You can handle the truth… But can I? October 6, 2011

This is going to be one post that I’m not sure I will encourage my hubby to read. It’s not that I have anything to hide (if anything maybe I wear my heart on my sleeve too much, too often). But when the past rears its ugly head (and let’s face it, the past is very often ugly) it frequently brings up memories that frankly you wish would have evaporated into thin air, leaving no trace that they had ever even existed.

Over 4 years ago I made a clean break from New York. If you’ve read my blog before then you know why. I had decided that I was stagnant. I was living in the same apartment that my ex and I had lived in for over a year together, the same apartment where we mutually broke up with one another on a Sunday night (funny the details that you remember), and was at the same job, socializing with the same people (though I loved them and still do), going to the same places, talking to my therapist about the same issues, and it felt like I was spinning my wheels (I think my therapist would have whole-heartedly agreed). I was stuck, and after a very telling conversation with my ex one day (who was still in my life in some iffy capacity… Perhaps that was part of the problem), it hit me: I would always remain stuck, always remain in the past, if I didn’t do something about it. Nobody was going to change things for me; nobody could. He and I had mutually parted because we were two very different people living two very different lives, and because we clearly wanted things from each other that the other couldn’t give. We weren’t going to get back together, and every block in the city seemed to remind me of the almost 5 years that we spent together. I hated seeing “our” Chinese restaurant on the corner, hated having to wear makeup to the grocery store just in case I bumped into him unannounced (he moved a few blocks away) and hated that he had even told me that once after we broke up he was with his new girlfriend and saw me from across the street (thankfully I never saw him). And while the thought of moving on (geographically and figuratively) was terrifying, I knew that if I was ever to find happiness again, I was going to have to bite the bullet and instill some serious change in my life. This realization was empowering and nauseating all at the same time.

So I chose Boston as my next destination. I packed up my stuff and moved to the city with very few friends in the area and no job. But the one thing that I did have (other than my parents close by) was a clean slate and an apartment where there were no sad memories. I cut up pictures, wrote a lot, found a job, reconnected with old friends and made new ones, and slowly put the past behind me.

Not long after that I met my husband, and we all know how that story goes (and it’s a good one). But I won’t lie, and anyone that says differently probably is: I thought about my ex from time to time. It was usually in the context of “I am so lucky to have SHL and what would my life be like if I had stayed with my ex? Would be divorced by now?” (To which the answer in my head was always a resounding “YES”). But occasionally I wondered other things too. I wondered if he ever thought about me. I wondered if he had cheated on me when we were dating (something that I never wondered about when we were together but once apart noticed the idea lurking in the corner of my mind when thinking about him). I wondered for the zillionth time how he could have started up a relationship with another so soon after we broke up and he moved out of our place (incidentally they broke up because she was cheating on him). I wondered if he had met anybody since then and if he somehow knew that I had found my love and that was I finally happy. I wondered a lot of things. Most I didn’t share with SHL because nobody likes to hear about their spouse’s old relationships, but once in a blue moon I would reference him. Sometimes it comes up because my ex was an avid tennis player and when my husband mentions how grateful he is that I am supportive of his career as a tennis coach (weird coincidence), it highlights what was wrong with the relationship that ended in my 20′s. I never doubt that I’m my husband’s priority, and I want him to have his own life, be happy in his career, have a passion and pursue it. I now understand that when somebody gives you what you need it’s very easy to want them to have those things. It was something that I never understood with my ex because I never felt that I was a priority to begin with.

Fast forward to a couple of days ago. I happen to check my Yahoo email account, which I rarely if ever do. I clicked on the last page of emails by accident, the ones that I had accidentally kept from years ago, and found pages of correspondence between my ex and I. Some when we were dating (and living together), and others after we had broken up. I read them, of course (my curiosity got the best of me) and memories came up that I hadn’t thought about in years.

And after reading pages and pages of emails, the feeling that I was left with was that we never really knew each other, and that saddened me but it felt evident. It was clear that he was out night after night (mostly playing tennis) because so often the emails that we would send each other while at work said things like, “How was your night last night? Did you win your match? How did you sleep? Sorry I wasn’t awake to say goodnight.” It was like two ships passing in the night, instead of a partnership where you really feel present with the other person. I was reminded that I never really felt like I was losing even a little part of myself when I was dating him because, well, I wasn’t. In order to lose a piece of yourself (which sounds worse than it is) you have to fully commit yourself to another. You BOTH have to make sacrifices, and compromises. And though I didn’t feel as though I lost a part of myself to my boyfriend at the time, it felt like I lost myself entirely… But not to him… I was just lost.

It left a pit in my stomach, mostly because I was reminded that I had wasted so much time on a relationship that didn’t help me to grow, that didn’t nourish me, that didn’t satisfy me (at least not at the end). I used to mourn that time in my 20′s, thinking that it was time wasted when I could have been finding another, maybe getting married and doing other things with my life that I felt I was prevented from doing because of this relationship (and I take responsibility for being so stuck, though it’s painful to admit). But now I remind myself that although I didn’t marry until my 30′s, I needed that time to do some real growing before I could meet the person who was right for me. And SHL and I both agree that when we met we were at a place in our lives where we could give ourselves freely to the other. I for one know myself so much better now than I ever did in my 20′s, which in the end I believe has made me be a better partner for him (timing played an integral part in our love story. We were ready to meet). We had both done a lot of evolving in our lives and realizing that has, I think, helped me to try to value the fact that although it felt like a lot of pain in my 20′s had to take place for me to find SHL, it was just the path that had to be taken in order to find each other.

