precious cargo

the anxiety and self-loathing started last month. interspersed between santa commercials and holiday sales were the barrage of weight loss and self-help spots. before the big ball dropped in times square to usher in 2016, the media was already preying on our fears—and predicting our inevitable failure to live up to those grandiose goals we set for ourselves.

“80% of people fail to fulfill their new year’s resolutions.”

and let's be honest. the other 20% are likely chronic over-achievers (you know who you are) who have berated themselves for not doing the other 10 things on their list.

so why even bother?

i am a big believer in visualization, in writing things down, and the magic that can happen when you don’t just think about a desire, a want, a goal—but you commit to it in a tangible way. i have found that, consciously or not, the mere act of announcing that intention to the universe (even if you are the only person who hears it) propels you somehow toward the end goal. sometimes it happens in huge, life-altering ways. but most often it’s little ones that put you on a trajectory and move you ever so slightly in that direction.

and guess what… that’s ok.

yes, you should absolutely think about your goals. look inward and find that fire in your gut. lean back. dream big. and commit yourself fully to whatever it is you are striving for in life or work, personal relationships or self-fulfillment. even buy a stack of power ball tickets for good measure.

but remember to balance those resolutions with respect for yourself and how far you’ve come.

nothing and no one is perfect. screw unattainable goals.

forward progress and baby steps, kindness and compassion, raising people up versus tearing them down, being true to yourself and present in moments that truly matter—that is #winning in my book.

this new year is a gift. and this life of ours, it’s precious. fragile. for anyone who has experienced illness or loss, you know that in a whisper, the blink of an eye, all can be lost.

so in your quest for the better you, don’t forget to celebrate all that you are and have —and every experience that brought you to this moment.

yes, look forward... but live in the now.

cottage life

anyone who has grown up spending summers at a lakeside cottage knows “the feeling.” the brimming anticipation once the dates are set. the mental checklist of requisite supplies that begins to take shape the week before leaving. the behemoth “to bring” pile in the corner of the living room stacked high with swimsuits, towels, sunscreen, goggles, fishing rods, flip flops, first aid kit, food, food and more food. the song-filled drive and intermittent storytelling about the past years’ antics. the flutter in your heart when you pull into the drive and look out at the sunshine sparkling on the lake. the thundering stampede of little footsteps scrambling down the dock to see if there are any fish waiting to welcome our arrival.

slowly each family filters in and the quiet house comes to life, erupting with sounds: doors opening, bags shuffling, playful teasing, children squealing, hearts filled with so much joy.

growing up in cleveland with parents who couldn’t swim, i never had the opportunity to experience cottage life. sure we traveled a ton, but it was mostly to cities, and lodging ranged from relatives’ houses to hotels. never the same place year after year, it was much more about experiencing the new versus settling into the same old, same old…and i was perfectly fine with that.

my husband, on the other hand, grew up with a family cottage. nestled on a small lake in michigan, their cottage was built by his grandfather, stone by stone, wood beam by wood beam. and for over 50 years, it served as the centering point for the family’s most cherished memories. i know many of them by heart—not because i actually experienced them firsthand, but rather because they were told and retold countless times throughout our time together:

the time when my husband, who is never at a loss for words, was so enamored by the sound of his own voice that he literally walked and talked himself right off the dock and into the water, mid-sentence! Or the endless hours they’d spend playing fetch with liza, their black lab, throwing rocks off the dock and watching her dive "like an otter" under the water to retrieve them. waterskiing on the glassy lake from dawn till dusk. the green leather chaise lounge that was cool in the summer but would stick to your wet bathing suit when you sat down. michigan brand cottage cheese with vine ripened tomatoes and chives cut from grandma’s garden.

one of the greatest gifts my husband ever shared with me was introducing me to “cottage life.” when we started our family, we took the plunge, finding a beautiful cottage online in glen arbor, michigan called the beechtree lodge. (as a side note, i came to find out the word “cottage” can mean anything from a cozy traditional bungalow to a ginormous modern house, with the only essential element being close proximity to water.)

