be there, when you're there

it’s been four days since the riots erupted. i heard of the first incident on the day before i was set to leave for london. and here i am now, writing this post after having been sent home from my office due to warnings that there may be a riot in our area. 

i sit and write (safely, i hope) in the confines of my hotel. it’s been quiet in this corner of the city so far. there are no visible signs of an imminent threat. but co-workers this morning shared stories of sirens and police cars throughout the night, local haunts being looted, store owners standing in front of their shops with baseball bats getting ready to defend against the mayhem threatening their livelihood.

from the chatter, i came to find out that the westfield mall in shepherd’s bush, where i went to grab a quick dinner about five minutes away from my hotel, was on riot alert based on the escalating violence. ummm, guess i missed that memo as i cluelessly meandered around the mall peering into store windows!

“i was just there.”

not that we need reminding—but this circumstance is a nasty reminder—that these are crazy times. and you never know what might happen, where you’ll be, and why you were the “lucky” one to be there when the shit hit the fan.

the reality is london is no different than home. who ever would’ve thought there’d be flash mobs on the hallowed “magnificent mile”? across the world, the economy is under pressure. people are disenfranchised. the systems are broken. and the new “normal” is anything but normal. it’s wack.

hopefully moments like this are few and far between. but these kind of moments remind us why all the other moments matter.

“be there, when you’re there.”

where is “there”? in those moments that you live every day. in the quiet times. in the simple things. don’t wait for your world to be set on fire to wake up and be present. for the smiles. during the sunset. after the rain. with your kids. at your home. in those moments that are right under your nose.

be there when you’re there—because when you’re not there, they’ll be with you.

love in a pot

for italians, it’s pasta sauce. for jews, it’s matzo ball. for southerners and sports fans, it’s chili. and for filipinos, it’s sinagang (pronounced “sin-ee-gung”), a sour tamarind-based soup that is the country’s quintessential comfort food. what is it about these dishes, cooked in a pot, bubbling on the stovetop, that makes us swoon? why, when we bite into them, do we experience so much more than mere flavors and textures, but also warmth, togetherness, security, sustenance—the visceral, irresistible taste of home?

recently i went on a trip to LA to visit family. much like the midwest, they’ve been going through a nasty heat wave, and our first few days there were scorchers. to deal with the blistering temperatures, we consumed lots of salads, fresh fruit, coconut water, pinkberry, and more than a few glasses of sauvignon blanc.

yet when my parents arrived, the culinary conversation took a 180 degree turn. they gathered their luggage from the car, flung open the door, and my son, bursting with anticipation, ran to my dad. he stretched out his arms and squeezed.

“lolo [a term that means ‘grandpa’ in filipino]! can you please make sinagang?!”

there, in the 110-degree, sweat-inducing oven that was the san fernando valley, my son was begging for a bowl of hot soup.

and, as scalding as we were, we jumped right on the bandwagon. it was no-brainer. “fire it up, dad! we went to the farmers market and got all the ingredients. all you need to do is cook it!”

you might think it cruel that the poor guy, now in his 70s, flew 4.5 hours to get here to be with his family, only to be told he had to step on over to the kitchen to start cooking…but you’d be wrong. dad is “the man” in the kitchen and there is no place he’d rather be than with his family stirring up a big piping pot of sinigang.

it’s a “kitchen-sink” kind of soup, chock full of ingredients and simple to prepare; yet for some reason it never quite tastes the same as when dad makes it. he starts by trimming the meat—usually short ribs but sometimes oxtail or chuck. then he slices the vegetables: chinese eggplant, broccoli, cabbage, green beans, okra, parsnips and a bit of ginger. he throws it all into the pot (the biggest one he can find) and sprinkles in the knorr sinigang seasoning, which gives it a delicious sour flavor similar to thai tom yum soup. for more nuance (and also to preserve his status as the best sinigang maker in our family), he always throws in a couple extra mystery ingredients at the end when we’re not looking: a squeeze of calamansi, filipino lime, to infuse a hint of acidity, a dash of patis (fish sauce) for a bit more saltiness. he brings it all to a boil, occasionally lifting up the lid to make sure every veggie and piece of meat soaks up the flavor. delicious steam rises into the air. and then he drops it down to a simmer.