So that was 2 days ago. Today I got an email from a friend of mine who used to live in NYC and who I’ve been friends with for almost 10 years. “Guess what?” She wrote. “I just saw on Facebook that an old friend of mine from years ago just got engaged to your ex!” Gulp. It had been over 4 years since he and I had spoken, and I had never (not once) asked anyone about him, googled him, Facebooked him, or anything of the sort (I have to admit, I was pretty proud of myself). I had a feeling that once in a while he would look me up because I would get a glimpse of him here and there (once on Facebook as a friend “suggestion” –not request– and once on LinkedIn, and since I had never put his name into a search and he wasn’t in my address book– Nor do we have any mutual friends– I thought perhaps he had searched for me). And although I’m writing about the times that I thought of him, for the most part I just didn’t.

Now I have this piece of information, and I wonder if it’s me who can’t handle the truth. The truth that maybe he never loved me the way that I thought he did (which is something that I wrestled with for a long time after the breakup when he started dating someone else so soon after he moved out). The truth that I would have been such an unhappy woman had we stayed together. The truth that maybe I loved him for the wrong reasons. The truth that I spent years with this person chipping away at my insides when I could have been meeting new people, traveling more, and feeling more energized and confident enough to focus on and make changes in my career… Instead I remained stuck. Unhappy. Not myself. But I can’t blame everything on him– I had the power to do these things for myself, and yet I didn’t (at the time I felt powerless. Blame it on poor self-esteem). In turn, I have to focus on how much I learned about myself that perhaps would have been difficult to learn otherwise (what did I learn? That I’m strong. That I’m resilient. That I’m worth more than what I had been given by that relationship. That I could be happy on my own. That I still wanted to find love. That I still believed in love. That being happy on my own would serve me a purpose greater than I had ever imagined, and would only strengthen my confidence and my core when I met my husband. That sharing a life with my husband is actually what I was meant to be doing all along). And so maybe the thought of my ex, the memories, and this new piece of information simply made me feel strange because it’s a reminder of the fact that I didn’t really start finding out who I was until after we had parted. Because it wasn’t until I had gained some distance that I could really get in touch with the truth, my truth. And I wonder, if you’ve never had your heart broken, can you truly appreciate when your heart feels whole again? Because that’s my truth, and that I can handle.

Year 1, then golden? July 13, 2011

Let me first preface this post by saying that I actually had some reservations about writing about the first year of marriage, though many have asked me to.  The reason?  I feel protective.  Not just of SHL, or of myself, but of our marriage.  It takes a lot of guts (or stupidity, depends upon which way you look at it) to be able to put your marriage out there for all to see, to judge and to compare, and quite frankly that doesn’t sound so appealing!  Having said that, I’d love to hear from you on what’s been your most challenging issue as you entered into matrimony yourself.

Picture this, if you will:  A friend of mine who is also still a newlywed and I find ourselves in a friend’s kitchen the other evening, whispering out of earshot of our husbands and other friends.  The topic?  The first year of marriage.  “Is it challenging or is just me?” my friend asks quietly, a concerned look on her face.  “It’s not just you,” I reply, and I can see her instantly relax (there’s something to be said for a shared experience).  We both went on to agree that while being newlyweds has its perks and we love our husbands greatly, adjusting to marriage has been a challenge, and clearly a challenge that we feel we have to whisper about in the kitchen so that others don’t hear.

Yes, the first year of marriage certainly is an interesting one, that’s for sure.  And it seems that my good friend and I are not the only ones who feel this way, though there seems to be some kind of hush-hush around it, sort of the way there is around a miscarriage, divorce, or cancer– Words always said in a whisper.  A few weeks ago I went in for my yearly MRI of my liver/abdomen; a task I must do every year and probably will for the rest of my life to ensure that the cancer hasn’t spread.  As I was getting my IV for the procedure the nurse, who I see every year and who I remember because she always seems to put me at ease saw my wedding ring and we began to chat as she pushed the needle into my vein.  “How long have you been married?” she asked, and I told her that my husband and I had just gotten married in October.  “How about you?” I asked since I saw that she had a wedding band on as well.  “3 years,” was her response, and then she added,  “The first year is the hardest.  If you can make it through that, you’re golden!”  We laughed, and then I admitted that I appreciated her honesty.  And not for the first time I thought to myself– That piece of information seems like something that I have heard covertly from other women before, almost for fear that if they said something like that too loudly all eyes would pierce through them like daggers and then what?  They’d explode?  Perhaps what other women are whispering about would have been helpful to know before I got married?  Just as a heads-up?  Hey, by the way, kind of thing?  Not that I wouldn’t have still married my husband, of course, but at least I could have known that feeling that marriage is an adjustment is normal!  A “hey we’re in this together” kind of camaraderie between women seems comforting.  The nurse and I agreed that we wish more women would actually talk about the ups and downs of the first year of marriage honestly.  And while I have tons of great stuff to say about the ups (we laugh constantly, treasure our time together, support each other emotionally, and find excitement about creating this new life together and the adventures that brings), being married has its challenges as well.  What I hear most people say is that it’s blissful.  So if you have anything different to say, you’re certainly not going to say it to the woman who just used the word blissful, now are you?

So why is this, I began to wonder?  SHL and I knew each other for a couple of years before getting married.  We lived together before we got hitched.  So what is it about actually saying “I do” and wearing that ring that seems to cause a shift somewhere? Well here’s a possibility:  Expectations.

