing the same people here. The black couple with the stroller, the older Chinese guy, the frum girl rollerblading. Oh ya, the frumies. No matter how far I think I've gone from the community, there are always frumies there.

I'm beginning to make peace with it. Except I know they look at me because I dress differently than them. Or rather, they DON'T look at me. They stick out their arms for rides and if I stop they turn away awkwardly, avert their eyes because I'm a woman and that's not allowed. I'm forbidden to them.

I'm not bitter, I'm not mad. They have their ways and I have mine, mine which is currently undefinable as I try to figure out how frum or not I want to be, what is "allowed" and accepted versus what I feel comfortable with.

A guy I dated recently took issue with the fact that I'm not frum enough or not trying hard enough. He has a valid point, but it's not that I don't care or I'm not trying, I'm just taking my time and hopefully I'll get back to a place where I don't hate religion and the people who sully it.

I finally feel a sense of normalcy. I know normal is relative, but this past year has been hard. I left a job, finished school, moved to Florida, lived pretty much isolated from family and friends for 8 months, took two jobs and quit both, spent my days relaxing and chilling and any other word used to put a good spin on "doing absolutely nothing by choice". It was lonely and depressing and confusing and I felt lost and aimless. And all along I told everyone it was fine and life was glam and why not, who else picks up and moves to a new city, Florida no less!

I'm home now. My parents home. Not the home I would choose for myself but the home that chose me. My little brother who just finished/dropped out of yeshiva expressed annoyance at having to be home and I told him, you don't have to be here. And his response was "where else am I supposed to go? "

Home was not always the happiest of places, but I'm carving out my own space and realizing that right now, this IS my choice. Even if I don't always like it, I went away, I stayed away for many years, but I chose to come back.

I got a job. That was one of my provisions for coming back, that I would get a job and be productive. I hesitated and wasn't sure that I wanted it and it wasn't my first choice. But BH it is working out great, and I'm happy there. I feel like I'm getting back to a place of normalcy, that I'm finally moving forward and not standing still, frozen and unsure.

Going into summer always gives me a good feeling, and I hope to stay on the up and up.

Sending sun, wind and all good things.

Stop it Google!

Google chrome keeps trying to bookmark pages that it thinks I frequent. Every time I log on to chrome in my phone I don't see the bookmark I want, instead I see the ones that it wants, that it thinks I want. Who is IT anyway, Google is not a real person, it doesn't really know me, it takes a guess based on my history, it watches my every move and thinks it knows me, but it doesn't.

You don't know me! You don't know what I'm thinking or feeling. If I Google "how to get over a guy" maybe you'd think I was sad. If I searched for a recipe for cheesecake then you assume I love cheesecake. Yes I do but that's not the point.

Stop trying to tell me what I want. Stop trying to offer me assistance or ask me if I want to tag my photos with the places I've been, stop trying to guess my next move or interpret my every word.

Google, you are my right hand, you are as much a part of my brain as every thought, you walk me through life and teach me what I never learned or don't remember from school.

But you are not me, you will never be a part of me or know me well enough to know what I want.

Because what I want I can't have right now.

So stop trying to fill in for that.

How Can You

I used to write all the time. Happy moments, sad, blah or nothing, it got recorded. There's something cathartic about writing. A release. But it is also nerve wracking, it makes one vulnerable, exposed.

I didn't stop writing. It just trickled. Maybe I had less and less to say, or maybe it just got harder and harder to say it. It wasn't as important to me as it once was.

But it is important. That's the problem. I want to, but I can't.

I can't.

I can't.

I can but I won't.

It's a struggle. I struggle with myself and my thoughts, my emotions.

I struggle with my identity, my place in this world.

I just started a new job and most people there don't know my name.

But it doesn't matter. Why does it matter. I'm nobody.

Before you come into someone's life, you don't exist. They don't exist to you. People are just floating particles concentrated in a body. It can go any way.

It doesn't always go your way. Maybe it never does.

Sometimes you don't matter. Sometimes you want someone else to matter, but they won't. They can't. Maybe you are meant to cross paths and then never meet again.

I hate it. I hate everything about it. I hate putting myself out there, I hate trying to make small talk with strangers, I hate trying to interpret words and gestures and find meaning where there is none. I hate pretending like I an do this, like I'm normal, can get dressed up and do my hair and nails and makeup and spend 3 hours with a virtual stranger and maybe one day meet a stranger who won't be a stranger any more. I hate that I can't talk about it, because I have to. But I can't.