flavors are extracted. aromas start to permeate. we all breathe in deeply…love is in the air.

we love it. and we love him. and all of that love goes straight into the pot…and down into our bellies. we sit together at the table, and for a rare few minutes in our boisterous household, it’s quiet—save for the clinking of spoons and forks as we shovel in the “sabaw” or broth-soaked rice and fight for the last pieces of broccoli. the table inevitably erupts into giggles when my brother, as he has been doing since we were little kids, gets up for a third plate of rice and scrapes the bottom of the pot for any remaining morsels.

no matter what it’s called, this kind of meal is so much more than food—it’s love in a pot. it’s rituals passed on from generation to generation. like chicken soup for the soul, it’s healing. it’s warmth. it’s sustenance. it’s comfort and connectedness. it’s your history. your family. it’s home.

be infectious

from the moment we are children, we experience the power of storytelling. each night before bed, we are captivated by the simple words on paper that transport us to far away lands with mythical creatures and magic potions.

when i look at my son’s interests and obsessions, i am amazed at how seamlessly they flow from justice league superheroes and harry potter to the mythical gods of greece or pharaohs of ancient egypt.

though he knows, logically, that some are “real” and the others are not, there is no distinction—in his imagination. epic battles between good and evil, mischievous plots and benevolent heroes: all in a days work for zeus or poseidon, hawk girl or superman…all in a few chapters of reading before turning out the light and drifting off to bed.

as we get older, the appeal of great stories remains intact. one only needs to look as far as the harry potter books and movies to see--and feel--the power of a story to draw you in and move you. great storytelling can stir your imagination, make you feel emotion, and inspire you to act, to change and to keep coming back for more. it engages all the senses, with beautiful imagery and detailed descriptions—of sights, smells, tastes and feelings.

when the words are personal and authentic, they hold the power to transport you to different times, places and states of mind. leonardo da vinci once said “feathers shall raise men even as they do birds, toward heaven; that is by letters written with their quills.” great stories change the way you think, feel, act. they can transport you. and transform you. open your eyes to new perspectives, undiscovered experiences, hope in the face of adversity, escape in the drudgery of everyday life.

as a writer, the words, to me, lie at the heart of a great story. but i’m equally captivated by the stories being told through the eyes and camera lenses and pixels and paintbrushes and whisks and ladles and needles and thread of people expressing themselves through their passions.

what fuels the fire in your gut? are you squelching it? nurturing it? or simply trying to find it? whether you consider yourself “creative” or not, you are telling a story—your story—with each day you are on this earth. never underestimate that power. to tell your narrative. with courage. to transform. and to inspire others in the process.

something to believe in

one of my biggest sources of inspiration these days is our weekly family trips to the green city market, a farmers market near the lakefront in chicago. we walk, hand in hand, admiring the vibrant produce that heralds each season, chatting with the friendly local farmers, and sampling tasty bites from eco-minded entrepreneurs selling everything from artisan cheeses to piping hot cider cinnamon donut holes, grass-fed burgers with butterkase cheese, homemade rosemary honey ice cream, decadent crepes and smoking hot tamales. here in this giant city of nearly 3 million, people actually smile at each other as they pass by. tails wag in unison as dogs of all shapes and sizes exchange curious sniffs and playful barks. tempting aromas waft, blooms burst with color, and kids beam with sticky fingers and berry stained lips.

besides the delicious ritual of it all, i've come to appreciate so much more about this weekly trek than i ever realized when we first started going to the market several years ago. i guess you could say i've been on a journey…and in the process, i've realized that the market is not simply about a place to hang out on a saturday morning as the city starts to stir. it's about a lifestyle, a change of mindset, an idea, and a movement that you can actually believe in. 

