I’ve not managed to write quite as frequently as I had hoped, yet. I need to make it a habit again.
I just learned that a piece I wrote was selected to be part of a staged reading program, where I’ll be on stage reading it to an audience. The thought of standing on a stage, reading to an audience terrifies me. My voice typically raises several octaves under pressure or nerves. I also tend to speak faster. It will take practice and concerted effort to maintain a level, reasonable pattern of speech to pull this off!
Strangely, in my early twenties, I became a licensed cosmetology instructor. I got my regular license just after high school, having attended beauty school at night during high school. My family had a chain of beauty schools throughout Los Angeles and I used to tell my punk rock friends that I could cut hair simply by connection because I could practice cutting without worry of ruining someone’s hair, which led my dad enrolling me in beauty school. I did salon work and some platform demonstrations at hair shows and eventually got my teaching license.
My first day of teaching was hell. I walked into a room of people, most of whom were older than I was, all of whom could smell my fear…I squeaked out an introduction and Minnie Moused my way through the first hour of talk. I wanted to cry. Public speaking was never something I felt comfortable with. I eventually got to the demonstration part of my class and as I got into sharing the details of how to do the cut I was demoing, I relaxed and my voice evened out and I actually sounded like I knew what I was talking about. I realized that I just needed to trust my experience and expertise and let that guide me through the class.
I haven’t done much public speaking since then. I’ve been on a few panels within my current industry (international film distribution) over the years and again survived simply because I knew my content and my audience. I’m going to have to rely on this understanding for the staged reading. The story is personal and fraught but also very much removed from the woman I am today, over forty years after it takes place. I have Dan and some friends coming so the audience will be friendly and supportive and if my voice cracks or squeaks they’ll love me anyways.
Here’s to facing our fears…To new experiences…to pushing out of our comfort zone!
It’s been years since I last posted anything of note. I find myself living in my head so need the outlet of putting thoughts to paper so to speak. Not that any paper is involved. I feel like this is a pivotal moment in my life as well as that of my family’s. September is our shared birth month so new trips around the sun starting this month and new happenings. I think I’ll start with Cole with this re-entry into sharing.
Cole’s now 23 which I find hard to believe 23 years have passed. Having a child (young adult) who is dependent upon you for pretty much everything is a complicated existence. No matter the circumstances, bringing a child into the world, into your world, means making the child the priority. It means significant changes to your life, including unconditional love, joys and sorrows, frustration, jubilation, pride, purpose and so so much more. However, having a special needs child who is dependent on you for accessing the world, and small bits of life like personal care, mobility, communication, feeding, transferring, socializing, really, everything, is more than an outsider can imagine.
Besides all of the daily needs and tasks that go into helping create and shape a life, there is a constant need to advocate for your child in ways that parents of typical children don’t have to. It can be a full time effort to manage healthcare, insurance, social security, and conservatorships. It can be a full time effort to find the best placement or programs where your child is not marginalized, ignored, or abused.
Just before Cole turned 22 he aged out of our school district where post high school he had been attending a “CTC” (career transition campus) where he spent weekdays working on life skills, having social and community opportunities, and a focused class path (he did film production the first two years and then moved into the social media class for the duration). Knowing this would end at 22, we put him on waitlists for the handful of adult day programs in and around Los Angeles. There are actually very few programs that are appropriate, or willing to support, a young adult with Cole’s significant needs, that simultaneously are appropriate and willing to support his interests and social needs and curiosity.
At the end of the CTC, we were no closer to getting into a choice program so opted to place him in one that had availability as a transitional placement. The staff was kind, friendly and treated Cole well. He was bored, frustrated, and unhappy and it showed in his behaviors at home for the almost year that he attended. There was very little engagement, peer to peer socialization or stimulating activities. It mostly felt sad. He did not thrive, though we all agree, even in hindsight, that it was better than him staying at home every weekday doing nothing more than watching YouTube or TV while we attempted to juggle full time work and his needs.