I just can't.

See this is why I can't write. So much that I can't talk about.

I think I'll go eat some cake now. It's peanut butter chocolate fudge dulce de leche ice cream cake.

I know, right.

Fire in the Belly

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, handsome, talented, and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. It is not just in some; it is in everyone. And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others." - Marianne Williamson, co-leader of the United States Department of Peace movement

I am grateful to a reader of this blog who introduced me to the above quote a few years ago.

I know what scares me the most- the thought that I might actually be able to succeed at something. That thought creates a desire, which creates the possibility of failure, which stops me in my tracks and freezes me. Suddenly, I can't breath.

I am scared to try and fail. I know that it's "better to have tried and failed than to never have tried at all" but what about the discouragement and dejection that comes from rejection? What about being to scared to try again?

I emailed a former professor recently for advice, and he was really encouraging. He let me know what he thought of my skills and where they would be most effective. Suddenly, he put this idea in my head that maybe I could actually do something substantial, be something.

I'm not saying I never believed in myself, it's just nice to hear it from someone else. Sometimes we get this fire inside of us that roars to life and propels us forward, urging us on to try things we were previously afraid of.

Sometimes that fire is what sets us free, sometimes it is what consumes and eventually destroys us. The choice is up to you.

In that vein, a quote by Joseph Campbell:

Rebirth

Do you believe in second chances? I do. We all get second chances, many many times in life. And third, and fourth. The question is, what do you do about it? Do you lie in bed with the covers drawn and let life pass you by? Or do you take the opportunity life handed you, and run with it?

My mother chose the first option for many years. She lay in bed with the covers pulled up, both literally and figuratively, and bemoaned the fact that she didn't know how to do anything, didn't have the skills, and that no one would want to hire her.

She tried, over the years, with odd jobs here and there. She even applied for some jobs and set up an interview, but got too scared to go and cancelled at the last minute.

Today, she came to me and asked me to make her a resume, and handed me two cut outs from the local papers of jobs she wanted to apply for.

First, I had to make her an email address. Yes, that's how behind the times she is. Then, procure a resume from thin air, one that would not get her laughed out of an interview. I have skills, and a way with words, but I'm not even sure my skills could turn her minimal work experience from the 80's and early 90's, as well as a barely half-finished college education into something substantial and hire worthy.

I'm sure she's scared, I'm sure she is terrified at the idea of getting a job and returning to the workforce after many years of raising kids and being at home. I'm sure she is just as scared of no one wanting to hire her.

I understand the fear, the doubt and the uncertainty surrounding the future, the desire to do something useful but have no idea what that something is. I understand what it feels like to be searching for a place in this world, a place to fit in, and perhaps to make a difference. And I want to help her, to give her a chance.

So I will turn her song-and-poetry writing, book authoring, mothering, volunteering, driving, cooking, shopping, hosting, sleeping, supporting, comforting, laughing, smiling skills into a resume that not only explains experience relevant to the position, but one that explains life experience- a living breathing human being who still has time left in this world and would like to make a contribution to society.

I do hope she finds her second purpose, (that's not to say us kids have stopped bothering her) and that she does not get dejected by rejection.

Taking chances is part of life. So go, do not be afraid to live.

Dress for Success

The birds here chirp at night. It's like they know something I don't know. One theory is that birds' sleep patterns are messed up by the constant bright lights at night that mimic daylight, and therefore do not know the difference between night and day.

Either way, I wish they'd stop.

We are finally in May, and yet the temperatures here are still pretty cold. I miss being able to walk out of the house and not worry about bundling up, except maybe if it rained.

I went clothes shopping, and I found this incredible top that I simply could not part with. It cost more than I normally spend on clothing, but when I tried it on, my face just lit up. It's like the blouse brought out the sunshine in me. It looked breathtakingly like a spring/summer breazy ocean day.

Sometimes we just want to dress a certain way in the hopes of being that person. I wore a blazer to an interview, and felt really confident walking around the supermarket afterward, like I was a somebody who had somewhere important to be, when in fact all that awaited me at home were some tv shows. A lot of it is about how you look, which impacts how you feel.

Dress powerful, feel powerful. Enjoy the approving glances.