for four years in a row, we rented the same cottage, affectionately dubbed “the big house” by our son the first time he laid eyes on it. with each year, we created vivid memories, celebrated milestones, and shared countless simple moments…that live on through the stories we tell, yes, over and over again:

our 3-year-old’s very first flip-flopped sprint down the dock at full speed. gorging on homemade cinnamon sugar donuts and farm fresh fruit pies from barb's bakery. catching minnows using goldfish (crackers) as bait. lazing on the hammock listening to our little boy hold court, chatting, laughing, snuggling. hearing little voices giggling from a rectangular chest on the patio, only to find seven (i repeat seven) chimpy-faced grins staring back at me and yelling “SURPRISE!” when i lifted up the lid. watching my dad bob like a cork, legs straight up in the air while trying to find his balance on an inner tube. “the car wash,” when my mom got unceremoniously dunked into the lake from less-than-stellar instructions on how to hold the rope on said inner tube. watching my parents quietly watching my kids—their grandkids—while morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. discovering that my husband’s wonderful waterskiing skills landed his wedding ring somewhere down at the bottom of the lake (ok that might not have been my fondest memory!). schooling my brother on skiing, watching him leave dejected for not getting up one year, and then returning, determined—and triumphant—the next. plunging one by one into the crystal clear deep blue lake. laying on our backs on the dock in the pitch black night looking up in awe at the star-studded sky. tubing, boating, fishing, skiing, eating…and always howling laughter emanating from all corners of that big, beautiful house.

every year we yielded to the gravitational pull—the heartstrings beckoning us back—away from home and yet closer to home than anywhere else. exercise was certainly not a priority at the cottage, but our abs were worked out daily with hysterical belly laughs and endless hours of talking about everything and nothing.

when i pictured a “cottage” in my youth, i imagined a cozy hansel & gretel-style house in the middle of an enchanted forest. knowing what i know now, perhaps i wasn’t too far off. magic happens in those times when we’re away from the everyday. when we can see clearly the stuff and the people that matter most. maybe that’s pixie dust twinkling on the water at daybreak. or maybe it’s just us, living life as it should be...

unplugged

when was the last time you were truly disconnected? from work. from email. from facebook and twitter. telephone and tv.

for me, it’s been a long, long while. when we planned a recent trip to belize, the resort promised wifi access from the pool, a plethora of cable channels on tv and all the modern comforts of home. perfect. I’d be able to relax and stay connected…

but after the first day at this tropical central american paradise, i began to ask myself: stay connected to what? the mind-numbing shows i watch to decompress from long days at work. the minutiae of people’s daily lives broadcast on facebook (which admittedly the creepster in me loves to scan to keep up with all my connections). the outlook in box and calendar alerts that keep me strapped to my desk from hours on end. the big lovely white watch that (though i love it for the beauty of the timepiece) ticks away the minutes as i move like an automaton from task to task and meal to meal until bedtime. wake up. rinse. repeat.

when you’re sitting on a deserted beach listening to the gentle waves of the caribbean lapping the white sandy shore, you have lots of time to think. for me, it wasn’t the deep, intellectual type of thoughts, but more fluid, unfettered, stream-of consciousness kind.

as i soaked in all of the “unbeliezable” sights (yes, one of their taglines actually is unbeliezable!—hilarious but actually pretty accurate if you ever lay eyes on this amazing country), one word kept popping into my mind: unplugged.

i was amazed at how easy it was to let go of all the drama. at&t’s outrageous international plan made it a no-brainer to sever the iphone appendage.  for the first time ever, i didn’t take a single peek at email. checked facebook two or three times…and i was in utter bliss.

unplugged. my thoughts wandered to mtv. (it’s amazing how a couple of pina coladas can stir up the random thoughts). anyway, at the risk of dating myself, i can proudly say i’m a member of the mtv generation.  the spectacle. the music matched to mind-blowing eye candy. who doesn’t remember waiting with baited breath for the ghoul-dancing, vincent price-laughing, moonwalking michael jackson in the world premier of "thriller." or boy george’s rainbow frocks and even more effervescent face as he shimmied his way through  “karma chameleon.” or joe elliott’s union jack and acid washed rendition of “pour some sugar on me.” or robert palmer’s slicked-back seduction with “addicted to love” (hated the song but god those ladies were fierce!). and yes, steve perry crooning “faithfully” on a dark stage lit by moving spotlights and flickering lighters in the crowd.

but i digress…all of the bells and whistle of these early videos were awesome. but one of my all-time favorite mtv moments was actually an anti-spectacle.

nirvana. live and unplugged.

no pyrotechnics. no crazy outfits. no cristal popping gangsters. no smoke. no mirrors. no noise.

just kurt cobain. in a cardigan. guitar in hand. soul on his sleeve.