Which brings me to the question:  What is a ”good wife?”  and because the two seem linked in many ways,  ”What is a “good mother?”  For me, I grew up watching my Dad go to work and make the money, and my Mom do just about everything else (pretty typical back then).  My Mom was the kind of wife and mother who seemed to know how to make the perfect matzoh ball soup, how to sew on a button or make my costume for a school play, how to fix my little teddy Roosevelt when he started falling apart at the seams (literally), how to smartly save money at the grocery store and how to splurge on the exact right thing for our birthdays.  She helped us with our homework, chaperoned our school field trips on what seemed like an almost monthly basis, drove us to every birthday party and Bat Mitzvah without ever getting lost even if it was in another state and she’d never been there before, and knew just how to make an amazingly elaborate and delicious birthday cake with a Care Bear in yellow frosting or even Pacman with the exact layout of the Atari game on a sheet cake.  She packed our car with all necessities for the Cape every summer (always seeming to think of everything) and then later on planned more intricate family vacations (like to Russia), picked out the perfect dress for those special occasions, threw parties like nobody’s business, and knew what “french cuff” meant and where to shop for my Dad’s favorite shirts.  She rolled up her sleeves with two little ones and painted and wallpapered our bedrooms herself despite the fact that one of us (I’m pretty sure my brother) was to scribble all over that wall when he was supposed to be napping.  She made the world’s best tuna fish sandwiches and always cut them into squares because she knew it just tasted better that way.  And it did.  She created these amazing picnic lunches for visiting day at overnight camp when our friends would just “happen” to walk by our well-known spot by the lake for even just a tiny taste of her chicken or brownies. And most importantly, she comforted us and listened to us and kissed our scraped knees and made us laugh and did it all so effortlessly.  She was (and is) the most capable woman who I know.  Not easy shoes to fill.

OK, so now this post is becoming more like an “Ode to my Mother.”  But still, I wonder:  Does SHL expect me to be a perfect wife?  And someday a perfect mother?  And is my Mom really perfect, or was I just so enamored by her deep devotion and love to our family that I never picked up on the times when she maybe, just maybe, messed up?  Maybe there was a time when she burned something while cooking (Come to think of it, her burning the garlic bread every single time quickly became a family joke).  Maybe she didn’t always know how to do our math homework or waited for our Dad to get home to work on that science project, and maybe she got lost driving us somewhere.  Perhaps she did a load of laundry and mixed colors, turning our clothes pink? Maybe I just don’t remember her not feeling confident because I was too little to remember, or too busy thinking that my Mom was superwoman to maybe realize that she didn’t, in fact, know everything?

But let’s not forget:  This was also in the 70′s and the 80′s when it was pretty normal for women to stay home and do all of these things while the men were at work.  My Mom promises that when she got married she didn’t know how to make a brisket or throw a dinner party, but soon learned (and enjoyed it).  And here I am:  34 years old, in my first year of marriage, and proud of myself if I make eggs for breakfast for my husband.  The laundry?  He generally does his own.  The ironing?  Well I hate ironing and am a firm believer that you can put things in the bathroom while you take a steamy shower and it pretty much works out the same.  My husband does the vacuuming and takes the cats to the vet.  Welcome to 2011, and welcome to my marriage.

The truth is, my husband is pretty independent.  He lived on his own for a long time before he met me, and was responsible for himself.  So he learned how to do his laundry, and how to cook.  And when he first moved here from Canada to be with me, he couldn’t work because he had no green card.  So I was the one who went to work every day, made the money, and came home to him putting dinner on the table.  Talk about role reversals!  But because he had the time and I didn’t, he started doing things around the house and was the one to go grocery shopping, for example.  At first it felt fine to both of us (maybe a bit weird, but fine), as we knew that eventually he would get his green card and begin working, and things would probably shift and have to become more “equal” when we were both out of the house during the day. SHL did get his green card shortly before we got married last fall, and he began working.  And as happy as I was that we were both now working, given my ” I have to be anxious about something” problem (that’s for another post), suddenly, I began worrying about expectations.

My friend agrees that these expectations that I speak of are tricky. She too has expectations for herself, also perhaps partly based on what she saw her mother doing as she grew up.  We talked (or whispered, I should say) there in that kitchen about who should make dinner, who should clean, who should make whose lunch for work, who should get the oil changed and who should grocery shop.  And as I stood there having this conversation it began to occur to me:  There really is no right or wrong answer to any of these questions; its how you and your partner decide it should be, and it’s a decision that has to feel right for the both of you, and nobody else.  And in order to figure that out, you have to talk about it!  For SHL and I it’s very often not divided into stereotypical roles because of my diagnosis of degenerative disc disease and also because a lot of his clients are in the late afternoons/early evenings– so if he’s home while I’m at work there may be things like grocery shopping for him to do.  I just can’t physically stand in the kitchen making dinner for an hour, or bend over to vacuum under the couch.  So I do other things, like pay the bills, plan our social calendar, head up the apartment hunting or over the past year the wedding and honeymoon planning (and thank you notes!).  I go to the drugstore, bake him his favorite cookies when I can, help him with fliers for work and listen to his coaching stories with enthusiasm and genuine interest.  I take care of the cards and gifts when family and friends celebrate special occasions.  I try to at least have something ready for dinner when he comes home late from work (my back won’t allow for anything too elaborate but I do make a mean frittata and try to make sure he gets his greens in).  I clean as much as I can, even if it means just doing the dishes and making the bed.  I drop off the dry-cleaning.  I do what I can.  He does what he can.  Most of the time it works.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  But for the most part we talk about it, and  I express to SHL how uncomfortable I am with not being able to do things like make dinner or clean because my back.  He understands, but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel like I am disappointing.  Like I am not being a “good wife.”  Like I am not something that clearly I should be.

And then there are other, different expectations that don’t have anything to do with cooking or cleaning and that I hear comes up frequently for couples.  Expectations perhaps around in-laws (how often will we see my parents vs. yours?), money (you bought WHAT?), and sex (everything from the frequency decreasing to just being on totally opposite schedules or having kids).  And somehow all of these expectations seem to have shifted since getting married, and if you think about it, the shift makes sense and in a way, should happen.  There is a kind of anchoring that goes on when you pledge your commitment to another in the form of marriage, and then often times you find yourself trying to figure out the boundaries with your family (I can say that about my mother, you can’t!) while keeping your spouse (and your parents) happy… You may now have joint bank accounts which can add a certain amount of stress if you have different ways of dealing with money… And things that bothered you before you were married (the way he slurps his soup, for instance) may now seem to be under a microscope given the fact that you have now said yes to forever.  And these will be life-long issues if you don’t talk about them (hell they may be life long issues even if you do talk about them!).