in the past, there have always been certain things about food or politics or the environment that have bugged me, but generally speaking, life was good and i never felt like i had the time nor the inclination to dwell too long on these massive issues. it's not that i didn't care--i simply felt overwhelmed. sadly, i felt pretty darned accomplished if my day included waking up to the alarm (without hitting snooze), figuring out what to wear, getting the kids ready for school, orchestrating my days filled with work, deciding what to make for dinner, squeezing in errands and whatever me-time i could muster. as a working mom with two kids, that's about all the head space i had left.

but the little drips of exposure to news headlines and to friends and family dealing with health issues started to chip away at my complacency. when i finally watched "food inc.," everything came to a head. i was at a tipping point. 

a documentary by robert kenner, "food inc." takes a scathing look at the u.s. food industry, revealing how our nation's food supply is now controlled by a handful of corporations who put profit ahead of consumer health, the livelihood of the american farmer, the safety of workers and our own environment. the movie isn't a michael moore-esque sensational tirade; rather it asks some basic questions that most of us probably haven't thought about: 

• why is the food we eat--especially fast food--so cheap?

• how is it possible that all the bright shiny products in the grocery aisles: the flawless fruits, plump chickens, perfect pork chops, don't make us stronger and healthier, but rather bafflingly sicker?

• how, with modern science and technology, are we seeing new strains and countless epidemics of e. coli—the harmful bacteria that causes illness for an estimated 73,000 Americans annually.

• why do more and more people we know, and worst of all kids, suffer from cancer and diabetes, rampant allergies, ADHD, autism and obesity?

until food inc., i never realized how little control we as consumers have when it comes to our food, how unregulated the industry is, how little choice we actually have--despite the aisles and aisles of products that line the shelves. on this journey, my personal journey, this movie pushed me over the edge. 

all this depressing news could lead one to feel even more overwhelmed than ever before. but rather than close my eyes, stick my head in the sand, i actually felt empowered. to make a change. the one choice we all have is this: we can make smarter, more informed choices. we can seek out the freshest ingredients at our local farmers market. we can make little changes that have a huge impact on our health and well-being, starting by simply being aware. 

for the longest time, there were a lot of buzzwords that were an enigma to me. organic, sustainable--it all seemed like clever marketing, an excuse to charge a premium at "whole paycheck" (aka whole foods) without a clear benefit. "sure it might taste a little bit better," i rationalized, "but i don't mind the occasional bruise on my apple or tough piece of meat. it's worth it for the cost savings." 

but what i didn't realize is that what i was supposedly saving in terms of dollars up front, was costing me and my family in the form of health risks later---from pesticides on produce to steroids given to sickly livestock to cancer-causing, genetically modified crops. sound extreme? to that, i'd say watch the film and decide for yourself. and if you're still not convinced, i would only ask this: if there were even a remote possibility that any of these things were linked to health issues, and you actually had the power to do something--to avoid them--wouldn't it be worth it to try? especially if it were much easier than you ever thought? 

on this journey, i came to find out that the words bandied about actually have critical meaning.

why organic? simply put, organic means no pesticides, no chemical fertilizers, no genetically modified organisms, no irradiation, no industrial solvents and no chemical additives. 

why local? locally grown fruits and vegetables are usually sold within 24 hours of being harvested, versus weeks or months like the ones at the grocery store. produce that is in season and picked at the height of ripeness has exceptional flavor and the most nutrients. finally rather than lining the pockets of mega-corporations, who aim for the cheapest (aka poorest quality) food and build in costs for packaging, preserving and shipping your food, you're directly supporting the little guy--small farmers who bring food to our tables with passion and integrity, rather than simply for profit.

why sustainable? "to sustain" means "to keep in existence"--for ourselves, for our children and for future generations. sustainable farming is a way of raising food that is healthy for consumers and animals, does not harm the environment, is humane for workers, respects animals, provides a fair wage to the farmer, and supports and enhances rural communities. it's about rotating crops to preserve nutrients in the soil, not using toxic pesticides, serving as stewards rather than solely acting in self-interest.