simple. poetic. from the heart.

moments we all should strive for.

i found nirvana in belize. here’s to bringing it home too…

making lemonade

the violet hour is a hipster lounge in our neighborhood with a whimsical energy and a retro vibe. inside, succulent cocktails are served amidst ultra-high wing back chairs, twinkling chandeliers and cascading cornflower blue drapes. outside, the air of intrigue is underscored by the utterly obscure façade.

there is no sign, no logo, no marker that it’s there. just a collection of plywood panels that are regularly painted and repainted with interesting images and pop art iconography.

a few days ago, we were driving by and this scene caught my eye. the previously brown panels had been painted sky blue, and across the entire façade, a flock of birds appeared to flutter across the canvas. it was a cool graphic amidst the concrete cityscape. and yes, perhaps there was a bit of disney nostalgia that drew me to those cute little birds.

but as we drove closer, something else came into view. the black spray paint marring the idyllic scene. it’s hardly the first time the site has been tagged—i mean, a blank city wall pretty much screams out to the gangsters and graffiti artists of the world. but it nonetheless bummed me out.

i started to go off on a tirade about mean people and frustrating circumstances and how, no matter what we do, crappy things are simply sometimes beyond our control.

…and then i noticed something else.

the birds weren’t just placed randomly flying across the wall. they were nestled on the graffiti itself.

perched on top of the words. nesting in the cradle of the letters. and down at the bottom, a deviant chicken with a can of spray paint in his hand.

i realized that instead of rushing to repaint the wall immediately after it got tagged, the owners turned the graffiti into a part of the art. the writing became branches—the perfect stoop for tweety and his feathered friends. and there was the villain in all his “fowl” (buh dum bum!) err foul glory…it wasn’t perfect, not nearly as pristine…but then again life isn’t.

it was an awesome case of making lemonade out of lemons. sometimes we just have to deal. make the best of a bad situation. accept that shit happens. often out of our control. often to good people. but sometimes, also with a flipside. perhaps even an upside. the challenge is finding a way to make it work.

deserve a break?

after i had my second baby, a friend gave me a spa gift certificate. “you’ve had a long, 9 months so you totally deserve to pamper yourself.” i agreed. it was the sweetest gesture and the perfect antidote to carrying around a big bowling ball in my belly for nearly a year…

so why, after almost 2 full years, is the certificate still sitting in my purse—edges tattered, practically ripping in half, promo code just about smudged beyond recognition?

if you’ve seen my shoe collection, you know that i certainly do not deny myself life’s indulgences. so what the hec is my problem? how could something so wonderful—and needed—actually turn into a source of guilt and stress.

running through the inner dialogue, the answer starts to emerge.

“i’ve got to make that spa appointment. i’ve been so exhausted and stressed…

i just need to get at least 3 workouts in first.

the boys need to go in for their annual checkups.

i have to finish that presentation for work.

mom and dad are coming in next weekend.

the house is a mess—got to fold 5 loads of laundry.

…and on and on and on.”

it struck me. no one can escape reality. but why do we feel, consciously or not,  like we’ve got to “earn” the right to take a break? that we’ve got to take care of everyone and everything else before ourselves?

we wait until we’re on our death bed to take a sick day…and then get 10 times sicker. we carry around our obligations like a badge of honor (or perhaps a scarlett “A”), and with it the perfect accessories: a pair of furrowed eyebrows and snide remarks that slip out like a bad case of turrets.

i’ve got news: we all deserve a break. we all need to decompress. we don’t need to martyr, say 10 hail mary’s, and do our penance before doing something little (a massage, a manicure, a night out with friends, hell a $5 boot shine) or big (a trip to a tropical island—yes i have one booked!), to take care ourselves. of our souls.

you don’t need to earn it. you just need to do it.

pure expression

do you remember a time when you did something simply for the love of doing it? not because someone told to. or because it was an assignment. not for cheers or accolades from friends or teachers or bosses. but just because it made you truly happy.

for many of us, these times are few and far between.

i recently heard an amazing story about a photographer named vivian maeir. she lived her life quietly, unassumingly, working as a nanny for various north shore chicago families over the past 40 years. that was pretty much all anyone knew of her. she was fiercely private, kept to herself, with the only hint of personality being that she was once described as a “mary poppins-like” figure by children who she cared for

but she left behind an amazing trove of treasures that are setting the art world on fire. discovered in an abandoned storage unit were boxes containing thousands of images—more than 100,000 to be exact—prints, negatives and even undeveloped rolls of film containing images of street scenes she captured during her lifetime.

