shit happens

it was a carrie bradshaw moment. one of those days when everything just seemed to flow—to fall into place like a set of dominos tipping in perfect succession, one to the next, with seamless precision.

good hair day. great shoe day. bright green dress. and an even brighter mood. my to-do list was chock full but remarkably checked off by the end of the day. and i had just spent a couple of days enjoying quality time with remote coworkers who were in town for some much needed team bonding. the icing: a decadent swirlz cupcake surprise to celebrate a friend’s birthday, and leftovers to take home to my kids.

i left the office with hands full and heart happy. despite my heavy load—laptop in backpack, vince camuto hobo on one arm and giant box of cupcakes in the other, my spirit was light.

the sun was beaming on michigan avenue, casting its light on the already blingy storefront facades. i walked down the street, peering into windows and admiring the architecture, feeling a genuine sense that all was right with the world.

i got to the bus stop and assessed the situation. no sign of #66. the glass bus shelter was packed with people so i found a perch outside and squeezed in between the crowd of commuters.

the cupcakes were getting more cumbersome by the minute, but picturing my boys’ faces when i walked in the door eased the increasing annoyance.

i pulled out my phone to check the time. 5:35. “ok, should be any minute now.”

i slipped the phone awkwardly into the front pocket of my purse, trying to avoid bumping into the crusty contingent of commuters.

after a few minutes, the bus came into view. “thank god.”

as soon as it pulled up, the mass of humanity pushed forward. i’ve perfected the art of squeezing myself onto crowded trains and buses, so i used the jumbo box to block and tackle until i found a spot in the aisle, smashed between some shall we say unsavory neighbors. in defiance of my cardinal CTA rule, skin-on-skin contact was unavoidable.

without a free hand to stabilize myself by holding onto a pole or chair, i “surfed” in the aisle for ten minutes straight, bags strapped to my body, cupcakes in my arms, stilettos in full force. i was quite pleased that i managed to make it this far without biting the dust.

finally a seat opened up. relief. i made my way toward the back of the bus and sat down.

“aahhhhhh.” backpack off. cupcakes on lap. arms stretched. feet rested. now to settle in for some quality time with my phone.

i reached into the front pocket of my purse.

no phone.

somewhere, sometime, in the 20 minutes i spent waiting for and riding the bus, someone stole my phone. my brand new, 5-inch display, super HD, 13 megapixel camera, 2-week-old phone.

i looked around in a panic. checked. double-checked. triple-checked my purse. scoured all the stone faces searching for any signs of guilt. nothing.

“and all i wanted to do was bring cupcakes home to surprise my boys!?!”

i was devastated. livid. in utter disbelief.

when i finally got home, the icing: …yeah the icing was, well…

sad. damaged. melted. like my faith in humanity at that moment.

 “eat up!” said life, mocking my optimism and most likely my admitted food obsession too.

the moral of the story? (sh)it happens.

how’s that for uplifting?

but in all seriousness, as positive as i am about life and people, i was reminded of the sad truth: sometimes there is simply NOTHING you can do to avoid the shaft—the “why do i deserve this?” moments that beat you down. the karmic slap in the face or puddle splash on your white tutu and michael stars tank top.

you just have to get back up. as i tell my kids when they fall down, “brush it off. it’s ok to feel sad or mad, but sometimes bad things happen. you just have to accept it and move on.” 

whether skinned knees or stolen phones, pick yourself up. dust yourself off. keep fighting the good fight…and maybe throw in some phone insurance for good measure!

there may not be a silver lining in the moment. but there’s always another day.

a clean slate

it’s been 3 years, 4 months and 21 days since my first post. sounds like an AA introduction, doesn’t it? i guess in a strange way, this blog has kind of been like therapy for me. i started writing as a way to deal with challenges in my life—some extremely personal and others so massive and pervasive that they were simply out of my control.