do i still eat out at restaurants, have an occasional cocktail or three, snarf up a double char dog at the wiener's circle, or take a trip to the vending machine for a reese's peanut butter cup when the craving hits? sure. i'm hardly ready to swap out the blahniks for a pair of birkenstocks. but, at the very least, most of the time, i eat in a way that makes me feel good, inside and out. and that feels right: physically, emotionally and ethically...there are few other things i can think of in this crazy world that fit that bill. 

spreading happiness

whenever i take the bus home from work, i have a rule that i follow religiously. one stop before my street, i gather up all my things and sit on the edge of my seat (for some reason i have this paranoia of missing my stop or leaving something behind, so i always get ready well in advance). i give a good tug on the wire hanging from the top of the window to signal to the driver that i’ll be getting off (as if he couldn’t tell from the anal person stretching her neck out every couple minutes to see where we are and balancing on the very edge of her seat). as we approach the stop, i stand, steadying myself on the 5-inch platforms beneath my feet. then when i feel it’s safe enough to leave the surfing stance, i walk up to the front of the bus. when the door opens, i smile. look the bus driver in the eye. and say “thank you!”

9 times out of 10, the response comes like clockwork. a look of genuine surprise. a brief pause. and then a crack of a smile. “all right, you have a good day, now.” then the doors close and the bus rumbles off into the distance.

in life, we come across countless numbers of people each day: from the hoards of drones making their way to work on the morning commute to colleagues and clients, store clerks and waiters, teachers and parents at daily pick-up and drop-off, bus drivers and cabbies, and on and on. in the city, some days are downright dog-eat-dog: cars jamming on horns in the middle of the intersection, lines of huffy people in the aisles of the grocery store, rude sales clerks looking through you to the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until their shift ends. 

when i think about people like my bus drivers, i empathize. who wouldn’t be crusty carting around caravans of self-entitled yuppies to their ivory office towers? just like us, they’re trying to make an honest living…and just like us, who wouldn’t want to encounter a friendly face, a warm smile, a word of appreciation, a little affirmation that “ya done good” when your slogging through the daily grind.

there’s a great quote by maya angelou that sums it up: "i’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." no matter what your age, your income, your walk of life, this rings true...and it's a powerful thing.

all our daily interactions can amount to nothing but the passing of time. what do we have to show for them? yet simple gestures, entirely free, can end up being priceless. last year, coke came out with an amazing marketing stunt that illustrates the point.

while i’m not a fan of their products, i loved the idea for its simplicity and the essential truth it conveys. happiness is contagious…and who knows where it will strike next?

in vino veritas

“in wine there is the truth.” it’s a latin phrase that refers to the remarkable ability of wine to bring out people’s true feelings. we’ve all been there before: several glasses in, feeling a warm glow, inhibitions wiped away…and the truth comes out—sometimes for the good, other times…well…you might just hope that the truth serum comes with a memory-eraser so you don’t have to relive the silly, embarrassing or awkward moments of truth spurred on by the multiple glasses of liquid courage you just consumed.

i’m sure about now you’re anxiously awaiting the sordid details of a wine-induced night filled with squirmy truthful confrontations or swinging from chandeliers…but alas, i must disappoint. 

this time i’m taking the high road, telling a wine tale of a different kind: about the “noble grape” and the truth it can teach us about ourselves.

several years ago, we went on a trip to napa valley. if you’ve never been there, it’s time to add it to your bucket list. it’s mind-blowingly beautiful with acre after acre of lush vineyards, the freshest, most vibrant produce you’ll ever eat, and rich napa stories of the people behind each unique winery.

we had been there several times so rather than the casual meandering of our previous trips, this time we had an actual agenda. the wine spectator ratings were logged, the route was mapped out, and our mission was to check out some of the best california cabernet wineries in the region.

for such a little valley (30 miles long), there are more than 45,000 acres planted to grapes in napa. we wanted to find out what made these wines some of the very best—not only in california, but the world.

