love and loss

i’ve noticed a running theme in many of my conversations as of late. it’s about loss. of a loved one. of a pet. of a relationship that went sour. of a friendship that somehow faltered. of a memory that simply faded over time.

losing something cherished leaves a cavernous void. questions about why. anger about how. doubts about whether things will ever be the same.

from the pain comes grieving. and ultimately, with time, healing. but try as we might to wish for it, the truth is, with loss, things won’t. ever. be. the. same.

so what’s the use in putting yourself out there at all? of extending a hand. or making a connection. taking a risk. giving everything you have—with no guarantees.

the answer lies in the beauty you experienced in the moment. the lessons you learned the process. the realization that, even if you have lost them, you are forever changed because they were in your life.

if you’ve ever seen shadowlands, it’s a heart-wrenching story about c.s. lewis, author of the narnia books. in the movie, lewis (played by anthony hopkins) lives a cloistered, intellectual life, teaching at oxford and living a solitary existence that is devoid of the risk of emotional connection. then a poet and fan named joy gresham (debra winger) comes into his life and turns his world upside down. he unexpectedly falls in love…then tragically faces loss.

feeling alive. sharing joy. experiencing love—and even pain—is infinitely better than the absence of it.

"why love if losing hurts so much? i have no answers any more. only the life i have lived. twice in that life i've been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. the boy chose safety, the man chooses suffering. the pain now is part of the happiness then. that's the deal." – c.s. lewis in shadowlands

bruised, not broken

as we all do during the holidays, i’ve spent spare moments recently contemplating the many things I am thankful for. the usual suspects come to mind—my kids, my husband, great friends, a good job, a roof over my head. and i’ve always been sincerely thankful for these things.

but this year was a little different. it’s been a rough one.

i lost about 2 months out of the year with a devastating case of meningitis. following a wonderful stretch of birthdays, time spent with loved ones, weekends of soul-quenching rituals like working out and eating out, and a visit to one of our favorite spots in michigan fishing, dune climbing, cuddling golden retriever puppies and eating homemade pies, it struck out of nowhere.

raging fevers. near-epileptic shakes. head aches. body aches. and a bout of disorientation/dementia (“scrambled eggs” as my husband called it) that was truly frightening. i spent six days in the ICU. poked. prodded. stuck with needles. spinal-tapped. MRI-ed. catheterized. anesthetized. mortified.

truly shaken. to the core. beyond the physical pain of the experience, which included lingering after-effects that stayed long after i got discharged (think weeks of teeth-chattering shakes, a shrunken version of myself, soft-spoken and weak), i was emotionally scarred. as a constant reminder, i still have the marks from all the lines and IV’s that resulted from the blood letting.

needless to say, the trauma got me into a bit of a funk. i haven’t posted to sea glass in several months. i’ve been exhausted, frantically paddling to keep up with all of life’s demands, feeling frustrated by the things that have fallen by the wayside. a couple times, i’ve sat in front of my computer and felt…nothing. uninspired. just trying to get by.

it was probably the first time i ever experienced first-hand the true fragility of life: the fact that, at any moment, i could lose everything. my health. my intellect. my ability to write without shaking like a 90-year-old granny. my ability to be a mother to my children. a wife to my husband. a sister to my brother. a daughter to my parents. a friend to all my dear, dear friends.

my inner dialogue covered all the typical existential questions that people ask when they find out they’re seriously ill. why me? how the hell did this happen? what could’ve been done to prevent it? is insurance going to cover this? did i suffer permanent damage? will my body pick up where the meds left off so I can go on with my life?

somehow, slowly, i got through it. and now as i sit here, (hopefully) fully healed and healthy, it seems self-indulgent to linger on the experience. there are so many people with much more serious diagnoses to deal with and long, painful roads ahead of them. but my glimpse into their world put everything in perspective.

in the darkest times, there is always light.

it’s hard to think of laying in a hospital bed fearing for your health and the prospect of losing everything as a good thing. but odds are the things you fear losing the most are the things that help you get through. the sheer randomness of me contracting this virus out of nowhere was matched by the randomness that my family just happened to be in town visiting for a week. instead of floundering through this alone, they were there: to love, to advise, to clean, to cook, to care for the kids. flowers and concerned calls flooded in. though I was scared, i never felt more loved. and lucky.

bruised, not broken.

sometimes you go through periods in life where you’re just in the zone. life is good. laughter is abundant. all is right with the universe. and then other times, you hit a wall. you’re knocked off your game. you’re bruised, battered, exhausted from fighting. getting sick like this was a wake up call. a reminder that you’re not invincible. you’re not immune. you’re not as strong as you thought you were…but in pushing through it you realize, you’re also not as weak.

this, too, shall pass.

when you look back on the hard times, it’s not about going through them, but getting past them. somehow you survived. somehow you pushed on. you endured … and you will again.