Cole finally did get into our top choice of day programs and is starting his third week there. It’s out of our county so transportation is not provided and we’re driving at least three hours a day to get him there and back home but for now it feels worth it. From the first day his mood coming home flipped. He’s been happier, calmer, and more cooperative. He’s feeling like his days are more fulfilling. He has friends at the new program and their days are filled with activities like zumba, creating art, learning computer skills, and when downtime is needed, lounging together out of their wheelchairs watching an episode or two of Friends (one of his favorites). There will be community outings as things get more settled and chances to learn how to sell their art online, creating an opportunity for the participants to feel valued and seen. It took a lot of work and time to get him into the program (don’t even get me started on the reams of paperwork that are required), and the driving in LA morning and late afternoon traffic sucks (100 miles a day!), but knowing he’s now attending a program where he has social interaction and is making new friends, and doing all sorts of different activities, and is happy to attend is everything.
Beyond the weekdays, Cole’s still dancing on Saturday mornings and continues to love it. Music plays such a big part of his life and we took him to see Vampire Weekend (one of his favorites) and English Beat over the summer at the Hollywood Bowl (an iconic LA outdoor venue) and he loved it. I’m taking him to see Suki Waterhouse at the Greek Theater (another outdoor venue) next month with friends and hoping he’ll have the same positive, fun experience. We’re also taking him to see Ina Garten (the Barefoot Contessa) on her book tour and I’ve reached out to her team to see if she could spare a minute to do a quick “Meet and Greet” with him. She has been Cole’s favorite Food Network star since she first aired in 2002. He’s loved her for most of his life so it will blow his mind to see her in person and hopefully to meet her. We also have tickets to see “American Idiot” play later this fall. He loves Green Day and I thought it could make for a fun theater experience.
Cole doesn’t gravitate to all of these kinds of events because his anxiety gets the better of him but because these are the kinds of activities where he has good social opportunities as well as the entertainment value, I keep trying to get him to embrace the experiences. It really helps when there’s familiarity but going with friends helps a lot too. More than anything, I never want him to feel like he’s missing out on things that could bring him joy.
He’s still doing private speech and now working on a new “language” because when he aged out of our school district coverage, we had to return the communication device he had been using since high school and procure one ourselves. His new device (a Grid Pad) uses PODD software (Pragmatic Organization Dynamic Display). It’s different from what he was using for the past eight or so years so he’s been working to learn and utilize the new device. It’s not completely starting over but it is a new language. I typically describe it as he learned to speak Spanish, and is now learning Italian. Both are Romance languages and there are similarities so picking up Italian will be easier because he knows Spanish. He’s doing okay with it but could do better. He chooses not to use it more often than he should because using eye-gaze to communicate is taxing and hard and sometimes just too time consuming for him. We can’t seem to impress upon him how freeing it would feel to be successfully communicating his needs, wants or just dumb jokes. Sigh.
I feel like I could share so much more but this also feels like a good update, and writing is much needed and welcome release, even if no one winds up reading it. Just getting things out of my head brings clarity, so thank you if you happen to come across my musings and take the time to read.
I was going through a box of random old photos recently and ended up wandering through some treasured memories of adventures and friends. It’s funny how shared experience can forever weave different people into your fabric, however brief their imprint. I’m struck by the way our brains sort and recall memories. Sometimes events that seem trivial wind up being fully formed memories, tangible and enduring, while others quietly fade from our thoughts.
For me, the biggest triggers of memories are songs and photos. I can be transported back to a time and place and connect to the way I felt being there at a particular moment. Sadly, some of those connections are fleeting, and not completely filled out. I find myself struggling to recall what happened next or previously, but in those moments of pure remembrance, I’m there.
I save letters too. I have letters from my paternal grandmother and from my dad that I cherish. I have a couple of cassette tapes my dad made for me when we travelled, wandering around recording his musings but I am afraid to play them because I fear the tapes are too fragile. I don’t know how I’d react to hearing his voice either but knowing I have them somehow is enough. I have letters from random friends, and from a post high school boyfriend who wrote from the road when touring with his band. They all are part of my story too.
Reminiscing with friends also naturally serves a trigger. As we move through our lives we pick up new friends who serve as markers of specific periods of time in our stories. I spent a summer in London in the mid-eighties doing an art program at the Royal College of Art. I made two fast friends during that time who I spent much of my out of class time with exploring London and enjoying nights in the local pub near school in South Kensington as well as some fun nightclubs. We had a some interesting adventures during that summer, memories that only we three share. Memories that I was reminded of recently when I came across a few old photos of that summer.