“2009 was a rough year. from january thru december, i felt inundated by bad news. at the macro level, i was disgusted by the modern day robber barons pillaging our economy. hearing about how virtually every industry—from banking to healthcare to our food system—was rife with corruption, mismanagement, corporate greed and public deception. on the personal front, diagnoses of cancer for family members and close friends, job losses, financial woes, construction problems with our home, and the loss of a twin that i carried for 27 weeks, were the flavors du jour. the morbid headlines and personal tragedies left me with an overwhelming feeling: futility.”

i discovered that the process of writing was a way to cope, catharsis, maybe not always with a tangible solution at the end, but always with a sense of comfort, a flutter of optimism, or simply the vaguest reassurance that “everything’s gonna be alright.” with each post, i’ve reminded myself that even in the worst of times, you can always find the good, something to be grateful for, light amidst the darkness. and sometimes you just have to accept the bad and simply move on.

but a strange thing happened while i was on this journey. you—friends, family and even people i’d never met—joined me along the way. i came to realize that struggling to figure out how to make sense of the madness, how to be present, how to make moments count when we can barely keep our heads above water—is universal.

we all struggle with not having enough: time, energy, motivation, direction. we’ve all experienced loss, illness, sadness, loneliness. we all need reminders that the little things matter as much, if not more, than the big ones. we all know people who inspire us, expand our perspective, show us a different way of seeing the world. we all need to wipe the slate clean and as my friend joseph likes to say, “forgive ourselves” for all the stuff we want to do but haven’t, all the ways we perceive we’ve fallen short.

truth be told, i’ve been feeling guilty and stressed about how few posts i’ve written. it’s infrequent, sporadic, a classic case of what not to do when creating a relationship with readers. my only consolation: i suppose i’ve been trying to practice what i preach: being present in moments with family and friends, during travels and quiet times…trying to live versus just writing about it.

but over the past few months i decided it was time to invest in making the blog what i’ve always hoped it would be. i spent time reading through every single post (120 to be exact). i realized that though i have far from figured it all out, i do have a voice and perspective. “sea glass” is a way to share my lens for looking at the world. but now it’s much easier to search, seek, find and share, explore in ways that weren’t possible in the previous format.

the good news is that somehow i managed to eek out enough random hours, help desk emails, late evenings and early mornings to finally launch an upgrade. new look and feel. new facebook page (like the page for post updates). new twitter, instagram and pinterest links. and a renewed commitment to keep it going: more writing. more photos. more portraits. and hopefully a little more inspiration.

thanks for all your words of encouragement and support. knowing i’ve made a connection or struck a chord keeps me inspired…i hope i can do the same for you!

happy pants

We’re hearty Midwest stock. We should know better. But every year we ride the same emotional rollercoaster. In winter, we hunker down, brace ourselves each morning to brave the bone-chilling cold. With brows furrowed, we slog through slush, making sporadic eye contact, through veiled faces, with the slivers of eyes peeking out of warm woolen scarves.

And then it happens. An unexpected warm spell. Usually on a random weekend in March, it hits. BAM! 65 and sunny. The streets, the lakefront, the sidewalks are all teeming with humanity. We’re people again, not scowling robots trudging as briskly as possible from point a to point b to escape the frigid temps. Our bodies—and our souls—embrace the welcome thaw, relishing in the warmth and the return to life and vibrancy. Spring is finally in the air!

Or so we think… As inevitable as the dreaded Monday morning buzzkill, Mother Nature shows her true colors. In an instant, our zeal, optimism and “ding, dong, the wicked winter is dead” dance is silenced by the onslaught of downright nasty weather. “Take this!” she taunts, slamming us with torrential downpours, arctic chills, marble-sized hail, and howling wind.

There’s a technical name for this phenomenon, which I learned during the course of my twenty years living in Chicago. Wait for it…[drumroll] it’s a Midwest winter.

I include myself among the millions who fall for the folly every year. Mother Effer….err Nature is going to blast us a couple more times for good measure. She will, just like last year and the year before. So what can we mere mortals do about it (besides the obvious swearing, cursing and picture posting of the latest shaft to our heat-seeking psyches)?

Well, when I’m in the throes of weather-induced depression (aka SAD), I tend to pine, agonize and long for sunnier locales. LA, Miami, Tuscany. Idyllic trips I’ve taken, where my favorite ensemble was not a flirty sundress or Tory-inspired tunic, but the simple cloak of sun enveloping my body—no, my being. Yet dreaming of delightful getaways has its perils. It feels good at the time, but usually plunges you into greater depression when you realize you’re here and NOT there. #realitysmackdown

During one particular moment of reverie, I did have a revelation. It was a dark, rainy day, so naturally I reached for my goth go-to: the handy black cowlneck—warm, practical, reliable. Reflective of my blah mood and the bitter weather outside. Trudging and scowling, all I could think of was “at this time last year, I was in Los Angeles.” Shorts, sun, sand. Palm tress and balmy breezes. It was torture.

There was one day in Lala Land that stood out vividly in my mind. We were headed back from a road trip to San Luis Obispo, admiring the coastline along PCH. “Hey guys, look! There’s a rainbow.” The colorful arch emerged from a mass of clouds far off into the distance and stretched out over the vast expanse of sky.