On growing up and moving out and moving back home

I fell apart in a gas station parking lot, because I couldn't figure out how to fill my tires with air. My mom was with me, and she just kept stroking my hair as I burst into tears, telling her how terrified of the world I am, how untrusting of people who offer assistance, and that I'm scared I'll get stabbed in a gas station someday.  I didn't need her to coddle me. I needed someone to have taught me how to do things for myself. Isn't it every father's duty to teach his child how to do stuff?

I never learnt how to change a tire. I'm not sure many people these days are prepared for the worst, and I include guys in this. I know it's a stereotype to say that all guys know or should know how to change a tire, but the reality is that with so many services available, it is not as common as it once was.

I stared in confusion at the mumble jumble of parts underneath the hood of my car, and wondered why there wasn't a manual for this. Turns out, there is a manual. I read it in fascination on the trip home. Did you know there is a schedule of maintenance for car upkeep, and a checklist? I mean, they should require you to take a course before purchasing your first car.

I returned the next day to the same gas station, and forced myself to confront my fear. What I was really afraid of was being out there, looking helpless and weak, having someone offer me help with no way to know if I should trust them or rebuff them. But I figured out how to fill the tire (with some help from youtube), and was relieved to see the tire pressure light go out.

Then the 'service required' light came on, and after checking the manual, figured I needed an oil change. Deciding to push past it and wait until after I got home, we then had to deal with a weird loud flapping noise which turned out to be the front plastic fender liner that got loose and was being shredded by the tire as we drove at 80 mph. Some nice guy offered to help me cut it away, and I let him help. Progress.

All this is teaching me that I need to learn to trust people more, and believe that there are some good people out there who would help a stranger in distress without expecting anything in return.

And also, that owning a car is a lot of work.

I am back in NY, the weather is freezing, the frumies are a culture shock, and I miss having my own place. My brain is foggy, partly due to driving for 2 days and having no idea what up or down. It will take me a few days to adjust, and figure out what my next step is.

I got to play with my nieces and baby nephew today, and that made coming back all worth it.

Resisting change, The Unabomber, and Sheldon Cooper

My laptop has died and gone to laptop heaven. It's over, the end.

I had a whole post prepared (in my head) about how hard it is for me to say goodbye to something that has been a part of me for the past 7 years, how lost and alone I felt when I realized my laptop was not going to turn on again, how much I hate change and tried to compare myself to the Unabomber (eerily enough, we share the same birthday) and how I couldn't even begin to think about buying a new laptop.

Of course, before I got a chance to write it on my teeny tiny phone screen, I watched last week's episode of The Big Bang Theory, and they beat me to it. It was exactly what I was going through.

The episode starts off with Sheldon Skyping with Amy, and his computer screen is staticky and the sound is breaking up.

Amy: (through static): I didn't understand your e-mail.
Sheldon: Uh, can you repeat that? You're breaking up.
Amy: I didn't understand your e-mail.
Sheldon: Ah. Yeah, I had to get a little creative because the S, R and M keys on my laptop stopped working.
(Amy reading the email) "Deaw Aby, could you pleathe dwive be to the twain thtow thubtibe tobowow?"
Sheldon: So, is that a yes?
Amy: Sheldon, why don't you get a new computer? You know that one's out-of-date.
Sheldon: Oh, but I like this computer.
Amy: The video is failing, and the sound is cutting out.
Sheldon: I'm sorry, I didn't get that.
Amy: (through static): The video is failing, and the sound is cutting out.
Sheldon: I'm sorry, one more time.
Amy: (holding up a handwritten sign that says:) "The sound is cutting out."
Sheldon: I can't read that! The video is failing!
Amy: (through static): Get a new computer.
Sheldon: What?
Amy: (through static): Get a new computer.
Sheldon: What?!
(phone rings)
Sheldon: Hello?
Amy: Get a new computer!

Later on, Sheldon is sitting in front of his laptop and the screen flickers and then dies. He gasps, closes it and sighs.

Amy walks in.

