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forgive

forgive yourself

February 22, 2015

i’m only 53 days late for my new years resolution. and the xmas cards, which for the last few years have become the new years card, this year, officially became the facebook post.

i have a perfectly legitimate excuse. i left the company i’ve worked at for seven years—a job and people i know inside and out—and took a new post at another agency. better title, bigger challenge, a world of new opportunity…and a heaping helping of additional stress… all while juggling parenting, two kids, household chores, and the myriad of annoying little tasks that make up daily life.

yet somehow, the voice inside my head refuses to cut me some slack. i have this nagging sense of guilt. my conscience wags its critical finger, chiding me for all the failures i’ve racked up during this time of transition. cousin xmas gifts—finally in the mail, just shy of march. photo canvases and family albums—a mere figment of my time-zapped imagination. best friend phone call five months overdue thanks to the barrage of homework and nightly bedtime rituals. closet purging—suspended in my room, halfway done in once-organized piles that get a little more messy with each morning’s mad dash to get dressed and out the door. spring cleaning—yeah right. talk to the tornado whose name starts with “L” and ends with “ogan.”

i feel like a wimp for even whining about it. like the “dog ate my homework" excuse, it seems like a cop-out. “sorry, all of you fabulous friends who managed to go see santa (another mandatory ritual i also missed this year), crank out ten batches of cookies AND send out cards on time (hell, at all!)… i just got too busy so i opted out this year. and to make matters more egregious, i refused to confess my failure on facebook to make a point, if only to myself.

a couple friends who are also fighting the good fight, spinning, twirling and treading to get through each day, actually apologized to everyone for not getting cards out in time. this really broke my heart. i completely understood the sentiment… but it just wasn’t right. i know i certainly wasn’t holding a grudge. and i’m sure none of their 500 other frenzied friends weren’t either. 

inner-critic

i saw this photo on instagram many months ago and saved it because it just struck a chord. in this day and age, we’re all over-worked, over-stretched, sometimes just plain “over it.”

maybe, just maybe, it’s time we give ourselves a break. maybe it’s not all of your friends on facebook, posting perfect posts and curating catchy captions, that are judging you. maybe it’s actually YOU. trying to live up to an ideal of perfection that is just that: an ideal. a cosmo or stepford or cinderella myth—meant to make you feel bad for failing to live up to the unrealistic standard of perfection you hold yourself to.

i came to the realization recently on report card day. that one time nine years ago when i only had one kid and time to actually read parenting advice, i read an article in new york magazine about “the power (and peril) of praise.” it was both interesting and counterintuitive. my parents focused on grades. “all A’s…or else.” the outcomes were of supreme importance. but no, in this article, the preeminent authorities on the subject gave a very important directive: to set your kids up for success, you have to praise the effort, not the end result.” by focusing only on the outcomes, they fixate on failure, start buying into the narrative that they don’t measure up, find themselves lost, and lack the resilience to push through adversity.

sound familiar?

my resolution for 2015: follow the advice i constantly tell my kids. “as long as you try your best, that’s what counts.” as long as you’re in the moment during the times that matter, that’s true success. not the final grade. or your goal weight. or whatever it is that motivates you—and drives you mad.

all of us overachievers are gunning for the A+: holding ourselves to too high standards, trying to execute flawlessly, berating ourselves for all the things that didn’t go exactly as planned. instead we should be celebrating the little wins, daily victories. a kind gesture. a gorgeous sunrise. a good laugh with an old friend. a perfect hair day. a pat on the back for a job well done. or even, on some days, simply getting up and out of bed when all you want to do is hide under the covers until it’s safe to come out.

and even when you do hit the mark, no matter how high, at the pinnacle of so-called “success,” you may feel like an imposter, a fraud. but guess what? we all do. the truth is: we’re all winging it. “nobody knows what the hell they are doing.”

two cases in point:

the late maya angelou, one of the greatest writers of our time, once said: “i have written 11 books, but each time, i think ‘uh-oh. they’re going to find out now. i’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out.’” 

similarly, david carr, a highly acclaimed reporter who covered the intersection of media and pop culture for the new york times, recently passed away. one of his most famous quotes echoes the sentiment. “i now inhabit a life i don’t deserve, but we all walk this earth feeling we are frauds. the trick is to be grateful and hope the caper doesn’t end soon.”

so just keep pressing on. stop comparing. start living. trust your instincts. be true to you. remember that everyone’s shiny facebook highlight reel isn’t the full picture of what’s real. and gratitude, rather than self-loathing, goes a long way.

most importantly, believe that your best is actually good enough. because it is.

