deus ex machina

long before it was the title of a sci-fi psychological thriller, the term was coined by the ancient greeks. literally translated to “god from the machine,” it refers to a god introduced into a play to resolve the entanglements of the plot.

today it’s an improbable plot twist used to clear up the conflicts encountered by the main character. think of the cavalry in classic westerns swooping in to save the damsel in distress, tied to the train tracks and seconds away from being flattened by a speeding freight train. or the magic kiss from prince charming that finally awakens snow white from her poison-apple-induced slumber.

as human beings, we’re wired to believe in the magic bullet, the ticket to a tidy resolution to whatever ails us. “if only i had…that life, that job, that house, that family, that award, that (fill in the blank) to make it all better.”

and fairy tales and movies and shiny stories tied up in bows only perpetuate our belief in that cavalry coming—sometime, somehow—to save the day. the myth leaves us in a strange place… living, yet waiting…to find true happiness or reach our full potential. 

there is a great passage in the classic dr. seuss story, “oh the places you’ll go,” that sums it up perfectly. “The Waiting Place…” 

but that thing that you’re waiting for may never come. or once you’ve got it, there will be a whole heaping helping of more where that came from.

imagine all the things you may have missed—in those moments of waiting, of longing, of spinning or distraction—forward and forward, before realizing what you actually had in the moment.

as heroes of our own story, we are desperate to map out the big story arc, to understand how to shed our baggage and connect all the dots toward a satisfying resolution. but setting our sights solely on the epic climax leaves countless seconds, minutes, hours, days, even lifetimes, on the table: overlooked, forgotten, perhaps half-lived or never fully appreciated.

what if we shifted our whole perception of the narrative?

instead of waiting for that grand epiphany, perhaps the answer lies in all the experiences along the way—of beauty, truth, connection, trying and failing and picking ourselves back up again. instead of the big story arc, it’s the small, pure moments that define us, inspire us, heal us, and make us who we are.

maybe the driving force en route to save the day isn’t the chiseled-chin, bulging bicepped superman, but underdog, the unlikely anti-hero, the symbol of forgotten moments and the little things in life that are pure, yet incredibly powerful.

and that “god from the machine”? maybe it’s not somewhere out there at all—but much closer to home—inside ourselves and how we choose to approach every single day.  

forgive yourself

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. 

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.

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

canceling santa: why the recession is killing our sense of magic

As a working mom, it’s challenging to stay on top of the news. By the time dinner and clean up and PJs and teeth-brushing and tucking in are finished, there’s little time or energy to catch up on the day’s headlines. When I do make a concerted effort to tune in, the bombardment of depressing headlines: from murders to kidnappings to protests to political chest-thumping make me question whether ignorance may be a hec of a lot more blissful.

Sadly, outside of the stolen glances at HuffPo, a major source of news for me comes on my usual morning elevator ride up to work. There on the little screen in the corner, I get bite-sized bits of info on top news, trending topics and pop culture.

One day a few weeks ago, my bleary-eyed ride to the 20th floor was interrupted by a very disturbing headline: “Town Cancels Santa due to Recession.”

WTF.  My heart sunk. The elevator doors opened and I slunk out of the elevator with a nagging feeling that I couldn’t shake. Could it be true that the sad state of affairs in our country had led to this: canceling Santa Claus?

I hopped online to check out the blasphemous assertion. There it was on Bloomberg clear as day: “Santa Gets Scarcer as Cash-Strapped U.S. Cities Cancel Parades.” From coast to coast, California to Pennsylvania, cities are cutting their Christmas festivities based on budget cuts. What’s next, I thought. Occupy North Pole?!                                                                           

As my friends and colleagues know, the recession we’re in—and the egregious behavior on Wall Street that got us here—enrages me. But this news elicited a different reaction: profound sadness. What kind of world will our kids grow up in? What hope do we have to offer them? My sadness wasn’t just about Santa, but about what he represents: optimism, goodness—in a word: magic.

One of our favorite holiday traditions in the city revolves around old St. Nick. Every year around this time, we go down to 900 North Michigan to see “the Real Santa.” At the risk of making the line exponentially longer, I will share the tip that this is not your typical Mall Santa. His cheeks are rosy, his red suit more luxurious than a Snuggie, his beard wistfully white and his eyes, those eyes have an unmistakable twinkle. My kids are convinced—and at times even I am—that this is the real deal. We take the escalator up to the third floor, and they wait in line, fidgeting, nervous, anxious, hopeful, bashful, running the year’s highlights in their heads to make sure they were “not naughty, but nice.” It’s a simple encounter that sticks with them, a magical moment that lingers long after we have left.    