We three lost touch fairly quickly as we didn’t live in the same states and the internet was not yet fully formed. We returned to our lives and next chapters. A decade later, Facebook reconnected me with one of them so we wish one another “Happy Birthday” and get little glimpses of one another’s lives.
This is true of other Facebook friends I have. People who knew me when (and whom I knew when)…cherished shared times in our lives that had impact and significance but were fleeting in the context of an entire life, meaningful chapters in our biographies. People who know me from a very specific vantage, who influenced journey.
The thing is, with my memories fragmented and sometimes unreliable, I’d love to reconnect with old friends from different periods in my life. I have a tribe of friends who have known me for almost fifty years, who have been witness to quite a lot of my life, but there are times, like London, and periods where my social life existed outside that tribe of friends, where having people from those phases to talk to and to recollect to better round out my uneven memories. I would love to have those opportunities to reacquaint myself with long ago me(s).
My company recently offered a peer mentorship program designed to help us to clarify our individual purpose(s), incite conversations with peers, and to create actions that will help us become more engaged and feel more support in the workplace. During the course of a year we are paired with four peer level executives from a different branches or divisions of the company, each for a three month period, where we meet bi-monthly for about an hour and talk and do different exercises that are set by the program, but directed by our responses.
I concluded by second meeting today. My peer mentor is also a senior VP, who works in Toronto and leads the IT team worldwide – a vastly different position than mine. I am more of a lone wolf in terms of my daily work. While much of my efforts support different teams within the company, I more often than not work on my own direction and do not have a support staff. I’ve been working in my business for the better part of twenty five years and with this company for over ten of those. I’m trusted, respected, and valued.
Following each mentorship meeting, we are given a directive to focus on or accomplish before our next meeting. It might be an action or a change of process or implementation of a new idea. Regardless of the mode, I’m finding them challenging in the best way. They lead me to think more deeply about my day to day work and the impact it has on both my team and the company as a whole. They cause me to look more critically at routines I’ve fallen into over the years. It’s easy to just get the job done to maintain status quo but I’m realizing that it’s crucial to strive for more.
All in a day’s work!
I’m generally happy in my position, and blessed to be working for a company I respect, with people I genuinely regard and enjoy. I hope to remain here for as long as they’ll have me. They’re supportive and understanding of my family needs (to the degree that I was able to work from Cole’s hospital room for a month and half with their full backing). I love their policies regarding community outreach, diversity and inclusion, and environmental issues. I am motivated by the opportunities, like this peer mentoring program, we’re given to help us all to rise up and be our best selves both at work, and outside of work.
I’d like to grow to a point where I can test out my managerial skills. I like the idea of delegating and sharing ideas with a team and I’ve come to realize that it’s a direction I want to move myself toward. Learning more about what it’s like to have a team and to manage, engage and inspire a team excites me. I’m not exactly sure what that looks like for me specifically but the mentorship conversations I’ve had thus far lead me to want to delve more into how I can create that opportunity. It’s helping me to recognize things in myself that I ignore or that lay dormant.
Not bad for two sessions! I’m really looking forward to seeing where the year of this takes me. I have three other mentors to connect and learn from as well several more sessions with my current peer mentor, from whom I’m already greatly inspired by.
I recently watched the limited Netflix series “Maid”. While I thoroughly enjoyed the incredibly well told, well acted series and recognize the importance of stories like this being told, getting a broad audience, and inciting discussion, it also brought up a part of my own story that I generally keep tucked away because it’s wrought with hurt, shame and disappointment in my younger self. I saw my younger self in the main character, Alex, in so many ways.
For much of my life I’ve struggled with self-esteem issues. Like many of us, my worst behaviors stem from my self doubt and insecurities. As a pre-teen and teen I had voices telling me I was fat, ugly, stupid and weird. Part of me believed this and part of me wavered. I mistakenly took the attention of boys as validation that I was lovable but boys who kissed you weren’t all looking for love or for girlfriends, so the attention that initially rose me up, plummeted me back to those voices telling me I wasn’t good enough.