"cabrini pink"

everyday on my commute to work, we drive by. from a distance, it's intriguing. two tall buildings that seem to mirror each other. but one with a collection of patchwork colors running down the side.

as you get closer, through the chain-link fence, it comes into focus. cabrini green. on a patch of land, in between an industrial corridor and the affluent gold coast neighborhood of chicago, lies one of the most infamous housing projects in the country.

i remember learning about it for the first time when i took a criminal justice class in college. the unit was on gangs and the reading assignment was about two rival factions literally waging war from the buildings i was gazing upon.

when i moved to chicago, i was deathly afraid of the stories i had heard. occasionally we'd have to pass by en route to a bar or shopping excursion. it was jarring. concrete slabs rising up from the ground. metal detectors in the entry ways. cops camped out in the parking lot questioning residents and patrolling the area.

but other times i'd see a mother pushing her baby in a stroller along the bumpy, littered sidewalk. or a group of small boys giggling while they played on the jungle gym. it was heartbreaking.

now the last remaining buildings are in the process of getting razed. each morning we drive by and watch the cranes busily scooping up rubble while a wrecking ball takes cracks at the structure.

mangled wires poke out of the crumbling walls as if to recount the painful twists and turns of the lives that were lived within. but beneath the spaghetti wires and dusty debris, i could see something beautiful. amidst the beige walls of most of the units, there were rooms painted in bubblegum pink, ocean blue, mint green.

i could imagine the mother i saw anxiously awaiting her daughter's birth. picking the brightest pink to light up her little girl's world. the little boys dreaming of swimming or fishing or escaping to far away lands as they looked at their blue walls before drifting off to sleep.

of course i'll never know why the walls were actually painted those vibrant colors. but the fact that they were tells a story: of real people. with lives and families. with hopes and dreams. trying to find beauty amidst a lot of ugliness. searching for the silver lining. trying to make the best of a bad situation.

i hope they've found new homes. new hope. in the meantime, what a great lesson for us all.

giddy up

i'm always amazed at how resilient human beings can be. just over a year ago, we were dealing with massive water damage to our condo, i was 9 months pregnant and literally staying in random hotel rooms while contractors scrambled to put up the new drywall in our place before i got home from the delivering the baby. on the work front, budgets were nonexistent due to the economic implosion and i was uninspired, frustrated at my inability to actually accomplish much of anything.

whenever i'd tell friends about my plight, i'd get the same response.

"oh i'm so sorry. that sounds terrible. i can't imagine how you're even dealing with all that. if you ever need any help..."

their sympathy was heartfelt and sincere, but for the most part, they were personal struggles that couldn't really be solved by external intervention. there were tears, times when i just wanted to curl up into a ball in fetal position and start rocking...

but more often than not, i didn't. i just kept going, thinking about the new life i was about to bring into the world, beaming with pride at every accomplishment my amazing 6 year old achieved (and if you know him, there were many, daily), swallowing my pride and accepting the help of family (my generous-beyond-words brother, dad, step mom and friends), and just believing that "this too shall pass."

and now, only a year later, i find myself marveling at how lucky i am. a family that humbles and inspires me daily.  amazing kids, a husband who is a rock of support, and friends who make me belly laugh and who i know have my back. business is booming at work and i have a renewed sense of energy and inspiration about the opportunities in life and work.

and the transition from lowest low to highest height happened in the course of a single year. maybe i started this blog because i reached the tipping point—where gratitude outweighed the feeling of being overwhelmed by life and the periodic "sh*t sandwiches" i'd been served.

in fact, i see it happening all the time. inspiring people that i know who, when faced with pain, a loss, a challenge, get back up on the horse with their head held high and ride it out. when they've lost someone special, they run, they walk, they form deeper relationships with those who remain, to honor their loved one. when they fall down, they discover an unexpected hand to help them up. when they hit an obstacle, they realize later that that blockade actually opened up a door to another path entirely. when they are silent and still, they find their voice.

all of you inspire me with your courage, strength, support and resilience.

