all that glitters

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.

freefalling

whenever i travel, i have my routine. preprint boarding pass. get through security. if it’s a morning flight, a stop at starbucks for an oatmeal and a grande skim latte. if it’s afternoon, off to feast on one of my favorite, airport-only guilty pleasures: a freshly baked aunt annie’s pretzel dog served piping hot with a side of yellow mustard. next up, the newsstand for a gossip mag and a jumbo bottle of fiji water. neatly pack my suitcase on the way in. throw it all back in on the rush to get home.

though it was a smaller plane (only 3 seats across), it was a trip like any other. tired from meetings. ready for some quality time on the plane with my may issue of vanity fair before squeezing the little munchkins awaiting me at baggage claim. the short 1 hour flight was the perfect amount of time to pour over every detail of rob lowe’s tell all book excerpt about his big break—being cast in s.e. hinton’s “the outsiders,” directed by francis ford coppola (and incidentally one of my favorite pre-teen angst books/movies).

i was glued to the story. who knew that, before the this motley crew ever became the “brat pack,” lowe auditioned for  the role of jeremy on “eight is enough”—only to lose the part to ralph macchio? or that tom cruise was actually staying in a guest suite at emilio and charlie’s house eating haagen dazs and swimming in their “gilligan’s island pool” while awaiting a big break of his own in the film.

though it was 70 and sunny when i left nashville, things started to get mildly bumpy about half way through the flight. nothing out of the ordinary—just occasional turbulence that subsided after a minute or two. no big deal: i had important dish to read up on.

just then, the flight attendant got on the loudspeaker. 

“hi folks. we were just about to get prepped for our descent, but due some weather in chicago, we’re going to be…in a bit or a holding pattern for...about the next 20-30 minutes.”

as if on queue, we felt more jostles.

“crap.” a delay... “oh well,” i thought, slowly gripping the armrest of my seat. “i guess when i’m done with the 80s nostalgia, i can go back to the piece i earmarked on the falling out between bill gates and paul allen, founders of microsoft. the outsiders’ studly debauchery aside, this story seemed to have just as much drama, ambition and betrayal (think the pre-quel to “the social network”) to keep me occupied until touch down.

i was just getting into the seedy details about matt dillon’s 45-second seduction of a fan in tulsa when we hit a rough patch. the plane started shaking. outside, you could see nothing but black and dark, foreboding clouds.

i had been in worse turbulence than this, and the young, coiffed flight attendant was still smiling when he instructed us all to “please fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen.” i did as i always do during flights like this: look around and assess peoples’ faces: some were sleeping, others stoic. i concluded that it would all be fine and reopened the magazine.

about 2 minutes later, there was a startling sound.

“DZZZZZZTTTTTTT!”

we felt a huge jolt. the lights flickered and came back on. i was in row 4, so i had a clear view of the window in 1C at the front of the plane.  i saw a vivid flash of purple in the sky.

“OH MY GOD!” i was no longer in my head, but speaking loudly in both panic and disbelief. “oh my god.” i turned to the lady next to me. “did we just get hit by lightening?!”

she was a kind, mousy woman with a calm demeanor. she half-smiled nervously, though her eyes were fearful. “i think so…"

i could feel my heart starting to race. we both kept our eyes on the flight attendant, watching for signs of panic or any form of acknowledgement that we were in dire straits. though he was clearly shocked when the jolt hit, he disappeared behind a curtain, offering no clues as to our fate. it didn’t take long for the heart palpitations to build to a pounding crescendo.

it felt like we were hurtling forward—the same sensation as when you’re on the runway during a landing, screeching ahead and wondering whether the brakes are actually going to be able to actually stop the vicious forward momentum. the only problem was we were thousands of feet in the air. we weren’t plummeting, but it felt like we were out of control.

“oh my god. are we going down?” i was back in my head. in a span of 5 minutes, i was suspended. in the air. in limbo. in a state of mind that somehow presented me with a reflection of my life—and my death.

the terror of realizing there was no where to run for safety was suffocating. but it wasn’t nearly as brutal as realizing that you can’t go back, can’t change anything that you’ve done up until this point. the last interaction you had before you stepped on the plane—with your kids, your spouse, your friends, and even your enemies—might be the last you ever have. period.

to make matters worse, as a parent, the sheer helplessness of knowing you may not be there to see your kids’ future: to guide them, to protect them, to enable their hopes and dreams, was devastating.

i was gripping the arm rest and gasping for air.