My first boyfriend broke up with me because I cut my long hair short (!) as I delved more into the punk rock scene, leaving me uncertain of what I had ever meant to him. My next boyfriend, who made me feel loved and seen, cheated on me during a school ski trip we were on together, breaking my young heart and leaving me feeling utterly undesirable. And so on. None of it’s earth-shattering or truly devastating but it played against my fragile self-esteem and we were not openly discussing self-esteem or mental health in the early eighties. We weren’t seeing therapists or telling our parents or friends how we felt about ourselves.
My outer self had good friends, lots of interests and did pretty well in school. My inner self had self-doubt, insecurities and self-loathing, but no one really knew that part of me. That part of me made bad decisions, hoping for validation. I am certain I was not that different from most teenagers, and we grew up, became more accepting and understanding of ourselves and moved into adulthood relatively unscathed. I had a few other significant relationships that were happy and healthy and ended without impact, leaving the friendship in tact.
Until in my late 20’s when I met him. He made me feel like I was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. I felt loved, wanted, needed and safe. We quickly fell into an intense relationship, moving into together (him into my house) and melding our lives together. He had a young child from a previous relationship, who spent time with us. It felt overwhelming but (at first) in a good way.
This is me in the thick of it – what you don’t see is him next to me (I cut him out) or the hopelessness I felt most of the time.
And then it didn’t. As I became more comfortable with the relationship and all that came with it, the more the praise, appreciation and kindness were pulled away, making way for him to take control of me, of my money (I worked a steady, salaried job and he was a day worker who started to prefer not to work unless it was a job that would take him out of town for a few days), my movement (it got so that I rarely saw my friends, only socializing with him or with his chosen friends with him), and my self-esteem (instead of compliments, he started emphasizing my flaws and insecurities). He threatened to leave me as he drained my bank account to support his social life, child and more . We shared my car so he’d drop me off and pick me up from work, often leaving me waiting for him to return (pre-cell phones) and without a car during weekends. He assured me no one else would ever want me, so I should be happy that he did. He blamed me for his inability find work or hold jobs. When he did work “away” jobs, he cheated on me. When I felt my lowest, he’d give me crumbs to keep me holding on to him. I was trapped both by him and by my own destruct from the way he broke my confidence, value and soul.
I was no longer financially independent, and started carrying debt to support us. We lived in my house, so I didn’t feel like I could leave and I didn’t feel like I could get him to willingly leave. I didn’t have access to my car most of the time, often leaving me feeling stranded. I didn’t see my friends or family much and felt too ashamed to talk to about what was happening to me. He worked every insecurity I ever had and broke me. I put on a good face. I showed up to work every day, smiled like a good girl and played nicely.
Sadly, no one seemed to notice. No one recognized the signs. The people most likely to notice didn’t see me enough or I avoided the conversation. I was so devastated by where my life had landed and felt shame and guilt for having brought it on myself. I invited him! I welcomed him! Most of the people I was around those days were his friends, who could care less how I was treated or how I felt. I supported their drinking and late nights. I fed them and provided a place to crash when they had no where else to go. I took care of his son when he couldn’t be bothered. I never felt more alone than when I was his girlfriend.
I didn’t notice it happening until I was well into the throes of his abuse. The changes from doting boyfriend to abusive boyfriend are subtle at first. The truth is, I wouldn’t have called it abuse back then. He never physically hurt me. Towards the end, I sensed that was coming though. His anger eventually lead him to throw things past my cowering body, or punch walls behind my head. I knew it would happen and somewhere in my mind I had drawn the line at that. I finally mustered the strength to break up with him. I left his stuff outside when was on a job and changed the locks. It worked for a bit. Like most people who suffer abuse of any sort, I returned to scene of the crime.
He wooed me briefly with pleas for forgiveness and showers of love and devotion. We dated again for a short time, but the abusive tendencies returned (as I should have known) pretty quickly and I had the strength to end it for good. I’m proud to say that I’ve never laid on eyes on him again.