In hope, life, perseverence, family Tags perserverance, perfection, motherhood, parenthood, well being
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liz.jpg

all that glitters

May 18, 2011

multitasking as i often do, i was unwinding from a long day, casually scrolling through facebook and attempting to sneak in a few pages of reading while trying (unsuccessfully) to tune out tad, the singing frog, who was instructing my little one on letter sounds, while the older one was engrossed in the adventures of frodo and sam on the “lord of the rings” trilogy (for the 3rd time).

“the b says “buh”. the b says “buh”. every letter makes a sound…”

“ugh. damn you, leapfrog,” i thought, knowing that the incessant tune would haunt me for hours after the last verse was sung. until someone figures out how to teach phonics by osmosis, i’ve accepted that my reality for the next few years will consist of loud, sing-songy gadgets that go on ad nauseum until a lightbulb goes off  in his cute little head. it will be worth it, i know—a necessary evil on the path to learning and development…but did the toys have to be so repetitive and annoying?

“now where was i?” i read the same sentence for the 4th time, finally absorbing about 75% of the words. another realization: i now have the attention span of a flea. i pictured myself transforming into a large insect, like the protagonist in kafka’s “metamorphosis.” it’s not that i wasn’t completely interested in the subject matter at hand (an art exhibit by prada debuting in venice). it’s just that i’m simply finding myself stretched these days. distracted. spread too thin. a shell of my former, focused self. best of intentions. worst of execution.

i turned the page. then something grabbed me. pulled me onto the page. and held me there like a vice grip. it was one of the most beautiful photos of elizabeth taylor that i had ever seen. piercing violet eyes. wild chestnut mane. vibrant coral lips. pre-diva, pre-“foxy cleopatra,” even pre-“cat on a hot tin roof”—which i think is hands down the most amazing assemblage of blindingly beautiful people to ever hit the big screen (hello, paul newman in his prime)…

“the h say hot, the h says hot…”

she was the original goddess. beauty incarnate. glittery. glamorous. even deliciously scandalous.

i thought about the irony of reading about this supreme diva as i sat there in my sweats, chocolate chip cookie in one hand and the faint smell of a dirty diaper from clear across the room.

but as i read more, i was reminded: perception is far from reality. her reality was chronic back pain and health issues, a trail of 7 husbands, and a best friend in michael jackson, who shared her feelings of youth lost in pursuit of stardom. despite her stunning beauty, the jewels, and the one $1 billion she left in her estate, she was, in many ways, damaged goods. in true hollywood style, her fails were probably as epic as her success. she had warts and blemishes to go along with the bling. she was, in a word, human.

she passed away on march 23 to much fan fare in the media. in her later years, she had grown to be such a caricature that all the retrospectives focused on her technicolor glory days, relegating her twilight years to a footnote at the end of the segments.

who doesn’t want to believe in the ideal? that somewhere on the other side of life, they’re “livin life like a video, where the sun is always out and you never get old, and the champagne is always cold.” but they’re also licking wounds. hiding skeletons. wishing. wanting. dreaming of things that, despite their riches, they don’t have.

elizabeth taylor. princess diana. arnold and maria. the calvacade of A-listers being paraded on stage during oprah’s last hurrah. we all love the spectacle. the fantasy. the fabulosity. (and I would’ve been the first one aboard that crazy train if a ticket dropped into my lap!) but don’t forget: it should be about inspiration, not exultation. it’s not about perfection, but perspective.

In life Tags perfection, perspective
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