mostly black and white, her photos are beautiful, poignant moments in time, many touching, sometimes humorous, and they bring to life the 50s in Chicago with photojournalistic vibrancy and artistic vision …

but she rarely shared a glimpse with anyone….and then she passed away.

some might say it’s tragic that she had such talent, such amazing perspective, but it didn’t get discovered until after her death. but would she really have wanted her work to be scrutinized, fawned over, critiqued by the masses?

now that she’s gone, we’ll never know…but i’d offer a different perspective. perhaps she just did it, purely, for herself. because there was something inside that she wanted to express. because it was something she was passionate about—that was all her own. without judgment. without criticism. without worrying about what people thought.

if there’s something that you love, that excites you, that you’ve always wanted to try, that simply makes you happy—carve out a space for it. guard it. protect it. nurture it. because if everyone sees it or no one does, it will always be yours.

An exhibition of Vivian Maier’s work, “Finding Vivian Maier: Chicago Street Photographer,” is on display at the Chicago Cultural Center, through April 3, 2011.

gratitude

a few weeks ago, i went to dinner with my very dear friend. though she’s about ninety pounds soaking wet, she’d take on a linebacker if she thought they crossed her friends in any way. she’s loyal to the core, scrappy, and utterly hilarious. oh and did i mention she does a mean robot dance?

though we were nearly inseparable when we worked together, that was years ago, and since then, it’s been a juggling act of work, family and life obligations that have made it a challenge to get together. when we finally do connect,  it is as it always is: laughing, knee slapping and just enjoying each other’s company.

several days after we met up, i got a text.

“we were in a cab last night driving on the highway. a car cut us off. we spun around and hit the median. the back windshield shattered…”

my heart stopped. chills ran up my spine.

“i can’t believe we walked away without a scratch. we were so lucky.”

lucky.

we toss around the word in everyday conversation with little regard for its depth of meaning. but then something like this happens, and you’re shocked into submission—submitting to the reality that life is truly fragile. that one minute, you can be completely fine, going about your business, and then all of a sudden, it could be over.

were you present for the moments that mattered? did you appreciate what you had?

many years ago, i read a book called “simple abundance.” it was all about how gratitude for simple things can change your whole perspective on life. as a way of putting theory into practice, the author issued a challenge:

write down 5 things you are thankful for everyday.

and so began the gratitude journal. every night before bed, i’d jot down a list. the entries ranged from major (a raise, a birthday spent with loved ones) to mundane (a delicious meal, something that made me laugh, no traffic on the way to work, a perfectly starry night).

after i ran out of pages, i didn’t go out and buy another journal. why? i didn’t need to.  thinking about things i’m grateful for—big and small—things that i’m truly “lucky” to be blessed with, became a lens with which i looked at the world. and as i think about it, now i’m not putting pen to paper, but rather, fingers to keyboard. same message, different medium.

even during the most horrible of days, i never had a blank page. not once. sometimes we need only look around and those simple, elemental things—that we often take for granted—are right under our nose.

fresh green grass to twinkle your toes in.

cotton clouds that inspire dreams.

pure white snow that blankets tree branches.

bleeding sunsets that light up the sky.

little things that can be blindingly beautiful.

that doesn’t mean we ever stop striving, evolving, reaching for more….but on the way, remember the gifts are there. you just have to see and appreciate them.

water under the bridge

have you ever had a friend let you down? a time when you needed them, and they bailed? a moment when things just blew up? when the angst took on a life of its own? an epiphany that made you say enough is enough. i’m done.

when you’re in the midst of drama, it’s vivid. it’s raging. and all you can see is red… and black and white. you think of how you were wronged. how they had the audacity to treat you that way. how you were right and they were clueless. how shades of grey were only reserved for met home layouts—not your life.

in circumstances like that, it’s easy to walk away. friendships are so hard to maintain as it is. who has the time or energy to deal with someone who’s not going to give you the respect you deserve? someone who you can’t count on when things get rough.