It took a lot of time for me to find myself after that. I had no idea who I was anymore outside of that relationship. Dating sounded terrifying. I needed to get to a place where I could trust myself to make good choices. I threw myself into work and built a solid career that involved a lot of international travel, both of which help me build new confidence, acceptance and value to my life. I made new friends who had nothing to do with my life with him, who helped me to see myself as a worthy, bright, cared for and caring friend. I wrote a lot to sort through how I felt about what I’d been through and tried to understand how I let it happen. I worked to get my finances straightened out and to just enjoy my life again. To breathe again.
I am blessed that this experience was just a chapter in my book of life. It wasn’t a pattern. It was an eye-opening, devastating chapter that led me to make some needed changes, to work to better understand myself and to find acceptance of myself. I’ve made a lot of strides in doing so, but I recognize that I will always be a work in progress, and that’s okay. I still falter, am occasionally reactive out of insecurity, and sometimes suffer from self-doubt, but I see it now and I make effort to be gentler and kinder to myself and to others, and try to cop to my bad behavior.
I was blessed to meet my husband when I was a much healthier self in my early thirties. We’ve been together for almost 24 years (married for almost 22). He sees me for all that I am, the good, the bad and everything in between. We each carry our own baggage, and understand that we have to work together to keep our relationship thriving. It’s worth every effort even though it does shine light on things neither of us is proud of, but in some ways that’s what keeps us both in balance, as a couple, and as individuals.
Quarantine has brought out the worst in my conversational skills. Having considerably fewer opportunities for actual, in person conversation and too much time spent alone, in my head, talking to myself, I’ve lost touch with the art of conversation. I find my excitement to be talking to someone outside my tiny circle leaves me tongue-tied or over-anxious to speak, thus interruptive.
As life started to open up a bit more and I’m socializing with a somewhat broader group of friends, I notice the decline of my communicative finesse. I catch myself interrupting, or worse, getting caught up in my head, having internal chat with myself. It has become a frequent cause of upset with my husband, which doesn’t make the 24/7 we continue to spend together exactly blissful.
As much a I am content on my own, I have always treasured friend (and family) time. Sharing an evening with a dear friend, enjoying a long, lingering meal and endless conversation is one of my most favorite ways to recharge. I love nothing more than to get lost in a conversation that weaves to and fro with twists and turns that eventually lead back to the beginning. It confounds my husband that these conversations seem never-ending.
Back in the day of landlines, I’d spend hours on the phone with school friends, doing our homework “together”, dreaming of boys we wanted to kiss, places we wanted to go, which lipglosses were the best (Bonne Bell Dr. Pepper!), and back to boys (of course). Those silly, intimate, protracted conversations are in part what our friendships were built upon. They filled out the gaps in the day to day hanging out and chatting. They connected us in ways that still hold true today. To this day the girls I hung out with, some since age nine, the rest since middle school, remain among my dearest. We still see each other, still share cherished memories, and still have silly, intimate, protracted conversations over forty years later.
With shared conversations being something that I relish, the fact that I’m noticing the regression in my conversational dexterity after these seemingly endless months of semi-isolation leaves me feeling a bit anxious to be back in more social settings. Though I hope that the increase of practice will have a positive impact and bring me back to good graces before I’m lost inside my head for good!
Today is World Cerebral Palsy Day. It’s not a celebratory recognition day but more of an informational and support day. An advocacy day. The fact of the matter is that cerebral palsy is never going to be a welcome diagnosis. It’s a lifetime, uncurable diagnosis. Cerebral Palsy impacts over 17 million people worldwide so it’s far more common than most people recognize.
From the start, learning your baby has cerebral palsy triggers feelings of guilt, grief, uncertainty, sadness, and fear. It also incites our need to protect, learn, advocate, educate, and more than anything love. Cole’s birth was one hundred percent not what I expected. I had a healthy pregnancy. I loved being pregnant and the love I felt for the growing baby boy in my belly felt so intimate and unlike anything I’d ever felt. I fantasized about his arrival and the joys of watching him grow and thrive and meet all of life’s milestones. I imagined the kind of boy he’d be and all of the things we would share together, as a family.