And while talking about it may seem daunting, take the conversation that I had with SHL a couple of days ago, when I admitted to feeling guilty to not being the wife that I always thought I would be (and should be) because I’m not slaving over a hot stove or sewing his loose buttons back onto his shirts.  You know what he said?  “I just want you to be whoever you want to be.  I just want you to be happy.”  And the truth, despite the pressure I put on myself to be this perfect woman who clearly I am not?  I am, at the end of my non-making dinner days, happy.

And if that’s not worth all of the challenges of the first year of marriage, then I don’t know what is.

Dr. M June 20, 2011

I thought I was going to be sick.  My heart was pounding.  My stomach was twisted into one big great knot, and my palms were sweating.  I worried that when I met the fellow for the first time he would shake my hand and notice.  It didn’t matter that I had read my own MRI on the patient site of the hospital, or that if something was wrong I surely would have heard from the doctor before now.  At that moment, sitting in the doctor’s office staring at a piece of paper about new chemotherapy regimens tacked to a bulletin board, all I could think about was one word:  Cancer.

Up until a few years ago I was just seeing my surgeon who created the kind of treatment that I underwent in order to kill the tumor that was inside my eye.  But somewhere down the line my primary care doctor stated that she didn’t feel comfortable checking in with me regarding the maintenance of the cancer and wanted me to see an oncologist.  I remember that just the word, oncologist, scared me.  Enter Dr. M, by far and away my favorite doctor (maybe because he has never had to give me any bad news, knock on wood).  Dr. M and I only see each other once a year.  He states that my MRI looks good (it is recommended that I monitor my liver to make sure that nothing ever spreads) and that he thinks following me so closely is a good thing, as he is well aware that it decreases my anxiety over the year.  Plus, he always mentions that it “balances out his day nicely” since he likes to pat me on the back and say, “See you in a year!”  I have a feeling he doesn’t get to do that with very many patients.

Still, it is nerve-wracking.  One of my least favorite comments that I hear when people find out that I’m a cancer survivor is, “Well, it must get easier over time.”  I feel as though only people who have never had cancer say that.  Nothing about cancer is easy.  Yes the more years out I am from the cancer the less the doctors seem to want to see me.  But sitting there today, waiting 20 minutes for the fellow to come in and speak with me before Dr. M, I realized that 5 years later, it’s still scary.  There is always the possibility that somebody could get sick.  But when you’ve already been sick, you perhaps worry about those possibilities even more.

I couldn’t help but think about the first few months with the cancer, about wondering what the future would look like, about having my eyelid clipped open to receive radiation, about crying on my best friends shoulders because I didn’t want to scare my parents anymore than they already were and do that in front of them.  I couldn’t help but think about how many people suffer so much worse than I did, and then become scared of the future.  Most of us can push things like cancer to the back of our brains, but when you’re sitting at your oncologist’s office, that’s a hard thing to do.  I practiced my breathing.  I thought about what I was going to pack for my girls getaway to California this summer. I wondered what I would have for lunch when I got home.  I tried everything I could to not think about cancer.  It was hard.

I mentioned this to Dr. M, after we were done talking about our summers and how my last name has changed since he last saw me.  I told him that even though in my heart I knew that things were OK,  I still felt kind of sick to my stomach and scared.  And bless him, Dr. M looked into my eyes and said, “That is so normal.  It’s PTSD.  You’ve been through a lot.”  Just those 11 words and I immediately felt better.  Here was a doctor who wasn’t telling me that it “should” get better.  He wasn’t telling me to buck up because I’m lucky (even though I am).  He was giving my anxiety a name (PTSD) and telling me that my anxiety was warranted.  And suddenly, I had a much better perspective on the work that I do as a therapist.  So many of my clients have anxiety and I was reminded that to name it, validate it, and to explain the normalcy in such a circumstance, can relieve it in a big way.

Next week is my 6th month check-up, and hopefully I won’t see Dr. M until next year.  There are many days when I don’t think about the cancer at all, which is a blessing and some place I never thought I’d get to.  But when I do think about it, I let myself feel whatever I need to feel.  I don’t deprive myself of the grief, anger, or sadness that I occasionally feel just because others have been through worse or because a certain amount of time has gone by.  And then I move forward.  Because I didn’t survive cancer so that I could stay in the past.  I survived so that I can look towards the future, even on the days with Dr. M.

When Friends Become Family June 18, 2011

SHL and I recently flew down to Austin to visit my bestie, her husband, and two kids.  It was the first time that we were being introduced to Dheven, who was born on March 4th, and already it was breaking my heart a little bit that I hadn’t met this little guy in person yet (only over Skype).  When A’s first son was born she was living in Philly at the time, which made it much easier to hop on a train and visit when V was only 5 weeks old (I’ll never forget that weekend.  Seeing your BFF as a Mom for the first time is a pretty cool thing!).

A and I have been the closest of friends since our freshman year of college, and luckily we both always seem to put in an effort to make sure that we see each other as much as we can.  After college I went to NYC and she to Philly, so every couple of months one of us would catch a train and spend the weekend in the other’s city.  Throughout those first few years after college we met each other’s boyfriends, celebrated birthdays, tried all the cool restaurants in each of our ‘hoods, shopped, sipped cocktails, and basically did all those things that you love to do with your girlfriends.  Each year we would get together with our two other close friends and do something, whether it was attending A’s brother’s wedding in Houston, a long weekend in San Diego or Miami, or even vacationing in Greece!  Years went by and before I knew it, A was engaged, then married, then a Mom.  I was dating and then engaged to SHL, A had moved to Florida and then to Texas, I to Boston, and as you can imagine, our visits took a little bit more planning.  But still, we spent weekends together on the Cape, took V to Flamingo Gardens in Miami, celebrated my engagement and wedding, talked on the phone, and sent birthday gifts.  Sometimes our lives have been in very different places (A was dating, then engaged and married her husband while I was still single).   But somehow, despite the differences, there were always more than enough similarities to keep us close.