"giddy up!"

rituals: food for the soul

do you ever feel like the universe is conspiring against you? like a black cloud is hovering overhead, following you closer than your own shadow? times when everything seems to go wrong in a crazy succession of circumstances that conjures up images of the old "mousetrap" game—a chain reaction of events that ends up with you, trapped under a web of just plain bad luck?

when i go through those agonizing stretches, i find that rituals help to keep me grounded.

take brunch, for example. brunch at bongo room happens to be one of my favorite rituals. our usual order: eggs benedict for me, breakfast burrito for my husband, and a "chocolate tower" to split (that's right, dessert with brunch).

the decadent tower is made of bittersweet chocolate chunk bread stuffed with maple mascarpone, banana creme brulee sauce, bananas and shaved chocolate. that in itself is the stuff of breakfast legends. but there's so much more to the bongo ritual than just the delectable food.

when we go there, it's friendly and familiar. a neighborhood joint where you can feel the energy of the city, but where they also know your name (i know, queue up the "cheers" theme song). people-watching is a wholly satisfying event: a mix of urban hipsters, post-college grads with their visiting parents, tatooed rockers, urban moms and dads with bugaboo strollers parked outside and new couples, sometimes formed a few hours earlier and sharing their first sober conversation—all while a faint yet thumping soundtrack worthy of boys town plays in the background. the feast for the stomach, the eyes and the ears is topped off with a leisurely stroll around our beloved hood.

rituals are so special because they're like coming home: when your world is in flux, they provide comfort, safety, the feeling that "everything is in its right place"...and in the case of bongo, rituals can often happen to be delicious too.

rituals can come in all shapes, sizes and circumstances.

• reading the sunday paper in your bathrobe with a warm cup of coffee
• making mini pancakes as a weekend treat for your kids
• browsing furniture stores for ideas and inspiration
• blaring your "guilty pleasures" playlist while you clean, dust and polish
• shopping for fresh produce at the farmers market
• going for a run by the lake to clear your mind and strengthen your body
• catching up on your favorite dvr recordings
• taking your dog for long weekend walks to soak up the sights and smells
• sneaking in for a glimpse of your kids sleeping long after they've gone to bed

at face value they seem almost trivial—but if you look a little deeper, they're usually far more than simple acts that satisfy a craving or entertain you while you're killing time. unlike most things in life, rituals are a tiny sliver of life that you can control—and make your own.

what are the rituals that you hold dear, that help you make order out of the chaos of daily life? i'd love to hear them, and maybe add a few more to my own playlist.

pocketful of rainbows

we all dread mondays. usually for me it's like a ski jump at the vancouver olympics: at the strike of 5pm on friday, you're at the height, embracing the night with reckless abandon as the promise of the weekend lays before you. and then a slight tinge on saturday night as you feel the time racing by, hurtling out of your control. sunday morning you grasp for any shred of the last day before the work week starts: going to brunch, shopping or maybe perfecting the indentation on the couch and hoping against hope that the dead weight you've become can somehow halt, or at least delay, the screeching yet inevitable arrival of: monday.

to counter the all too familiar monday morning blues, my hope for this post is simply that you smile. :)

*note: because i have no idea how to make a song auto-play while you read, i'd like to suggest a little soundtrack as a backdrop to the story. even if you read no further, the sheer kitsch and bubblegum pop should inspire no less than a full-blown teeth-baring grin. guaranteed.  so fire up the music and read on!

this weekend, we decided to check out the new west elm that opened in our neighborhood. no set agenda, just wanted to browse, check out the goods and be inspired. mission accomplished. but not for the reason you think...

the shopping excursion was a family affair and my 6 year old son was not exactly thrilled about the time set aside to shop—thereby cutting into an urgent rumble between darth vader and obi wan on the DS and an epic bokugan battle scheduled to be played out on our front door later that morning.

he grudgingly came along and proceeded to snuggle up against some fabulous cream mohair pillows. he moved further and stood awestruck as he admired the flock of origami birds suspended over a bed ensemble. then he ran to me with a major pronouncement: "mommy, mommy, i found the coolest thing ever!"

i ran over to check it out and looked in the direction he was pointing. "oh honey, i love it. it looks just like an eames chair! do you know who charles and ray eames are?"

"what are you talking about mommy?" he said.  and then he pointed again, to the ceiling. "look mommy, i found a rainbow!"

i looked up. and there it was. light refracted from an uber cool glass lamp created a little slice of ROYGBV magic up on the ceiling.

"amazing."

i took my kid to the furniture store and, with his usual heart-warming sweetness and cheerful pov, he spent the rest of the time searching for rainbows...and finding them. on a vase. on the side of his head. even right on top of his eyes!

i hope, on this monday, you're lucky enough to find, as we did, a rainbow tucked away in a tiny little corner of your day.