“It must be our lucky day,” we all agreed, and continued on our drive.

“There’s another one…and another!” The boys were squealing.

“No, it’s probably just a different part of the same one,” I dismissed, turning around to console them. But when I gazed out the window, I found that they were right! Crazy mist or sea sprays or magic created rainbows all across the sky. I had never seen anything like it. Nature had stolen a page out of Pixar’s playbook and, over the course of an hour’s drive we counted a jaw-dropping total of six separate rainbows.  

As I crustily made my morning commute, I thought about that day. It’s crazy how the colors caused grown adults to giggle with delight. We were just as excited as the kids, scanning the skyline for our next ROYGBIV fix…and then it occurred to me. Why do we have to wait for such spectacles? For blue skies to wipe away our blue moods? As if our very sanity rests on a sliver of sun stingily doled out on a whim?

When you’re so dependent on the weather all you can do is wait—impatiently—for Mother Nature to cooperate. Or you can take matters into your own hands. Turn to color in its absence. Over the last few months, I’ve invested in some shall we say “bright” articles of clothing. Hot pink, brick red, cobalt blue jeans. Lemon yellow Hunters. Emerald green dress. Statement pieces perhaps. Tacky, maybe. But I don’t care. They actually lift my spirits. Make me happy when I wear them.

Perhaps a splash of color just might be the sunshine you need to get through this schizo weather until spring officially arrives. Who says toddlers and trannies are the only ones who can have some fun with color. Lighten it up. Brighten it up. Put on your happy pants and show Mother Nature where she can stick it.

wanderlust: paris, je t'aime

I missed the shot. It’s been seven years since we went to Paris, but the image is still seared into my brain.

There we were, standing on the famed Boulevard Saint-Germain. The day was winding down and the street was just beginning to bustle with the energy of commuters weaving through the streets to make their way home. Friends clustered on sidewalk cafes, scarves artfully wrapped, lips primed and puckered for the double air-kiss greeting, and cheek bones accentuated by the long, deep drags of their cigarettes.

As we prepared to brave the busy intersection en route to Café de Flore, I saw her. She had a Vidal Sassoon-style bob. Smooth, glossy, perfectly coiffed despite her hurried pace and the slight breeze gently blowing through her hair. She wore a crisp navy blazer, perfectly tailored, with a striped boatneck tee peeking out from underneath. Skinny dark jeans, shiny black flats and a simple red scarf tied elegantly around her neck perfected the look. A cognac leather backpack adorned one shoulder, brass buckles gleaming in the sunlight and the flap shifted over to make room for a single, slender baguette sticking out of the top.

I hastily reached for my camera and fumbled over purse straps and lens caps. I quickened my pace to catch up to my muse. But as soon as the light changed to green, she was off. She walked briskly, confidently toward a balmy tree-lined side street, and by the time the viewfinder made contact with my eye, she was gone. 

What was it about that image that I needed to capture? That I simply can’t forget all these years later? Sure she was attractive, but far from gorgeous. There was an undeniable elegance and effortlessness to her style. But that wasn’t even it…

It was the baguette. Totally jarring, unexpected. A big, fat middle finger pointing directly at our grab ‘n’ go, convenience-driven culture. In contrast to the sad loaf of hard but healthy sprouted grain Ezekiel bread in my fridge, this was a delectable surprise that offered a glimpse into Parisian life. Was this her routine? A post-work ritual, stopping in a favorite boulangerie to pick up her daily bread? Or was she planning a romantic picnic at the Luxembourg Gardens, racing to meet her lover with a wedge of Camembert and bottle of Beaujolais tucked away at the bottom of her knapsack? Or perhaps she was trying a new bouillabaisse recipe and hence needed a thirsty baguette to soak up all the flavors of the sea?

I have no idea. But the image gave me permission to dream. About her life. And mine. To contemplate what I wanted to take from this magical place, to savor and eventually bring home.

I missed the shot…well my camera did. But the image is still with me, along with countless others that shaped a tapestry of life as it should be lived.

The French call it “joie de vivre.” It’s not just about the beauty, but the ethos of the people and the place. The art of living: dressing without self-consciousness, eating without guilt, making time to laugh with friends in cafés, singing on street corners, or simply sitting in quiet contemplation.

Seven years later, I am reminded. We don't have to be in Paris to live like this... 