Amy: I got here as quickly as I could.
Sheldon: You're too late.
(Sheldon plays the funeral song "Taps" on his phone. He ceremoniously covers his laptop with a black cloth.)
Amy: Sheldon, this is silly.
Sheldon: You got emotional when that lab monkey died.
Amy: That lab monkey told me he loved me in sign language.
("Taps" ends)
Sheldon: Great. Now I'm gonna have that song in my head all day.
Amy: Look, I'm-I'm sorry for your loss, but I think I have something that might make you feel better.
I got you a new computer!
Sheldon: How could you do that?
Amy: Do what?
Sheldon: Choosing a new laptop is an incredibly personal ritual. You have taken away weeks of agonizing thought, tedious research, sleepless nights filled with indecision. Haven't I lost enough today?
Amy: Well, the guy at the store said this one is great.
Sheldon:  Oh! Oh, the guy! Oh, pardon me. I-I didn't realize you'd spoken to the guy. Yeah, tell me, did the guy choose one with a 4K display and a Thunderbolt port?
Amy: Yes.
Sheldon: Yeah? D-Did the guy make sure that this has a one-terabyte solid-state drive?
Amy: Yes.
Sheldon: Yeah? Oh, well, was this guy Rick from Computer Solutions on Colorado?
Amy: Yes.
Sheldon: (Resigned) Yeah, well, he does know his stuff... I suppose I should set this up. Or would you like to rob me of that, too?
Amy: Knock it off or I'll start making W-H sounds for words that just have a W.
You wouldn't.
Amy: "Hwatch" me.
Sheldon: Fine. I'm sorry. Thank you for the thoughtful gift. I really do appreciate it. As you know, I had become attached to my old laptop. But I'm sure, in time, that this one will (gasps) Jeepers creepers, that started up fast!
Amy: I thought you might like it.
Sheldon: Look at the 4K resolution. Next time we Skype, I'm gonna count all those nostril hairs.
Amy: Or you could just look into my eyes.
Sheldon: But you only have two eyes. You got a lot of nostril hairs.
Amy: Well, you know, as long as you're happy.
Sheldon: Oh. I am.
Amy: (chuckles) And Rick said you could bring in your old one to recycle it.
Sheldon: Oh. Uh, no, no, no, thank you.
Amy: Oh, but he said you can get store credit.
Sheldon: Well, no, I just I-I don't want to recycle it. And I don't want store credit.
Amy: But why wouldn't
Sheldon: Can we please change the subject?
Amy: O-Okay. How 'bout we change it to why you're being weird about this?
Sheldon: I'm not being weird. It's hard to explain.
Amy: Sheldon, just tell me.
Sheldon: It might be easier to show you.
Amy: Okay.
Sheldon: We'd have to take your car.
Amy: All right.
Sheldon: And I'm gonna need you to sign a nondisclosure agreement.
Amy: Well, I signed one before we slept together. Why not now?


As if I haven't spoiled this episode for you enough, Sheldon takes Amy to a storage space, and shows her that he has kept everything he has ever owned in his entire life. Old electronics, books, a ziplock bag filled with ziplock bags, a tennis ball that his brother threw at his head. He is embarassed that someone as smart and emotionless as himself would hold on to all this stuff. Like a hoarder, he has a hard time throwing anything away.

I do understand him. I have bins of old stuff from kindergarten through college, random projects, keychains, mugs, old tests. I can't throw it out because I feel like without it I somehow don't exist. That once my memories fade or become discolored by the negative experiences, I will be able to go back to these physical reminders of what life once was. (Although, my parents had a flood in their basement so I don't even want to venture a thought as to what state my bins are in.)

With my laptop, it was the first thing I ever really owned of value, that was only mine, password protected, held things important to me, and in a way helped to insulate me from the world. It was the place I would disapear into when I wanted to forget things, it was the place I went to chill, to procrastinate, to pour some of my best work into. It was like my best friend, a large part of me.

Suddenly I look around and realize how much things have changed, how outdated and obsolete Windows 7 is, and it is hard for me to comprehend purchasing and getting used to a new laptop. So I am letting myself air out, be without it for now, and slowly come to terms with moving on.

Somebody

I want to be a somebody to somebody who needs me.

I want to be somebody's somebody.

I want somebody to want to be my somebody.

The more I say somebody, the stranger it sounds.

Strange.

I remember my father sitting outside the room I shared with my siblings, when we were younger. It was a regular nighttime ritual, he would plant a chair outside our room, and 'shush' us anytime someone made a noise. I guess my parents figured it was the only way to guarantee that we would go to sleep without killing each other. It worked, mostly.