However, life had a different course for us to navigate. Cole arrived via c-section, not breathing for nearly 12 excruciating minutes, ultimately requiring five weeks of NICU support before he could come home. It was determined that at the tail end of my pregnancy, I was exposed to a child who likely had Fifths Disease (Parvovirus B19 – a fairly common childhood virus that has cold like symptoms with rashy pink cheeks, also known as “slapped cheek rash”). It’s generally harmless but can be fatal to fetuses in utero. In our case, I showed no symptoms or illness, nor did I have any awareness of my exposure, but Cole and I both had antibodies, discovered by the battery of tests run following his birth. It caused him to retain almost a pound of excess fluid, which led to him to stop breathing at birth.
Thankfully, he defied the odds and “the next hours” became “tomorrow” and “tomorrow” became “next week”. I had the most basic understanding of what Cerebral Palsy meant. I have a 2nd cousin, who was in my dad’s generation, who has C.P., though no one ever called it that. In the early weeks and months, it didn’t matter. What mattered was doing everything possible to support Cole. He went home after five weeks in the NICU with a g-tube for feeding because he wasn’t able to suck.
No one really helps to prepare you to parent a child with cerebral palsy. It’s never part of the imagined outcome of your baby’s story. Once home, we quickly got into a crazy routine of eat, sleep, pump, sleep, eat…repeat. We were blessed to have a friend who happened to be a pediatric physical therapist, who kindly taught us a series of exercises to do with Cole to help coax his body to roll, stretch and move. We quickly started a daily program of attending physical, occupational, feeding and speech therapies, and then supporting the therapies with at home work as well.
We filled our heads with knowledge, and armed ourselves with a tough exterior of “we’re okay”. We weren’t really but we learned pretty quickly that no one, even family, wants to know the reality of our day to day. No one wants to hear about the loss of dreams. The truth is there’s no real opportunity to adequately mourn the loss of the child, the life of the child, you imagined, or the life as a parent you dreamed of whilst preparing for your baby’s arrival.
The other reality is that fierce, unwavering love you have for your child and your determined desire to ensure that his life is happy, rich and full leads you to learn to advocate, research, connect and to tap into strengths in yourself that you never knew existed. You become more compassionate, resilient, creative, and inclusive. You throw your efforts into ensuring that the world is more understanding and accepting of people with disabilities and differences. You do your best to support and seek out opportunities to enrich your child’s life by finding inclusive activities, encouraging friendships, and following your child’s lead.
We become the best version of ourselves so that our children can become the best version of themselves.
One of Cole’s new dance routines at iDance is to Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now. It’s one of my favorite songs to dance around the house to and to belt out in the car when no one (or only Cole) is listening and as teen was part of my “dancing with myself” repertoire (along with a few other songs on the Jazz album). But I think that song also has served as a mantra of sorts for me since I first heard it in 1978. I listened to that album over and over again and reveled in the power of Fat Bottomed Girls (which I believed myself to be), the teasing sexuality of Let Me Entertain You (which I admittedly have always thought would be a perfect strip tease song), the longing and romanticism of Jealousy, Dreamer’s Ball and Seven Days, and the anthemic positivity of If You Can’t Beat Them and Don’t Stop Me Now. I still love to listen to that album in order, track by track.
So watching Cole learn a routine to Don’t Stop Me Now of course put the song in my head all day and took me back to my old bedroom where I’d make up dramatic jazzy dances to it, proclaiming my fourteen year old potential and worthiness. I channeled my inner Freddie Mercury, hoping that if I could muster just a fraction of his seemingly boundless confidence and spirit, I could push through my insecurities and teenage angst and survive middle school. The funny thing is that I still find that song to be motivating, and I still find myself wanting to dance (yes, like no one is watching) to it and experience the freedom and joy it brought to me as a kid. I still find the song makes me want to break out of my head and follow my heart and dreams.
Though it’s still warm, okay hot, here in Southern California, there are glimpses of fall starting to sneak in. Fall is my favorite season, and admittedly autumn in my neighborhood is not as transitional as it is in other parts of the country, but being a sweater girl (to the degree that I was nicknamed “Sweater” when I was a teen because I loved to wear vintage beaded cardigans and loopy mohairs with my pegged Levis or pencil skirts), I’m donning cozy sweaters the moment our temperatures drop below 75 degrees.