#worthit

it’s one of my favorite mantras. one that i whisper to myself as i justify pulling the trigger on a shiny new pair of shoes. or egging my friends on when they debate eating their healthy, packed lunch or going out for a splurge. i say it half jokingly, and half-serious—because even though i probably don’t need that last glass of bubbles, i certainly feel like a million bucks (and hence am #worthit at the time) to soak up some pampering, though i pay the price in a high-roller hangover the next morning.

the truth is we all need—and deserve—a little indulgence here or there to help us get through the drudgery. but sadly, if you’re a mom, those moments of “me time” are few and far between.

i do my best to pull it together: look presentable, accessorize, prioritize, but most often it feels like each day is a whirling mass of semi-organized chaos. get up. get dressed. feed kids. fill out forms. pack lunch. track down hats, gloves, mittens, boots. go to work. hop on train. pick up one. hop in car. pick up 2. back home. homework. make dinner. eat. bath. brush teeth. tuck in. lather. rinse. repeat.

the daily grind is a far cry from the bump ‘n’ grind of life before kids. i think about all the “stuff” i used to buy. all the time i used to have. all the friends i used to see. all the dates we used to make. and try to cobble together bits and pieces of those aspects of life that made me whole.

i have to admit: sometimes the constant struggle to balance it all gets to me. i lose it. when the dervishes are whirling, and the eyes are rolling, and the shoes are stomping, and the bickering turns into full-on brawls, i don’t hesitate to play the tried and true parent card. given my shoe selection, they most likely wouldn’t buy the “walking barefoot for miles to school” shtick that my mom and dad used on us, but the whole lecture about sacrifice and gratitude…please. “everything we do is for YOU.” (queue up bryan adams…)

to say it’s being dramatic is simply inaccurate. every word of the speech is true…but it can also feel like the reverse is true. as a parent, does prioritizing yourself always come last?

one night i was sitting on the couch and i’d just hit a wall. i was done. dishes in the sink. laundry in the basket. to-do list left untouched from the day before. from the distance, i could hear the wild elephants approaching.

“keep it down guys! it’s too loud for the neighbors!” ugh. “FML.”

the stomping got louder.

“MOMMY!!”

“WHAT?” in my mind, i was readying my response, preparing to pull from the repertoire of phrases uttered infinitely throughout the day. “you’re 8, he’s 3. give it back; we don’t take other people’s things. if you don’t share, you both are going to lose it. because i said so, that’s why…”

“we have a surprise for you!” an outburst of giggles. hands behind their backs. grinning from ear to ear. before i could even respond, they threw their hands open. “it’s you, mommy!”

in the midst of playing, they made a little lego figure of me.

“look she has blue pants just like you! blue is your favorite color, right mommy? and see, she has a big bracelet and long hair that’s in a ponytail. she even has a white purse, mommy. that’s YOU!”

their uncanny attention to accessory details aside(!), i thought “wow…that’s me”… and i’m also a chair when the little one climbs into my lap. and a measuring stick for the biggie to compare himself to. and a hand holder. and a boo boo blower. and a pasta maker. and a chocolate sharer. and a “fancy shoe” wearer.

they watch. they pay attention. they know your likes and dislikes. they shape you. and they are walking, breathing little pieces of you.

no one’s identity is fixed. and your sense of meaning inevitably changes as you move from one stage in life to the next. motherhood is not ALL of me. but it is a huge, indelible part. though sometimes i miss the freedom, simplicity, and yes, even selfishness of those early days, in an instant, i’m reminded why my broken nails, bloodshot eyes, chipped plates, crayon on walls, never-enough-time-for-anything existence is completely, undeniably #worthit.

delicious ambiguity

i’m not big on new years resolutions. i’ve made it through the bulk of january without buckling under the pressure to codify grand proclamations about the “new and improved” me that will emerge this year.

it all feels too contrived. or perhaps too pressured. a commitment to expectations that, if left unfulfilled, become another potential source (as if we need anymore!) of stress or disappointment. hopes and dreams #fail…or something like that.

but inevitably, the beginning of a new year does cause you to take stock. consider the status quo. contemplate changes. assess risks. hit the reset button on the same old, same old.

i have utterly no idea what’s around the corner, but the strangest feeling has hit me over the course of the last few weeks. something just clicked. it’s like a switch has been flipped. maybe it’s the lingering afterglow of holiday happiness. or warm fuzzies from quality time with the family. or simply just the vaguest sense that good things are in store.