I have been taking care of 3 little dependents for the past few days while their parents are out of town. Firstly, waking up while it is still dark out is no joke, I don't know how parents do it every day. And I don't drink coffee. I'm stumbling around trying to get 3 kids up and out the door, while getting myself dressed, doing my hair and makeup and trying to look presentable. I think I have it all together until I see a mom in heels waltz by me looking hotter than hot, while my eyes feel tired and blurry.

So I too sit outside their door, listening to them breath and waiting for them to fall asleep. The oldest is nine, he says he "can't sleep", which I take to mean that he is scared and wants me to come sit with him.

It is strange being the one to lock up at night, set the alarm, be a buffer between these 3 kids and all the bad on the other side of the door. I can no longer be afraid of the dark, or spiders, or potential home invaders, because if I am scared who will be brave for the kids?

For the record, I'm not scared of any of those things mentioned above. Mostly.

I am experiencing what is like to take care of people other than myself, and it is: thrilling, fulfilling, exhausting, annoying, accomplishing, taxing, and it's only been 3 days. I realize sleep is key, because I'm not a very nice person when I'm tired.

So I'm catching up on sleep while I still have the chance, which is why I vow to never wake up before 11 again.  

Trumped

trumped-up

adjective

adjective: trumped-up 

 

     invented as an excuse or a false accusation. 

        "he was arrested on trumped-up charges"

 

I remember driving to the country last Summer on a Thursday night. I was going to spend Shabbos with a family friend, and caught a ride with my friend's husband. We discussed Donald Trump's entry into the presidential race, and I insisted that it was a joke. I thought his campaign was as fake as his toupee. I watched and waited for him to jump out and say "Gotcha!", but that moment never came.

I admit I haven't really been involved in politics, until recently. Mostly because I couldn't be bothered to understand it. Funnily enough, the first time I actually pay attention to what is going on, it is pretty clear to me: I don't much care for my options. 

An article published in the New York Times entitled "No, Not Trump, Not Ever" by David Brooks puts my feelings more accurately into words. "Donald Trump is epically unprepared to be president. He has no realistic policies, no advisers, no capacity to learn. His vast narcissism makes him a closed fortress. He doesn’t know what he doesn’t know and he’s uninterested in finding out."

 

I have watched him speak. From a purely emotional standpoint, I just don't like him. He appears to be a bully, and is grossly disrespectful to the other candidates. "He is a childish man running for a job that requires maturity. He is an insecure boasting little boy whose desires were somehow arrested at age 12. He surrounds himself with sycophants. “You can always tell when the king is here,” Trump’s butler told Jason Horowitz in a recent Times profile. He brags incessantly about his alleged prowess, like how far he can hit a golf ball. “Do I hit it long? Is Trump strong?” he asks."

 

The talk around the Shabbos table naturally turns to politics. When asked what people think of Trump, most say that he is funny and entertaining, like watching a game show. Perhaps so, but is that what you want for leadership? They say he is brutally honest, that he has enough money so has no need to take payouts or support anyone else's agenda, that the world is afraid of him because he speaks the truth.

 

Would you rather a candidate who lies outright, promising things that they will not deliver on, or one who makes such outrageous claims that they cannot possibly deliver on it? 

 

I don't see any real alternative at the moment, but I do know that Trump will crumble the carefully constructed political wall that so many politicians have worked so hard to build. Are you really prepared to see it come tumbling down? Do you really think a loud-mouthed #nofilter businessman with no political experience is the best way to go?

There are 8 months left for a viable candidate to come forward, and although it is unlikely at this point, miracles do happen. Hey, G-d split the sea in way less time than that.

Two Truths and a Lie

1) I read all 7 Harry Potter books, 2) I punched my sister in the nose the night before my older sister's wedding, 3) I feel aimless and alone right now.

In my defense, we were fighting over the TV remote and I backhanded her, it wasn't intentional. I got blood on the brides petty coat, (which she had already decided not to use), there was a big uproar, everyone was mad and yelling. Sounds about right. No wedding is complete without some yelling. (On that note, Catch My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 in theaters March 25. *I was not paid to endorse this movie.)

Recently, I received an email from a PhD student who is conducting a study "researching the personal experiences people write on the web about their everyday lives", and my blog came up in their search. He writes, "I’m interested in how the thoughts and experiences written by people like you on weblogs and other social media can be used to make conclusions about society as a whole."