we started out at rudd, a jawdropping estate in oakville. it was regal and elegant, with amazing gardens, a tuscan style tasting room and an intriguing ivy-covered hobbit hole that served as the entrance to their wine cave. past the massive sunflowers beckoning you in through the doorway, it was what you’d expect: beauty, refinement, a perfectly manicured epicurean experience.

next we hopped down the road to groth, where it was much more about education than elegance. though the property was pretty, it was here that we received a much deeper glimpse into the art and science of winemaking: the winemaker’s philosophy, the process, and the vast array of factors that go into making world-class wines. we took a tour and got up close and personal with a critical component of the winemaking process: the soil. mason jars filled with gravely dirt samples lined the shelves of one room. and when we walked through the dusty vineyard, the ground felt not lush and fertile as we had expected, but dry and in some places, rock solid.

we came to find out that over 2 million years ago, “the beautiful and serene napa valley was one of the most violent places on earth” from a geological perspective. “the ground on which we were standing was created by exploding volcanoes and fiery flows of molten rock, shattering earthquakes, upthrust chunks of primeval sea bottom and massive floods”—yielding some of the most mineral-rich soil for grape-growing.

in the oakville appellation, the 1.5 mile stretch where these two wineries sit, the poor, nutrient-deficient top layer of soil causes the vines’ roots to strike deeply into the earth in search of nutrition. at these depths, they are able to find enough moisture to sustain themselves.

making the twisty, twenty-minute trek up to pride mountain, a similar theme emerged. 2000+ feet up, the winemakers talked of rocky, volcanic soil, excellent for drainage and creating the perfect conditions to “stress the vines.” the dry soil forces the vines to push deeper to find sustenance.  the end result is smaller, more compact grapes with higher skin to juice ratio—ultimately developing the complex and concentrated richness of these wines. from gentle stress comes succulent flavors of black cherry, currant, blackberry, cassis, licorice, cocoa and even vanilla.

i loved the idea of such richness coming from rough circumstances. the tumultuous story of the soil yielding some of the most coveted treasures in the wine world. too much of a good thing (in this case water) leads to big, full grapes that lack depth and dimension. too little means poor grapes that fail to grow. the delicate balance of stress and diligent care yields the very best results.  

the truths i found, in winemaking as in life: out of stress, comes character and complexity. out of hardship, resilience. out of the need to survive, you can actually thrive.

back in the day, it took vision to see the potential in such rocky terrain. many of the people who came to napa had the optimism, passion and appreciation for what this heavenly stretch of land could hold. today the inspiration still rings true. these tough little grapes remind us that to truly enjoy the sweetness of life we must also ensure some struggle:

“walk with dreamers, the believers, the courageous, the cheerful, the planners, the doers, the successful people with their heads in the clouds and their feet on the ground. let their spirit ignite a fire within you and leave this world better than when you found it.” - wilfred peterson (from the “rudd story”)

a gift around the corner

recently i read a recent study about how the human brain seeks patterns. it’s constantly looking for coherence, structure and order. when we feel like we don’t have command of our fate, our brains often invent patterns that offer a sense of control.

our innate need for order explains why we gravitate toward routines. rituals ground us. provide comfort. establish a sense of predictability. but there is also a flipside.

remember the old adage made famous by the spastic, 80s fitness fanatic, susan powter: “the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” 

routines are great. but they can also put us into a comfort zone—where we are safe, stable, but perhaps a little stagnant?

a couple weeks ago, we were in the midst of one of our favorite routines: shopping at whole foods. packed to the gills with groceries, we set off on our way, zipping through the parking lot until…(queue up the sad trombone sound effect)…we turned the corner and scraped the side of our car on a guidepost. go figure, despite the expansive footprint of their glorious flagship store, their parking lot is built for minis and smart cars, and not grocery grabbing SUVs.

buzz kill firmly in place, next up was an appointment to assess the damage. we booked an appointment for a repair shop north of the city. getting there would be an epic task of mobilizing the kids, dropping one off at school, hiking up lakeshore drive during morning rush hour traffic, and getting back downtown to my office—all before 8:30am to start the work day. needless to say i was not looking forward to the morning.