…and then time or facebook or a reunion or a wedding brings them back into your life. what do you do?

whether it’s been a few months or many years, memories come flooding back. relationships that weren’t meant to be. grudges that played out long ago in another life. friends that simply fell off the face of the earth due to changes that sent you in opposite directions.

when you look back, it’s amazing how the colors fade and edges soften. you realize how much you’ve changed. you wonder what all the fuss was about. you laugh about old times and experiences that you had back in the day. you amazingly pick up right where you left off.

and if it was a really good friend, you dig a little deeper, only to find that the day they let you down, they were down too. that when you had a problem, they were dealing with their own. that maybe, just maybe, it was timing or circumstances that conspired against you both.

as i’ve gotten older, i’ve come  to embrace the idea of forgiveness—of others and yourself. understanding that it’s sometimes complicated. accepting the past and moving on. truly valuing all the experiences you’ve had, places you’ve gone, people you’ve met, situations you’ve learned from. because it’s the bits and pieces of the past that shape you…and it’s never too late to add to the mosaic.

wet-nosed, tail-wagging love

portrait of ginger

whenever i meet someone who doesn’t like dogs, my spidey sense goes off. i watch, scrutinize, observe their interactions, and most often find that they’re…different. a little bit colder, some even crusty, harder around the edges, solitary—unlike us.

the dog lovers of the world. to us, it’s unfathomable that your heart can do anything but burst every time your dog comes to greet you at the door. snout sniffing. tongue licking. tail wagging.

every day. since the first day they came into your life.

to call a dog a “pet” just utterly falls short. sure we house them and feed them and walk them. but anyone who’s had one knows: dogs are beings that connect with us like no other animal can. we don’t just own them. we give to them, and they give back.

loyal. devoted. playful. curious. companions. protectors. filled with gratitude. devoid of judgment. foot warmers. soul quenchers. pure, unwavering love.

the mouse

when we first got ginger, she was a sweet, gangly little puppy (well, little relative to full-grown dane standards). honey colored coat and a chocolate-dipped snout. giant paws and knuckles. endearingly sweet demeanor and sometimes timid—whenever she got nervous, she would leeeeaan on one of us until we just about fell over.

the supermodel

as she grew, she would trot like a pony in the park, tail wagging, lips flapping, nose wet from taking in all the sights and smells. she was our baby. a big giant loving baby…who happened to think she was a mouse. even when she grew to be 150 pounds, she would gingerly climb into my lap and cuddle just like baby huey. in her prime, she was a long, lean supermodel who would turn heads whenever she walked down the street.

the gift

when we had kids, things changed. she was and always would be our girl…but crying babies and diapers and work and life made it hard to give her the attention she deserved. walks were less frequent. trips to the park more sparse. i always felt guilty. but in her eyes you could see, despite it all, she never held a grudge. never held it against us. she knew. she understood. and she’d be there for us no matter what. for as much or as little as we could give. that was her gift.

pure, unwavering love. she had it for us until she took her last breath. we have it for her to this very day…and always will.

Photos by Max Gough

unleashing the prisoner

new year. new promises. it’s that time of year again, when we take stock of our lives: reflect on the blessings and isolate the areas for improvement. we resolve to exercise more. eat healthier.  save money. give time—to friends, family or whatever it is you neglected over the course of the previous year.

for most of us, the annual period of self-reflection is not about reinventing oneself, but rather, just striving to be better. it’s not about perfection, but perspective. perseverance. perpetual discovery. not an end goal, but a process.

in reflecting on it, my mind immediately went to florence. go figure: new year, rebirth, the renaissance. but what specifically came to mind were the figures above: “i prigioni” (the prisoners), amazing unfinished sculptures by michelangelo. they sit, unassumingly, in a long hallway of the galleria dell'academia that ultimately leads to the iconic masterpiece, david.

while thousands of people each year stampede forward, striving to experience the perfection that is david, many overlook the beauty of a different kind. beauty that stands in contrast to the gorgeous, idealized statues that adorn every other inch of the hall.

the prisoners are rough. slabs of carrara marble with human forms struggling to break free. in fact, it was michelangelo’s belief that he didn’t sculpt figures into marble at all: he liberated them out of it. chipping away slowly and artfully to expose the being within.

they’re moving. in flux. unresolved, yet full of potential. unfinished works of art.

much like us. perfection is an ideal. a goal to strive for. a source of inspiration. but it’s not real life—with its bumps, hard edges, blemishes and barriers. it’s not about the end game, but the process. each year, each day, both successes and failures help us to chip away, to unearth, to unleash what is captive within us.

hopefully it’s a little bit stronger. a little bit wiser. a little bit better you.