“are you ok?” asked the woman next to me.

i mustered up enough oxygen to mutter desperately, “i have two kids waiting for me and i just want to get back to them.”

she looked at me, paused, and her expression changed, from nervousness to empathy…and reassurance. “me too,” she said.

i could feel the air moving more freely through my lungs now. the pounding began to subside. she only said two words…but they spoke volumes to me. “we’ll be ok. and if we’re not, our kids will be.”

how could she know? how could i possibly know?

i wanted desperately to pick up the phone and call them, leave them a message, make them a promise that no matter what, they’d be alright. i chastised myself for not drawing a big “i love you” rainbow on my son’s whiteboard to make up for the tiff we had before i left (he wanted to wear the sweatshirt instead of the jacket). i wished i woke the baby up instead of letting him sleep before i whisked off to the airport. i wished i could have given them something tangible to hold onto…

and then something clicked. i stopped wishing. i realized that with kids—and really in all our relationships—it’s not about a single moment in time, like the last interaction you had with someone or leaving behind a last-ditch “crash” course on how to get along in life.  instead, it’s the lessons that we teach, the values that we instill, the goodness that we affirm—what we leave behind for loved ones is a legacy built over time, during every moment that we spend with them. 

they’d be ok if, and only if, i gave them the love and the tools then to thrive now and from every point forward—regardless of whether i was physically there.

i saw the flight attendant resurface at just about the same time i noticed that airplane had slowed down. we were no longer careening forward, and for the first time since this ordeal began, i could see some faint lights in the distance below. 

over the grainy background noise of the audio system, he began: “i’m happy to report that we have just been cleared to start our descent. i apologize for any inconvenience you many have experienced. we should be on the ground in approximately 15 minutes.” 

“inconvenience?!” i thought… “more like a grabber, much?” but i was too elated to even care about the ridiculous euphemism (no doubt calculated to downplay the traumatic events that had just transpired). 

when the wheels touched ground, i grabbed my belongings and raced through the airport terminal. terra firma. a homecoming. squeeze hugs from my boys, waiting for me with cookies in hand, grins on their faces, love in their hearts.

i got my mother’s day present early this year. happy mother’s day to all of you!

hitting bedrock

after a particularly grueling week of stress, unexpected surprises and shifting priorities, i ran into a friend in the hallway.

we half-smiled at each other. "how are you?"

it was really a rhetorical question as i could tell from her body language that her week was pretty much the same as mine. "oh you know...fine."

after we exchanged obligatory pleasantries, it was time to cut to the chase. like an episode of west wing, there we were, walking and talking in rapid fire succession. there was frustration about this. uncertainty about that. and a general sense of anxiety about our respective situations.

more often than not, with venting comes relief. whatever you're struggling with, simply talking about it, getting if off your chest, helps ease the burden...and of course sometimes, it only makes it worse.

on this particular day, it was the latter.  i was tapped out. fried. crusty. and to top it off, i had to race like a bat out of hell to get to a parent teacher conference for which i was late. in the middle of rush hour.

when i got to the school, i was a mess. trenchcoat belt dragging on the floor. hair disheveled. heels clicking frantically on the shiny polished floors as i ran down to the hallway to the classroom.

the door flung open. "sorry i'm late!"  my voice was breathy from the 40-yard stiletto sprint. "it's been a crazy day."

warm smiling faces looked back at me from the little table where they were seated. a stack of report cards lay on one corner and a box of kleenex sat right smack dab in the center of the table. i took a seat in one of the small red chairs.

"so what can we say about your son. not sure if you saw his report card."

i did.  pretty much all 1s from top to bottom. over the years, we've been incredibly fortunate to have a kid who loves learning and soaks up new concepts and experiences like a sponge. we'd grown accustomed to glowing reports. i presumed this would be no different.

i was right...sort of.

they ran through the usual list of aptitudes: math, science, spelling check. he was doing great in all.

"well isn't there anything we should watch out for or be aware of?"

the teachers looked at each other. and then turned to me.

"mrs. jones, no. you guys should be proud of yourselves. not only does your son love school, he's just a nice guy. he is kind, has empathy, he helps friends out if they're struggling, without being condescending. we can put him in any group and he interacts seamlessly. he could earn an allowance with how much he helps tidy up the classroom...i guess if we had to say anything, he does sometimes need to be reminded to keep quiet during independent activities--but that's only because he LOVES to chat and tell stories. he is a special kid."

as i listened, i could feel the pools welling up in my eyes. if you know me at all, you know that it doesn't take much...but this was an epiphany. all of a sudden, on my long list of goals and priorities, one thing rose straight up to the top. have i raised my child to be a good person? have i equipped him with the skills to succeed in life, to have a positive outlook, to hopefully share his talents and brightness (both intellect and heart) with others? for this moment in time, the answer was yes. on this goal, i had earned an EE: exceeds expectations.

they pushed the kleenex box toward me. "now these are the kind of tears we like!"

sitting in the mini-chairs, surrounded by the word wall and artwork and maps and books, i learned an invaluable lesson...and all the other angst from earlier in the day dissipated.

we all have bad days, weeks, even months. when it feels like the shit is rolling downhill, building momentum, hurdling forward with no ability to stop it. but eventually it hits bedrock. reaches solid ground. it may wear on the foundation, but it can't move it. it can't move you.

i was reminded that my family is my foundation. the core. what matters most. they are my touchstones. nothing in life is more true. pure. or restorative.

pay it forward

i can vividly remember two distinct events in my life that reminded me—on a fundamental level—how good people can be. how optimism can trump negativity. how genuine acts of kindness can make you see that we’re not all crusty, self-serving assholes that roam the earth on an endless quest for personal gain. that sometimes, just sometimes, you can do things for the sole purpose of making other people happy.