…ironically, as the wet, arctic icy blast is blowing through the city, i can’t help but feel the warmth of possibility. i woke up this morning, eyes still shut, but a slideshow of images, some of my favorite shots, cycling through my mind. 

"what changes are you planning to make?" a friend recently asked me.

"don't worry about it," i said...because i'm not. 

some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. delicious ambiguity...    -Gilda Radner

photography lessons with the blind

Advertising is a funny thing. It can make you chuckle, wince, laugh, cry, roll your eyes, crack a smile...but mostly it can make you feel nothing. Often in my household, it's the grey matter, the background noise that occupies the space between real life and fantasy, substance and escape.

But every once in awhile, you encounter a campaign that changes the way you think. Alters your perception of an everyday thing. Inspires you to see the world—or yourself—in a completely different light.

Samsung’s “Photography Lessons with the Blind” is one of those campaigns. 

Background: In Korea, Samsung Electronics holds by far the largest market share for compact digital cameras. But the brand wanted to increase mind share—going beyond simply building good cameras to creating a brand with deep philosophical substance.

The Idea: They handed out cameras to 11 visually impaired students, taught them basic photography skills, and then travelled with them to various locations. Over 50 days, the students captured all that they could sense onto their cameras. Amazed at the outcome, Samsung opened an exhibition with their best photos—all of which had been turned into 3D sculptures so that the photographers could actually feel their pictures.

Beyond boosting Samsung’s mind share and earning Cheil Global a prestigious Cannes Lion, the campaign taught something even more valuable: That the mind sees what the eyes cannot, and that vision is but one way to view the world.

For those of us blessed with the gift of sight, do we use it? Are we present in those moments? Or is there more to see than meets the eye? More to observe, more to appreciate, more to feel with our heads and our hearts?

As the saying goes, “Life isn't about how many breaths you take but how many times your breath is taken away.”

the spark

a portrait of passion

someone once said “lack of passion is fatal.” at first blush, it seems a bit dramatic. certainly a lack of food, water, oxygen: these are the things that can actually threaten our survival…but passion?!

if you think about it, so much of what we do on a daily basis—in work, chosen hobbies, the people we spend precious time with—has to do with purpose.  

no purpose. no passion. no reason to get up in the morning. or to believe that it matters.

my hunch is that many of us are succumbing slowly, perhaps without even knowing it. death by a thousand paper cuts…or useless meetings…or anything that stands in the way of feeling that fire in your gut.

it’s usually subtle. you hardly notice it as you scurry about to tend to your daily business. but then you encounter that rare someone in the light. with the kind of passion that emanates from their being. that you can feel when they walk into the room. and you realize that the little void is actually a chasm—between you and the life you want to be living.

we arrived en masse: myself, the lead creative, the account director and two designers.  a perky blonde popped up from behind the glossy, white lacquer reception desk and whisked us away to the conference room. we followed in single file, weaving between cubes and meticulously assembled scale models with perfectly placed mini-trees and glorious architectural projects that would put the 5,000-piece "millennium falcon" lego set to shame.

when we arrived at our destination, we graciously sat down—pleasant, client game-faces beaming­­—to await the arrival of the stakeholders. the assignment we were waiting to be briefed on: creating a brand identity for a new skyscraper being built in chicago's famed river north district. after several minutes of fidgeting in our spine-hugging aeron chairs and doodling in moleskins, the door opened.

"hi guys, it's nice to meet you. i'm russ!" salt and pepper hair, cocky and self-deprecating, he was the project manager, a proud "southern boy" with firm handshakes for all of us gathered around the table.

"now lemme tell you about this building," he said in his best george "dubya" accent. "it's gonna be special." he paused for emphasis and we perked up in our chairs, anxiously awaiting every detail of the new gem planned for the city's heralded skyline.

"state-of-the-art building. the fastest elevators. LEED certified. that's a big one." he fired off random phrases as we furiously scribbled them down, hoping to make rhyme or reason of them later.

i scanned the pages of my notebook. a lot of words...not much of a story.

and then he walked in.

the particles in the room shifted. he was an older gentleman, grey hair effortlessly combed back, in a perfectly fitted french cuff shirt and shiny, black onyx cufflinks. he didn't glide in, but rather descended on the table, clearly well-versed in rushing from one important meeting to the next.

now it was russ who perked up, as if the headmaster had just arrived with a ruler in hand. "all right guys, enough from me. he's the boss and he's gonna tell you exactly what you need to know." he smiled like an adoring puppy dawg. "take it away!"