My first instinct was suspicion, but he seemed pretty legit, and he had a website, credentials and a youtube video to back it up. I asked the right questions and decided to participate in the survey.

It got me thinking, why do people read my blog, or anyone's personal blog for that matter?  Unless someone writes about a specific topic, like fashion, food or literature, it is basically just a personal diary of thoughts, feelings and anecdotes that is shared with complete stranger all over the world.

Someone once tried explaining it to me, he said he just found it interesting to read about my life. I could not imagine why.

This video enlightened me.

It's about human connections, finding people who are like you, or who are so worse off than you that you can say "thank G-d my life is not as crappy as that." (I hope I fall into one of those two categories, I don't want to consider the alternative.)

I have been feeling like I've lost touch with my writing recently, or more accurately with myself. So I went to the library and sat there for an hour, trying to figure things out. 

Whenever I think about the past, it takes me on a trip down memory lane some of which is not very pleasant. I always used to try to suss it out, relive it, analyze it and try to understand where and how it went wrong. But I'm starting to realize that some things are best left forgotten. 

I spoke about this in a mini writing group I attended with two other women. One of them compared it to removing an old filling from your mouth. She said the dentist told her, better to leave it in place, because to remove it will stir up so much bacteria it would only cause more problems. 

I was trying to remember the last time I felt truly happy. My memories are attached to emotions rather than physical objects or places. I remembered a post I wrote about 6 years ago, it was the first snowfall of winter and I was running in the streets breathless, with snowflakes in my hair. I felt giddy, alive, carefree. 

I don't know what changed, all I know is that it doesn't matter. What matters is what will change moving forward. 

From Rabbi Simon Jacobson at The Meaningful Life Center: "We forget how to live a meaningful life because we believe in the power of what we don't have more than we believe in the power of our own resources." This resonated with me, because I constantly find myself focusing on negative aspects, of what I regret, what I don't do anymore that I used to do, what could have been, etc. 

The topic of our writing group was "What is your purpose in this world, and do you think you are fulfilling it?" 

One woman wrote about how she loves playing piano but she doesn't think she's very good at it, but when she plays for her kids and watches as they sit silently enthralled, it makes her happy, like she is doing something right. She spoke about how as a mother she gets caught up in all the parenting, she tries to be patient with her kids but ends up rushing them and getting frustrated. But she said amid all the things she wishes she could do more of or be better at, she finds small moments of brightness and clarity where she actually feels like she is fulfilling her purpose.

I liked that, because ultimately it means no one is perfect, not even someone who looks like they have it all together. But the purpose in life is not to be perfect all the time, but to find the moments in between all the chaos where the sun shines in and you feel your true self emerging. 

I'm in the process of making a vision board, in the hopes that having concrete goals in front of me will help me to actually pursue them, and to find a direction.

Rabbi Jacobson suggests that in trying to find your purpose, you should "listen to the call of your soul." 

The very best thing someone ever said to me was "You know what you have to do." By affirming that I know what is best for me, and that I already have the answers will encourage me to look inside myself and use my own resources to move forward, rather than feeling helpless and unsure of myself. Because ultimately, I do know what I have to do. It's the doing it that's hard work.

In that vein, I am moving back to New York. It's been fun here in the Sunshine State, but I never believed I would be here forever. 

For whatever reason you choose to read my blog, I hope that you can benefit from my struggles, and I bless you to find your own purpose in life. 

Points to Ponder

It was the same guy at the check-out desk as last time, the one with the long blond hair and a beard that reminded me of hippies. He had looked at my copy of Douglas Adams The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and commented that he had tried reading it but couldn't make it through the book. (I at least got through the first book before losing interest.)

He says to me, "Are you into anime?" No, I'm not. I have only a vague idea of what anime is, and lump it into the same category as sci-fi. Comic books? Not my thing. Then he invited me to an anime club, where they would watch a film and discuss it. I mistakenly thought he was hitting on me, and inviting me to join him and his geeky friends in some underground club for nerds who like anime.

Turns out, it is just an event at the library. For teens. So, do I look like a teenager? Or someone that would be into anime?

Hard to say.

~ ~ ~

I was in the house alone, doing laundry when the "gardener" stopped by. I use that term loosely. He's an old black guy who mows the lawn. Seemed harmless enough. I said hi, which invited him to talk to me. He looked to be in his 50's, at least.