This last weekend in Austin was one of the best visits.  Maybe it was because I got to see A’s husband T and my husband pal around together (everybody wants their husbands to get along with their BFF’s husbands!), maybe it was because we got to meet Dheven for the first time and I got to give him a bath and cuddle with him, or maybe it was because V is now talking up a storm and has such a great sense of humor!  Maybe it was because A and I don’t just live in the past (though we love to tell stories of college, traveling in Europe, and snafus along the way), but because we still have as much to talk about as ever. Maybe it’s because while we celebrate the good times together (A was my Maid of Honor at my wedding) we also still lean on each other during the tough times too.  Maybe it’s because I truly feel like an Aunt when I’m with her kids, slathering sunscreen on V before we hit the tennis courts, taking pictures of the kiddos, plying with V in the pool, changing a diaper, giving a bath, reading a story. Maybe it’s because V calls us Aunty Sam and Uncle Sean and after we left we were thrilled to hear that he told his parents that he was going to Boston so he could visit us.  It’s a special kind of friendship that we all have with each other, and it’s not something that I take for granted, or ever want to.  And it truly is a great example of how friends really can become family.

Austin Texas, June 11th, 2011

Another article on BK (Before Kids) June 9, 2011

The Nest is at it again.  Remember that post a while back on their essential things to do before you have a baby?  Well now they’ve come out with yet another “you should” article entitled “6 Places to go Before You Have Kids.”  Hey, I’m as a big of a fan as anybody as living in the moment, but this is getting ridiculous.  Not only do I now have to gulp down margaritas galore while I still can and have a lot of sex (wait, that’s a bad thing?), but I have to go to Uruguay too apparently.  Wow, if I listen to the Nest.com my to-do list is surely going to continue to grow!

This article didn’t make me feel good, I have to admit.  Probably because travel is the biggest passion in my life and brings me the greatest joy, and I envision someday strapping my kids to my back and gallivanting around as if nothing has changed (delusional, I know!).  My parents passed on their love of seeing the world to me, and together we’ve traveled to places like Finland, France, Iceland, Belize, Peru, Jackson Hole Wyoming and Bermuda. Each and every trip brought me something new, whether it be a tangible object like my favorite Coca-Cola glass bottle from Russia (the USSR when I was there in ’86), or something memorable and yummy like the best breakfast I ever had on the Amalfi Coast.  And then, when I was old enough to travel myself it was to backpack in Europe with a friend, go to Greece for a girl’s trip, branch out and travel solo in Italy, and take honeymoons with SHL in Hawaii and Africa.  People always ask me how I make it to such extravagant and far-away destinations, and the truth?  1) I’m very, very lucky.  And 2) I make it happen because traveling to me is how I rejuvenate and how I get to my “happy place.”  (The happy place being wherever I am lucky enough to go).  Some people find the most joy in their own backyards.  I love home but truly, I live by Miriam Beardeing’s words: “Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”

So perhaps you can understand how I don’t want to envision a time when I won’t be able to go somewhere.  I know, I know, it doesn’t have to be forever (“When the kids get older, when you have more money, when you can get more vacation time, when when when”).  Though I have a feeling that if and when we’re lucky enough to be blessed with a family this won’t matter quite as much, right now I’m going to keep the fantasy going that my kids will be standing on the Great Wall of China when they’re about 5 years old!

With that being said, here are The Nest’s recommendations for where we newly married gals should go before we have kiddos, if we so choose (not going to assume that all married couples want to have kids).  I’ve only crossed off two of their recommendations so far, Tanzania  and Mykenos.  The other places that the nest recommends when it comes to exploring before babies arrive are: Talkeeta Alaska (never heard of it but I’ll take their word for it), Queenstown New Zealand, Siem Reap Cambodia, and Jose Ignacio Uruguay.

Next stop on my list?  I’m traveling to the world-wide web so that I can unsubscribe from this website and stop torturing myself of all the things that I “have” to do!

Cool, sweet, summer June 6, 2011

As the calendar date of summer approaches and our weather already feels like it is summer, I become more and more enthralled with all things cool, sweet, gooey, and refreshing.  I’ve become obsessed with googling water parks, frozen yogurt recipes, and cool straw hats to keep out the sand and sun that I dream I will need some shade from while on Cape Cod (I just have to get there).  I love this time of year, which comes as no surprise since most do.

Here are a few of the summer treats that I’m looking forward to.  Let me know what yours are and where I can get/find/eat/drink/see them!

So, living in the city and being surrounded by concrete and heat, all I can think about is the water.  I’m seriously considering playing hooky from work one day and finding a nearby water park (again, may need to borrow somebody’s kid to pull this off!).  Every summer at overnight camp we would take a field trip to Canobie Lake Park in N.H., and I’m seriously considering their log flume as a great distraction from the heat… www.canobielakepark.com

Ice cream.  Those two words should say it all, but here’s two more for you:  Max Brenner’s.  Finally they have opened in Boston!  So as tempting as those S’Mores and tutti frutti waffles are, this time I may have to opt for their “Eskimo” — a selection of 2 scoops of ice cream (dark, milk chocolate, dulce de leche or vanilla) in a “crispy sugared waffle cone served with warm chocolate sauce crunchy wafer balls and candied hazelnut crunchy bits.”  Uh, yeah!  www.maxbrenner.com