he was responsible for some of the most prestigious buildings in the city. even with no real estate knowledge whatsoever, you knew instantly that you were sitting in the presence of power.

but on this day, for the hour and half that he spoke with us, he was simply a man with a pure, intense passion. unlike the rapid-fire sound byte session we had just endured, we sat riveted, as he wove a story of architectural legacy (the building was designed by mies van der rohe's grandson) and future possibility. he talked about every single facet of the building "experience": from the grand entrance and private drive to the luxurious marble and granite appointments, stunning floor-to-ceiling glass, and the vibrant surrounding neighborhood. he talked of the address as a status symbol, attracting world-class tenants to a building worthy of their business. it would be a landmark—in a crowded urban landscape—that was second to none.

he wasn't merely reciting facts and figures or selling office space. he was delivering a manifesto, which he believed with every ounce of his being...and we all felt it viscerally.

i watched him intently during the entire gorgeous sonnet, but when my pen stopped writing for a brief moment, i peeked down at my arm. goosebumps.

passion is infectious. it makes you feel. it's the fire in your gut. the reason that you push further, stay up later, do what it takes to pursue it.

it's also rare. elusive. it's not going to be served up to you on a silver platter. you have to look for it. work for it. fight for it. in fact, it's been years since i've met anyone with as much love for what they were creating. suffice it to say i've managed to cope thanks to a healthy diet of steve jobs commencement speeches and inspirational TED talks. 

but the moral of the story is this: finding your passion, fanning the flame, or even just blowing on the tiny little ember that's inside, is worth it. it's the difference between flat-lining and feeling something.

don't feed the bad wolf

life has a funny way of serving up curve balls. just when you think you’ve reached a point of stasis, calm or at least a routine that offers some semblance of perceived control, something usually comes along to shake things up.

it’s easy to get sucked into the vortex…taken over by a tidal wave of seemingly uncontrollable circumstances. during times like this, we often feel like we’re being dragged perilously through the muck, kicking and screaming against our will, toward whatever fate lies waiting for us on the other side.

but amidst the chaos, we often forget that while we can’t always control the situations in which we find ourselves, we can control how we react to them. we overlook the fact that we actually do have a choice in the matter.

wallowing in self-pity is certainly one route. drinking yourself silly another. speaking from personal experience, any of these options is equally appealing when you don’t believe you can change the course. but like most things in life, looking deeper usually reveals that there is more than one side to the story, a positive to balance the negative, an upside to the downside.

sometimes it’s simply a matter of perspective, focus or belief—that can turn despair into hope, tragedy into opportunity.

i came across the following parable on tumblr and it sums up this truth so beautifully. how we respond to life is a choice. in yours, which “wolf” will win?

An elderly Cherokee Native American was teaching his grandchildren about life…

He said to them, “A fight is going on inside me, it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One wolf is evil—he is fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, competition, superiority and ego.

The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.

This same fight is going on inside of you, and inside every other person, too.”

They thought about it for a minute, and then one child asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win, Grandfather?”

The Elder simply replied, “The one you feed.”

the center holds

I was thinking that this birthday called for a grandiose post about what I’ve learned in life or how it feels to be older and wiser. I covered my “7 Life Lessons” a couple months ago, so here I sit…contemplating what to write about.

To celebrate this milestone, we flew to South Beach and settled in at the Mondrian, a mecca of design and “all the pretty things” that capture Miami’s essence.  The interior #werqs: black and white, shiny and fierce, a chill vibe and killer bayside view of Miami at sunset.

Being surrounded by all this gleaming brilliance is transcendent: it feels special and blindingly beautiful. It’s glitter and pixie dust. The stuff that dreams are made of…so when I looked at my nightstand, I found the most unexpected message.

“The mundane is to be cherished.”

Ok it’s more than slightly ironic that this weighty nugget of wisdom is being shared in the most opulent of environments. But I’d also like to think it’s fate. It’s my mantra, packed into a tight, pithy bold Helvetica package.

We can go away, surround ourselves with magic for a few cherished moments or days…but eventually we have to go home. The trick is taking it with you. The optimism. The chill. The sense of whimsy. The deep inhale and exhale. The inspiration in little things—simple things—wherever we are, whatever we’re doing.

It’s looking through a lens of sea glass. A lot has changed over the years, but the center holds. My manifesto is the same. You can have it all. Just not all the time. Perhaps not all at once. Inspiration lives in moments.

And the most vibrant, thrilling, moment of this trip didn’t cost a thing…but I walked away with riches.