Then he asked me out. Like, on a date. Kept going on about how nice I was, and how he'd like to take me out sometime. I tried to explain to him that I am Jewish and would only marry a Jew. Of course, that prompted him to discuss religion, and how we are all G-d's creations and surely G-d does not want us to discriminate, which means it is okay. 

I politely tried to extricate myself from the conversation and close the door.

He knocked a little while later, and handed me a piece of paper with his name and phone number scrawled on it. It looked like he couldn't write that well, as he had written and then rewritten the number trying to make it more clear. He said maybe I could call him sometime, and we could go out.

I wished him a good day, a little uncomfortably. 

We live in a time when it's okay for a black guy to ask a white girl out without getting whipped. But somehow he reminded me of slavery.

I kept the paper. It makes me a little sad; I'm not sure why.

Unsteady

I hate that crippling feeling I get sometimes, that I have no one to take care of me. Like if I don't buy food or do my laundry or sweep my floor, it just won't get done, because no one else will do it for me, it all falls on me. It is overwhelming at times, those times when I think about it too much or let it get to me.

My mom said that after she left, my apartment would feel so big, and I would be so grateful to have it all back to myself. She was right about the first part, but I miss them, even my sister with whom I didn't get along with most of my life.

But for a few days, almost a week, someone else held the reigns, someone else did the shopping, bought the food, made sandwiches, prepared dinner, decided where we were going and when. It was a relief, to give up the decision making. It felt like a team, a trio, we went swimming every day in a gorgeous heated 8 ft deep pool, and it all just felt so right.

Last time my mom came to visit, I asked her to bring me some towels. She was horrified to find out that I had only one towel. What's the big deal, said I. Use it and wash it, that's how it goes. I wanted a specific set of towels that I left at home, but she couldn't find them. Of course, while she was here my mom said she would buy me towels, but I refused. I don't need you to buy me towels, I told her, don't worry, I'll make due. That's what I've been doing all my life, I can take care of myself, I don't need your help.

She forgot, and that was that.

My mom and sister came to visit this week. My sister told me a whole long rambling story that I didn't pay much attention to, which ended in her having store credit at Macy's. She decided we would go there and buy me towels. So I went along with it, cuz hey, who doesn't like free stuff.

Of course, I couldn't decide, they all looked the same, I didn't know how to choose, some were soft, some rough, I don't know, I just don't know. Does it really matter? But of course it does, the first time that I am spending money on towels, like I'm setting down roots. This is an important decision. No, I didn't think I would be making this decision with my mother and sister, I live sparsely by choice because who ever comes over?

I looked around at all the things I could not have, did not let myself have. Money was always an issue, why did we deserve good things? I plopped myself down on a bed that probably costs more than I ever made in a year, the duvet cover alone was listed at a thousand. What's the point? Why invest money in things?

The perfect towel still eluded me. Should I choose yellow for a cheery, happy affect? Or is that just forcing it?

My mom pointed to an orange one, but I didn't like it. Finally, we stumbled upon a bright kelly green color. My mom said, "that was my mother's favorite color". We just spent the day in the cemetery surrounded by my dead relatives, so I had to believe that meant something.

I didn't see the matching hand towel, or the large bath sheet size. Not to worry, my sister went to the sales counter to see if they had it in stock. I sat back and let things happen.

Alas, I am the proud owner of a new beautiful kelly green bath towel and matching hand towel. Maybe nobody but me will ever see it, but hey, love of the color green is one of the things me and my grandma had in common.

I drove them to the airport at 4 in the morning, and stumbled back into bed. For the first time, I wasn't the one leaving.

State of Mind

I want to sprawl on the grass, but I dignify myself by finding a bench to sit on. My face is turned towards the sun, reveling in its warm rays, shining orange behind my closed eyelids. I open them a bit, peering through my lashes at the sparkling water. The sun is high in the sky. I'd like to stay like this forever.

My odometer hovers at 2 9 9 9 9 and I watch it slip silently into 30 thousand miles. Only 3 thousand miles of those are mine, but it feels like I've been here forever.

I draw pictures of mountains early Sunday morning babysitting, and wonder if I'll ever get the chance to go there. I offer to take my little friend shopping, but she just wants to stay in pajamas and watch TV. I can't say I blame her.