In a few years, I know that their belief will dissipate. That as they get older, reality will set in. The wonder in their eyes will be replaced by wry knowing smiles: that “Santa’s just a man in a suit” and “the Easter Bunny is really you hiding eggs around the house!” But given all that’s wrong in the world right now, we owe it to ourselves—and our kids—to keep the magic alive a little bit longer.

There’s plenty of time to be smacked in the face by reality. We as grown ups are weary, jaded and probably have been beaten down far too often in these harsh economic times. But it’s the magic that starts when we’re young, and hopefully lives on in our hearts long after, that gets us through. So long live Santa Claus!

like a phoenix

during the month of february, if you live in the midwest, things get pretty brutal for a nice long stretch. bone chilling cold. charcoal-colored snow piles stained from exhaust fumes. parched skin. chapped lips. grey skies as far as the eye can see.

recently, we had a welcome respite of warmer weather, which melted the layers of snow piled up on the city streets. the build-up blanketing tree branches also thawed, leaving sad branches that were gnarled, barren, leafless…lifeless.

cold and grey on the outside = bitter on the inside. the professionals have a name for it: "seasonal affective disorder" (aptly named SAD). when you’re going through a rough patch, the bleak surroundings make your plight all the more dismal.  it's hard to see the light.

but then you do.

the other day, i was getting into the car and noticed this bird’s nest perched up in one of the trees outside our house. it too looked dead. abandoned. no sign of life. no hint of hope.

yet it was hopeful. every year, as they always do, the birds come back. when we step out our door come springtime, we’re greeted by chirping. if you look even closer, you can see the tiny buds on the branches.

it seems strange to look to nature for parallels in life—after all,  we’re supposedly higher order beings capable of thinking, feeling,  loving, hating, climbing, seeking, giving up. but it’s hard to ignore the signs.

from the ashes comes possibility. if you've ever seen the planet earth series, there is chill-inducing footage of a blazing prairie fire that wipes out vegetation, drives herds of gazelles from their habitat, leaving death and destruction in its wake...then like a miracle, sprouts of grass emerge from the scorched earth.

even amidst darkness, there is hope. nature won't disappoint...and in my opinion, neither will life.

works in progress

while visiting family in minneapolis, we decided to go to the famous sculpture garden at the walker arts center. as we were about to make the turn into parking lot, i caught a glimpse of this phrase on the side of the main museum building.

it's an installation by lawrence weiner, a conceptual artist who creates primarily text-based art. this piece, "bits & pieces put together to present a semblance of a whole," refers to artistic processes, like brush strokes that make up a painting or clay that is assembled into a sculpture.

i certainly didn't think it looked very pretty (i mean, if you're going to do a typographic masterpiece, shouldn't you be using a glorious font like helvetica?), but the phrase was the perfect expression of something i've been thinking about for awhile: how we are truly the sum of our all our experiences—whether good, bad or indifferent—and the people we encounter—whether they impacted us for the better, the worse or not at all.

in the last year, being on facebook has underscored this point. it has been a catalyst for many things: keeping up with current friends, getting to know new ones, and reconnecting with long lost ones...and, to complement your carefully edited profile (featuring only your most flattering photos and pristine shapshots of your life as you would like to portray it), are the lovely tagged photos (a.k.a. bribery shots) of you in your not-so-finest-of-moments.

whether motivated out of nostalgia or revenge, these are the scanned photos from your old friends in grade school or the drunken mug shots from a long forgotten bender or heaven forbid the karaoke video of you belting out bon jovi in the wee hours of the night. sure, you can "untag" yourself but the truth is those images will continue to live on in infamy with little regard for your personal embarassment.

it's hilarious...and also humbling. if you think of facebook as an analogy for life, try as we might to cover up the warts from our past or the bury the bad times that we'd much rather forget, they will always be a part of us...

in the end, it's the sum of all those experiences and interactions with people—the "bits & pieces"—the triumphs and the tragedies, that make you stronger, make you the person you are today.

at work we label projects "WIP" or "work in progress" if they're not quite finished, there's still more work to be done, more outlines to be filled in, more conclusions to be drawn, before we can call them complete. like works of art, we should remember that we are all "WIP" and our finished masterpieces will be the collection of brushstrokes that we paint, not only the individual swipes.