I used to love popsicles when I was a little kid, but somehow that passion for things on a stick disappeared right around the time I realized I was too old to run through the sprinklers.  Well I’m resurrecting my childhood this summer starting with the popsicle!  Have you heard of the Zoku Quick Pop?  It looks really cool (excuse the pun) and quick (and super yummy)… However, it’s $49.95!  To make pospicles!  Instead I’m opting for a grown-up version of the popsicle, courtesy of Emerile Lagasse and called the Margarita Popsicle. The price?  Whatever ingredients like tequila, fresh lemon juice, sugar, and dixie cups cost.  The taste?  Probably amazing!  I’ll post a pic when I make them and let you know.  Or if you make it first, let us know.  www.foodtv.com

When I think of summer, I think of mini-golf.  It’s something that SHL and I have always loved to do together, and one of our favorite places (and one that we’ll drive to just for the day) is Pirate’s Cove on Cape Cod.  It has your usual cascading waterfalls and pirate ships and is pretty awesome.  Check it out here: www.piratescove.net

And that hat I was talking about?  Don’t think I can pull of the “frayed Panama” but perhaps JCrew’s summer sun hat (for $45.00) will be just the thing… www.jcrew.com

You know you want to update your ipod with all of the walking along the beach you’ll be doing this summer, right?  My new favs are Adele and Mumford & Sons.  www.itunes.com

My new favorite place for manis and pedis is definitely MiniLuxe.  Sure, it’s a little bit more of a splurge than the average nail place that seems to crop up on every single street corner in the city, but it’s worth it.  The last time I went to one of those “average on every street corner places” for a manicure it bubbled and peeled in 2 days.  At MiniLuxe I feel like I’m at a spa; it’s roomy, bright looking, and the highlight– It’s clean.  Plus guys are more than welcome to get their KleanSpa Pedicure on with a whipped scrub and hydrating lotion  (and let’s face it, most guys could use that and more!).  I’m personally opting for the new Essie color Braziliant, a really fun and bright orange that will look great with a tan, once I actually get one! www.miniluxe.com

Speaking of feeling good, I love beauty minis from Sephora!  And as I head off to Cali this summer for a girl’s trip, I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to stock up on some travel-sized goodies.  The Ms. & Mrs. Miniemergency kit may be just what the TSA ordered; small enough to fit into the palm of your hand, this gold (or silver or purple) pouch is filled with things like tiny packets of Advil, band aids, Blistex lip ointment, dental floss, clear nail polish, breath fresheners, and hair elastics. Sign me up!  www.sephora.com

And last but not least, summer begs for time to be spent with family and friends.  During the winter I just want to hibernate and become one with my couch, so I find that I don’t see people as much as I would like.  But now that the sun is out and the sweaters are off, everybody seems to be much more in the mood for get-togethers. Summer has a certain charm about it.  The city comes alive, the flowers are in bloom, people dine outside and laugh a lot more than they do in wintertime!  (At least here in Boston). Whether it’s family bbqs or rooftop deck reunions with friends, it’s time to rejuvenate.  Things slow down in the summer for most of us, and we can more easily take long weekends than we can the rest of the year.  I know for me I can’t wait to visit my bestie down in Austin and spend some time with her two little ones at the pool, play at the beach with old camp friends on Cape Cod, relax at a spa with my Mom, and just generally enjoy getting some qt with those that I love.  Priceless.

Summer To-Do June 2, 2011

I recently came across another blog on the front page of wordpress (how do you get to be on the front page, anyway?) and was enamored by posts about pregnancy, friendships, DIY projects and summer to-do lists.  It got me thinking that my blog doesn’t always have to be so serious.  So far I’ve tackled moving anxiety, cancer, and envy, so now I think it’s time to talk about something a bit more lighthearted:  Summer!

Ahhh, summer.  How long you have evaded us, my friend.  And now that you have finally shown your face (albeit you showed up a little early this year!) and I am done licking my wounds for not completing bucket list # 48 go see a taping of Oprah,  I for one am going to set some goals for my last (possible) summer in the city.

Drumroll please…

Samantha’s Summer Bucket List:

1) I can’t wait for Summer in the City by the Boston Harbor!  Every year I say I’m going to take advantage of the outdoor movies and live music that is set on a floating stage anchored behind the hotel at the Rowes Wharf and I never do.  Well this year count me in Field of Dreams and The James Montgomery Band (even if I don’t know who you are!).

2) Boston Wine Festival.  ‘Nuff said.

3)  Picnic at Walden Pond.  Now I know that this isn’t exactly in the heart of the city (for you out-of-state peeps it’s about 20 miles away), but it’s still something that I’ve always wanted to do and would be a perfect outing with SHL or with friends (or both!).

4) Thought fish bowls were a thing of the past?  How I miss those days at Brother Jimmy’s in NYC!  Well now I can sip al fresco at The Landing at Long Wharf; a perfect summer evening for sure.

5) Finally make that home-made ice cream.  SHL and I got an awesome ice cream/frozen yogurt/sorbet maker for our wedding, but then winter clobbered us and I was perpetually too cold to eat ice cream.  Now that it’s blazing hot out, though, I can certainly easily conjure up images of mint-chocolate chip ice cream…

6) Run through the sprinklers.  Yes, you read that right.  It was one of my most favorite things to do as a kid, and now that I’m past the age of 30 (OK, past the age of 8) it’s kind of frowned upon, isn’t it?  So maybe one of you will let me borrow your kid(s) for a day?

7) Channel my inner secret-agent and play a virtual reality game powered by Urban Interactive’s city adventures.  This is kind of like a scavenger hunt meets an online video game.  Doesn’t that just remind you of some terrible hazing activity you had to do in college while running around the city in 108 degree heat?  Yeah, me too.  I can’t wait.

8) How did I not know about this before?  Now that I do I’m eager to check out the Farmer’s Market, crafts tables, and food trucks at the SoWa Open Market in the South End.

9) Attend a BBQ Beach Party hosted by the Phantom Gourmet!

10) Go to a Sox game.  Yes, I have done this many, many times before.  But it never, ever gets old.