I walk unhurriedly around the canal, taking deep breaths, and enjoy being outside. The crunchy sound of my sneakers on gravel reminds me of a campgrounds. I want to be 17 again, working at a camp, wearing t-shirts and long skirts and worrying about nothing. I want to be young again, with endless possibilities and no reservations.

My phone weighs me down, like a third arm. I wish I'd left it at home. Today, I try not to use my computer. I eat breakfast outside, by the pool, and then I go for a swim. The water is freezing. It would be, this time of year. But the sun soothes me, dries my skin, calms me.

I eat lunch slowly, remembering to chew my food. Before long I am full. I want to feel full, and not worry about my next meal, not be constantly thinking about what I will eat next, even with a mouthful of food. I want food to sustain me but not imprison me. I want my life to be so full of happiness and importance that I forget to eat.

Today, I am working on wellness. Finding my inner calm. Focusing on the positive. Focusing on what I can have, as opposed to what I can't.

Today is a good day, not because of how it ended, but because of how it started. Some days, most days start off with the best of intentions and take a somersaulting tumbling turn. But that is not what matters.

It took almost 6 months but I think I'm starting to figure out why I'm here, why I 'ran away'. I don't believe there is any particular place one can go to sort things out, find clarity, find themselves or their purpose in life. Clarity is a state of mind. (Or, according to Jimmy Buffet, Margaritaville is a state of mind.) It begins and ends inside of you.

But it doesn't hurt that I'm living in a warm climate, have all the freedom in the world, no responsibilities, and nothing to do but think.

And when that doesn't work, there's always TV.

Deja who?

dé·jà vu

ˌdāZHä ˈvo͞o/

noun

1. a feeling of having already experienced the present situation.

Deja vu: I've been here before.

Or

Deja vu: I've seen this before.

Or

Deja vu: I've stalked him before.

I've definitely stalked him before.

The profile comes with no name, photo or identifying details. If you like it,  you email the administrator who sends you the full profile with all necessary details including name and photo. 

I liked it, I really liked the profile. So I sent away for the full expose, and waited merrily for the reply.

Deja vu: I've stalked him before. Why does his picture look so familiar? Oh right, I checked him out on Facebook. He must have commented on a friend of a friend's post, I thought he looked interesting and promptly tried to find out if he was married. We have 5 friends in common. He's friends with my brother. He rides a motorcycle.

BUT

My hopes fell. I read and reread the description of the person he is looking for, trying to match the adjectives to me. Am I intelligent? Sure. A pleasant person? I can be when I want to. Would I describe myself as compassionate and considerate? That depends, does he mean all the time? Am  I kind to people and strangers? All except the dumb ones. I hate dumb people. 

I pull his profile apart word for word, and I feel my confidence waver. He is too good looking, he comes from a "gezhe" (yichus) family, why would he want me, he probably wouldn't go for me. He lists himself as physically active and loves to try knew things. Sure, I can be too, with the right person. But I'm not that active at the moment.

One voice tells me, just go for it, have a shadchan email him to see if he's interested. But the other, more powerful voice just sits down and sighs, says "don't bother, I'm in no mood for more rejection right now".

And here the story ends.

The sound of sirens

I wake up in a fog. I went to sleep at 4 am, I am tired as hell and I'm pretty sure I have a carb hangover. It's like a regular hangover, only it comes from eating too much sugar instead of drinking alcohol. Yes, food is my drug of choice.

I clumsily reach for my phone, and see a red triangle warning me about a tornado in the area. I can barely focus on the words, but it seems like I slept right through it as the warning had since been lifted.

That sounds about right. These days, I'd sleep through anything. I put my phone on silent and would not know if the president called me. Not that he would; not that I'd care.

The sound of rain registers in my head, not just rain. It's pouring out. And then I realize it is silent in my apartment. No sound from the air conditioner, fridge, or my trusty noise machine set to ocean waves. The power is out. I check online and text my landlord while updating my Facebook 'friends' that I just slept through a tornado. The electric company estimates about an hour.

I turn over and try to fall back asleep, it is way to early for me to be up, I have a headache and feel sick.

I hear sirens, so many sirens, continuously wailing, I wonder if I should go check on my car, maybe a tree fell on it, but I am too tired to care. These days I don't care about much, it seems.

I fall asleep and wake up to the blessed sound of the ac, power is back on and tornado is long gone. The rain has stopped, the sun is shining.

I turn over and go back to sleep.