the first instance happened when i was six years old. we went shopping at our neighborhood grocery store, pick-n-pay. as my parents meandered through the produce aisles, i went off to the bakery section to peruse the desserts. i was in awe: a magical snow white cake with seven dwarfs making their way merrily down a sprinkled path. giant cupcakes. chocolate frosted eclairs. glazed donuts. cookies for days. there i was, a little girl with eyes wide and nose pressed up against the glass, lost in reverie around these amazing delicacies…

and then i heard a voice speaking to me from behind the counter. i was too small to see who it was so i had to take a few steps back. “hi dear, well aren’t you cute,” said the sweet-faced lady in a white apron and tufts of blond hair peeking out of her hairnet.

back then, i was terribly shy so i just cracked a nervous smile.

“would you like to pick out a cookie?”

my heart started racing. i had my favorite patchwork lion purse (complete with yarn mane) strapped across my chest. it was fierce and fashionable, but much like now, there wasn’t any money it! so i froze.

“don’t worry dear. go ahead and pick one out.” her face was kind and reassuring. i scooted toward the glass case frantically scanning my options. as i got closer, my gaze settled in on the target. i lifted my little finger timidly toward the case and pointed at the giant, perfectly circular chocolate chip cookie.

she smiled. “that’s a great choice!” she pulled a piece of wax paper out, grabbed the cookie, and leaned over the counter to hand it to me. “there you go sweetheart. enjoy!” and that was it. i didn’t have to pay.  she just gave me a cookie, showed me some kindness—and i walked away with an indelible memory. lesson #1: people can do good, not because they have to. not because they want anything in return. not because anyone is watching. just because.

flash forward to my first year out of college. i was living in chicago and, like every dutiful notre dame alumni, was making the trek to the golden dome for the first home game of the season. if you’ve ever made the drive, it’s short…but far from scenic. suffocating pollution in gary, indiana. annoying traffic on the highway that is perpertually under construction.

nonetheless, my roommate and i were excited to get back to our alma mater, old friends and, of course, the long-island-iced-tea-stained linebacker dance floor.  we made our way out of the city and were cruising along toward the skyway. from the distance, we could see a backup of cars.

“great. traffic. this is taking away serious tailgating time. ” (nice to know i had my priorities in line…yeesh!...but i digress.) we inched our way to the toll booth at a snail’s pace, getting crustier by the second. i fumbled around for the $2.00 toll fee and pulled down the window.  i extended my hand to give him the money.

instead of the typical, weathered toll operator scowl, he had a twinkle in his eye. “don’t worry about it ma’am.”

“excuse me?”

“the guy in front of you paid your toll.”

i was flabbergasted. it was such an unexpected, random act. we were elated…and inspired.

“here you go, sir.” i handed him the money. “pay it forward, baby!”

we exchanged cheshire cat grins and i drove away. lesson #2: it really does feel as good, if not exponentially better, to give than receive.

these little epiphanies are often taught, but rarely felt. in real life. tiny gestures—a 50 cent cookie, a $2.00 toll—that can have a tremendous impact on another human being.

the whole rest of the drive, i kept thinking: “who does that kind of thing?”

well, it’s the same kind of person that returned my wallet, everything intact, when i lost it on the train. and the friend that surprised me with an amazing bouquet of flowers the other day, just for simply being a friend.

it’s you and me. random acts. unspoken words, spoken. a pat on the back. a phone call. a small effort. a big thank you. a bit of affirmation. appreciation. an ear to listen. a shoulder to lean on. a reminder that a little good has a lot of power.

pay it forward, baby.

the grand scheme

do you ever wonder what the hec it is? what’s the end game? why is this happening? how did it all get so complicated? why, the older you get, do the answers become more elusive rather than less?

most of us were raised on the notion that life is a perfectly linear path: study hard, get a degree, get a job in a relevant field, at some point along the way meet a partner, settle down, buy a dog, perhaps build a family. and then you've got it made.

but we all know that reality is far messier. neatly plotted points on a line? yeah right. nope, life is fluid. it’s circuitous. often, when you’re immersed in it, it just plain doesn’t make sense.

no one would fault you if you chalked it all up to random acts of crappiness. particles in the universe, protons and neutrons, coming together to assemble the perfect shit sandwich. the rain on your parade that strikes just when you think you’ve hit your stride.

…or you could trust that there is an ultimate plan.

some method to all the madness. some reason, some lesson, some purpose, that doesn’t crystallize until time and distance bring the answer into view.

i guess i’m somewhere in the middle. we’re all trying to make sense of the circus. the swirl of people and circumstances, tragedies and triumphs, that make up our own personal narrative. perhaps instead of grasping for the big picture—which may or may never reveal itself—we should simply strive for a balanced perspective. one distorted or ugly situation does not the entire story tell. there are just as many, if not more, strokes that are brilliant, shiny, beautiful.

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

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.