What’s on your summer ’11 bucket list?

Justified Dreams May 25, 2011

I recently received an email from an old friend of mine who is enjoying a new chapter in her life:  Pregnancy.  My friend described what the future may hold for their new family as she and her husband try to make decisions around issues like where to live once their baby is born.  They currently live in a small cottage on the water in Rhode Island but they are thinking of moving and living on a boat.  Yes, you read that right:  They want to live on a boat.  Both of them live for the water, and sailing is their passion (in fact, it’s how they met, and my friend’s husband has even built his own boat!).  My friend went on in her email to say that when she mentioned what she and her hubby were thinking of doing people had all kinds of opinions about it, mostly that she was “crazy” for thinking that she could take care of a little baby while living aboard what I gather would be a pretty small boat (compared to a house).  What she seemed to be saying was that making any decision like this is scary, but I got the feeling that it’s not just because it would be a big change, but also because people have told her that it’s “impossible” to have a child aboard a boat when they’re that young.  She’s going against the grain and feels like even to the most well-intentioned friend she has to justify her hopes and dreams.

This got me thinking that we’ve all felt as though we’ve had to justify a hope or dream at some point in our life, haven’t we?  And why?  Since when was it anybody else’s place to tell us what we can and cannot do, let alone that what we wish for is wrong, or impossible?  How did people get to be so judgemental?  (And I’m not taking myself out of that equation since I’ve had my share of judgemental moments as well with everybody from my best friend to a complete stranger).  And how much does this affect the decisions that we make in our own personal lives?  How difficult it is, I now realize, to stay true to yourself when you can’t block out the noise of others, especially when that noise reflects the uncertainty that perhaps we feel in our own heads and hearts.

Have you ever wondered why somebody tells another that what they want to do, whether it be start their own business, try their hand at acting, adopt a child, write a book, or sell their house and travel the world with two small children, is impossible?  Crazy?  Silly?  Unrealistic?  Is it because they’re jealous?  Because THEY’RE not doing something so brave themselves?  Is it because they believe that their path is the right way, the best way?  That because it’s working for them, or hell because they can’t even fathom doing it any other way, it must be the ”right” path for everybody else as well?

This same friend who is now trying to justify her dream of living on a boat is also the friend who desperately wanted to get a dog about 3 years ago when she and her now husband were dating.  She tells me that everybody then also had their opinions and when she would discuss her hope for owning a pooch was told “It’s so much work.”  As if she didn’t know.  As if she asked for their opinion!  As if she hadn’t had dogs growing up, wasn’t 32 years old and totally competent, and needed to hear others tell her that it was a bad idea, instead of just saying “That’s awesome.  A dog is so much fun and such a great companion to have.”  I hope I said it, but even I can’t be sure.  The point? Whether you’re having a baby, living on a boat, adopting a dog, changing a career, ending a relationship, anything… Everybody has an opinion about it and everybody, somehow, feels the need to pass it on… Even if you didn’t ask.

But my friend has another reason for wanting to live out her dream on a boat now, in the present, and not wait until later in life.  It’s because, about a month after she got married, she was diagnosed with MS (she started having symptoms shortly before her wedding last September).  Thankfully there is a chance that she may not have any other symptoms for years to come, and also another possibility that she may never have another symptom, but we just don’t know what will happen in the future.  All the more reason to live for the moment.  My friend realizes how difficult it would be to live on a boat if g-d forbid her symptoms ever became full-blown.  Not something that most people our age have to think about, but she does.

And I too have been in that moment.  Not with MS, but with cancer, and I have to say that until you’ve had a defining moment where you think that your life is going to be forever changed and you face your own mortality, you can’t really fathom what flashes right before your eyes.  For me first it was:  Will I go blind?  Will I lose an eye?  Will I die?  And then it was facing the fear of never getting married, having kids, writing a book, or going on safari in Africa.  Things like that put your life into perspective and help to drown out of the noise of others.  (Sad that it takes something so life-altering to be able to block out that noise).  I can’t do something?  Or I shouldn’t do something?  I just survived (fill in the blank)… No way are others going to dictate how the rest of my life unfolds.

I for one so admire my friend and her husband.  Yes, living on a boat with a baby seems like it would be difficult, no doubt.  But so are a lot of things in life.  So is having a baby.  So is picking up and moving from one city to another.  So is going back to school.  So is getting married.  But we do them, because we want to experience life, not always sit on the sidelines.  Because we want to be challenged.  Because without risk there isn’t always a reward.  And then it occurs to me:  I do these things, sometimes.  Things that scare me.  Things that are hard.  And so does my friend who goes against the grain and lives her truth.  The realization?  That doesn’t mean that everybody does, and maybe the naysayers are the ones who aren’t even in touch with their greatest dreams.  Or the ones who would never dare to try for fear of being laughed at or judged.   (And this realiziation will maybe make it a bit easier to swallow the next time you meet a naysayer).  Who can’t relate to that fear?

So my friends have dreams of their own, and who am I to persuade them that because I wouldn’t (or couldn’t) do it, they shouldn’t do it?  People are quick to point out the negative, to wonder if you will fail, to almost hope for it sometimes it seems.  I say, scared as I am and you may be too– Blaze your own trail.  I say go for it.  I say, be happy.  Yes, HAPPY.  Be true to yourself.  Live the life you’ve imagined and not the one you think you’re “supposed” to have.  Dust off that doubt and dive in.  You may swim.  You may sink.  But at least your dream will be your own and nobody else’s.  At least you can one day look at your children and say, “It’s OK to think big.  Make it happen.  Try things.  Let go of the noise of others and listen to what you have to say.  Make mistakes.  Knock it out of the park.”  I know it’s not easy or I wouldn’t even be writing this post, but at least if you try you’ll have a better shot of living by your own blueprint.  And what more could you hope to give your children, hell what more could you hope to give yourself, than the ability to live your truth and to pursue even your greatest dreams?