The deluge of advertisements, recipe suggestions and marketing emails that proliferate my computer, billboards and storefronts too indicate that fall is upon us. Halloween, Thanksgiving and the Winter holidays are already filling space on shelves and in our thoughts. The “what are you doing for XX holiday?” queries and plans abound. The pool now gets cold overnight despite the still hot days – the nights are cooling significantly. We’re contemplating our last official swim this weekend.
Enjoying aquatic therapy at Stepping Stones
With this being Cole’s last Saturday with aquatic therapy, it’s now time to come up with weekend outings and distractions for him. For the past four months his Saturdays had him at iDance in the mornings, home for a quick lunch, and then back out to aquatic therapy. He arrives home in the late afternoon, happily exhausted, wanting Sundays to be pretty lazy and calm. Maybe a swim with us, or a long, leisurely drive, or meeting family for breakfast, and then enjoying the rest of his Sunday watching YouTube videos or favorite TV. He is a guy who relishes a day to himself after a long week – Morrisey’s Spent the Day in Bed is his jam…
Having a bit more of the weekend back open means that he’ll need to fill more of it. While I’m happy to let him have his day, I don’t like having two days of the leisurely screen time. With the world opening up a bit more I’m already making plans to do more outings with him (and when it works out, with him and friends because that is definitely his preference). He received a membership for two to LACMA for his birthday making visits to see their exhibits a no-brainer. I’d also like to get back to doing beach boardwalk strolls in Santa Monica – we did them frequently during the throes of quarantining because it felt safe and was calming to be by the ocean, explore some farmer’s markets and farms, take advantage of some of the holiday events like the drive through Christmas lights festival we did last year, and visit other museums in addition to LACMA. Getting Cole on board is not always easy but I’m determined to get him out and about on weekends.
With the weather cooling, exploring outdoors becomes more inviting as well. Cole’s never been to Joshua Tree or Big Sur. If things feel safe to explore beyond our area, I feel like day or overnight trips would make for grand weekend fun. We, as a family, don’t often do short trips but I think that having been cooped up for these past eighteen plus months, the idea sounds heavenly. I don’t feel ready for international travel yet but inching out of our comfort zone is a good start. Baby steps…
September is somewhat of a “birthday season” in my relatively small and extended family. Dan, Cole and I all have September birthdays, added to those of my brother, father-in-law, and sister-in-law, and our god-daughter. It’s a lot of celebrating and new beginnings.
This year feels even more significant in terms of new beginnings. With Cole back in the throes of in person school and outside activities like iDance, and my office preparing for us to return in some sort of hybrid fashion back to some in person office days next month, it just feels like we’re starting to shed the past eighteen months of truncated hibernation. With that I feel like I too am moving towards shedding some layers of fear, uncertainty and introversion, welcoming the idea of being around people I haven’t seen in person throughout the pandemic.
Moving back to a more normal life has been thus far been a slow, mitigated process. At first we saw almost no-one, adding a couple of close families and only outside visiting. Once we were all vaccinated, earlier this year, I actually started going to a few stores and ate at a restaurant (outside) for the first time since March 2020! Cole’s still not comfortable to run errands, though it does cross my mind that it’s a handy excuse for him not to run errands! Things feel fairly safe here – masks are required nearly everywhere and people in our neighborhood are largely respectful of this. My office has a vaccination policy in place, a fancy temperature station when you enter the building, and masks requirements for all indoors. I’ve gone in here and there recently and am reminded of how much I enjoy and miss the camaraderie of my peers. I miss my ducks too!
My office – Halloween 2019
Birthday season often finds me contemplating my place in life and this year is no different. More so than, say New Year’s, birthdays lead me to consider what’s working in my life and what I’d like to approach differently or change or embrace or explore. This year, like some past, it brought me back to this – to writing. I need the brain overload outlet. I learned that exercise is a very beneficial outlet for stress and a welcome antidote for sitting all day, but it doesn’t have quite the same effect on what’s going on inside my head. I’m looking forward to seeing how exercise and writing work together! My hope is that 2022 will find me edging towards a healthier, happy me – that we all will be moving forward towards finding joy.
I love your brain 