Looking back… May 16, 2011

With a weekend spent contemplating where I’ve been in my life and where I would like to go, I thought I would share with you the plan that I had for writing a memoir before I turned 30.  This was a post on my previous blog Almost30, written on October 24th, 2006.  What happened to these memoir ideas you may be wondering?  Well throughout the years they have lingered and then dissipated, and then resurfaced and then disappeared.  The ebb and flow of writing, life, writer’s block, and feeling as though “What’s it all for?”  Perhaps now, though, the ideas are here to stay, though my story is different and my perspective, I hope, has matured.  Here is a snippet of what I thought I could shape into a memoir, someday. 

 Would you read it?

I’m currently in the middle of trying to pick a title for what I hope will be my memoir!  Exciting stuff, so I wanted to share what I have so far.  I recently took a writing class where I had to really think about my “angle” and capturing a reader’s attention.  I’ve found that the (emotional) pain of losing my eyelashes to cancer and of letting go of an unhealthy relationship is what seems to be at the forefront of my mind when it comes to my story.  So here goes…

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Eyelashes: An Almost 30′s Guide to Life, Love, and Cancer

Don’t Cry Over Spilled Eyelashes: Battling Cancer and Dating While Keeping A Sense of Humor

Almost 30: How I battled being second best to ESPN and Other Tales

Letting Go to Find Myself: How I Battled Being An Almost 30 Year Old Single Woman With Cancer

Don’t Cry For Me ESPN:  Finding Myself Before The Age of 30

Cancer Took My Eyelashes But ESPN Stole My Man

Any thoughts?

Here is how I would summarize my writing:

This is the story of a 20-something year old fearing her 30′s, skillfully avoiding intimacy while craving soulful companionship.  It’s about being loved less than the game of tennis, and trying to survive cancer even when the prognosis for your health is good– and the prognosis for your life is going downhill.  It’s about fighting your innermost demons while trying to keep a sense of humor, and about dodging Jewish guilt from Mom and Dad while trying to find your own sense of self.  It’s about staying true to yourself even when others push you to your limits, and facing your own mortality before the ripe old age of 30. 

It’s a memoir full of struggles and accomplishments throughout what feels like a lifetime, though I am not even 30 yet.  It’s about going to college far from home to find a sense of independence and adventure, and moving to New York City as an unemployed and utterly lost 22-year-old.  It’s about living and working in New York City and documenting the ups and downs of life, finding a humorous way of looking at things because really, there is no other choice.  It’s about living through awful jobs with bosses who make you cry, finding a fulfilling career, ending a 5 year relationship, being single in the city, learning to travel solo, and being diagnosed with eye cancer at the age of 28. 

These bits and pieces of my life are filled with honest and funny tales that all can relate to, men and women alike.  It’s about friendships, struggles with self-identity, and living and dating while battling cancer.  In this book I come to find myself, to understand that my appreciation for humor and my ability to laugh at myself has seen me through some pretty tough times.  It is in being totally candid that I weave a story that is universal, engaging readers of all kinds while finding a unique perspective on life. 

Would you read it?

October 24, 2006

Turning the page when we just started the chapter May 11, 2011

It may sound cliché, but whatever happened to being in the moment?  This was a topic of conversation the other night as I sat around with my girlfriends eating chips and salsa and wondering why the moment you say “I do,” people begin to ask when you are going to have children.

The fact of the matter is, we live in a country (or is it the world?) where everybody is always on to the next big thing.  As soon as you graduate from high school everybody wants to know where you’ll be going to college and what you’ll be studying.  You graduate from college, and before that last piece of graduation cake is eaten or the final picture of you and your friends in cap and gowns is taken, it’s on to the “real world.”  Not a lot of time to celebrate or to hope for your future.  The message is clear:  It’s time to move on, and everybody wants to know exactly how you plan on doing just that.

The same goes for relationships.  If you’re dating and not getting engaged, people want to know why.  They feel, it seems, that a woman could not possibly be happy enjoying the companionship of the relationship without a ring on her finger.  Of course for some women this is true:  They can’t enjoy the relationship without that ring (no judgement, just sayin’), but for many others, they want to be in the moment and to enjoy falling in love, no?

Case in point:  The second that SHL and I got engaged everybody wanted to know if we had set the date.  We had only been dating for about a year and a half when we got engaged, not that long, so it was hard to understand the sense of urgency that others felt for us to get hitched.  Sure we were thrilled to be planning our wedding and we couldn’t wait to marry each other, but it’s not as though it was the 1950′s, I was knocked up, and needed to run down that aisle!  (And if it’s because we’re in our 30′s that will have to be a whole other post.  Anyone interested in reading about the pros and cons of getting married in your 30′s instead of your 20′s?).  The second we said our vows everybody wanted to know when we were going to have children.  Can I have a piece of wedding cake first, please?!  And go on my honeymoon and maybe enjoy going to the movies on Saturday nights and having a margarita because I can before I move on to babies?  So in talking with my friends over that dinner we began to wonder why everybody is in such a rush to move on to the next great thing?  Sure, having children and a house and all those other things that we’re told we’re supposed to want (and hey, a lot of us do, me included) are wonderful if we want them, but why are we so eager to turn the page when we just started the chapter?

I for one can’t wait for all of the wonderful things that I hope will happen for SHL and myself.  There’s still so much to enjoy out of life, so many more surprises, so many more changes, so many more twists and turns and special occasions and day to day living and growing to do. But sometimes I have to remind myself not to forget about today; not to drown out the tender and quiet moments that we share now all in anticipation of what will be.  I want to savor the anticipation.  I want to enjoy the “now.”  I want those surprises to be surprises and I want the truth of what my life is supposed to be to unravel at the pace it is supposed to unravel, and not a moment sooner.