with the clock ticking and my mind mired in dollar signs, shady mechanics, meeting requests and emails, we hit the road. gridlock. tickety tock. i could feel the blood pressure rising. i’d driven this stretch of lakeshore drive a million times, but rarely ever ventured this far north. luckily, as we got further from the city, the traffic started to ease up.

we finally got to our exit at the foster avenue underpass. we merged onto the off-ramp and took a left. as soon as we turned the corner, i saw it. radiant. sparkling. glittering against the grey concrete canvas. it was a gorgeous mosaic that spanned the entire length of this quiet, unassuming underpass. and it came out of nowhere.

for that moment, all the minutiae fell away.

“stop the car!”

i hopped out, iphone in hand, eye candy in sight. hundreds of ceramic and mirror tiles, paintings and photographs were assembled with love by local artists.

a skateboarder glides down the shimmering black mane of woman who hugs a sphere of seven circles. 

a radiant eagle spreads its wings.

a lone ballerina twirls.

and the beaming faces of children from the local community peek out of a rainbow of red and blue. it was beautiful, random, and yet, totally relevant.

i set out, on a typical day, with too much to do and too little time. the scratch on the car was a catalyst to take a new route—but the discovery on this day was a gift. we never would’ve seen it had we not ventured past the usual boundaries.

we’ll always need routines and rituals. it’s how we live and organize our days. but perhaps we should build in a little time to get lost, meander off the beaten path, find a new perspective. you never know what might be waiting around the corner…

hitting the reset button

we all have our buttons. situations that frustrate. patterns that we fall into. words that trigger a kitchen sink of emotions, rants and even f-bombs.

sometimes it feel good to vent. let it all out. and hopefully reach catharsis.

but how often does that really happen? that you actually achieve resolution. a solution to your issues.

more often than not, you end up feeling worse. you wallow in it. perhaps feel paralyzed by the inability to change it.

if you read my blog, you know i’m no stranger to navel-gazing: pondering, questioning, trying to sort through this crazy thing called life. there’s a lot of things you can do to try to cope, to make things better: shift your perspective. come up with a plan. don’t overlook the small blessings, the simple things, that you do have…

but here’s a little strategy to deal with those nasty, unsavory situations in life over which you simply have no control.

1. let it rip. there’s nothing i hate more than denial. allow yourself to bitch. moan. rage. complain. commiserate. misery loves company, so throw a big pity party if you need to.

2. hit reset. just when the frenzy is about to reach a climax, try something new. interrupt the pattern. don’t let it overtake you. let it go. not sure how? here’s a little inspiration courtesy of cher in “moonstruck”:

we can analyze. and overanalyze. and beat the dead horse to the point where we're stuck. and it's that point where a little nudge, or hec, even a firm hard slap, can set you on a different course.

3. we're in the this drama together, so don't forget to laugh. sometimes our problems can seem overwhelming. we can fall victim to the drama. or we create it. either way, the absurdity can make you feel like you’re going to crack. then something happens to make you realize your feelings are valid, your frustrations are real, and most importantly, you’re not alone.

the moral of the story: when the chips are down, sometimes it just takes good friends and a swift slap to get you back on track. giddy up! :)

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.

better with chocolate

not everyday can be a revelation. where you experience a life-altering epiphany. a defining milestone. a brush with death. or unexpected kindness.

sometimes—most of the time—it’s just plain ordinary. status quo.

wake up. slog through the day. clock it at 5pm. make dinner. put the kids down. take the dog out. pass out. lather. rinse. repeat.

like “fred the baker” in these classic dunkin donuts commercials, it sometimes feels like we’re shutting off and going rote. autopilot. same thing, different day.

when i get that feeling, i turn to one of my best, most reliable friends: chocolate.

what is better with chocolate, you ask? well, everything, of course. if you’re having a bad day, chocolate is a scientifically proven pick me up. if it’s a special occasion, chocolate says “i love you”—did you know consumers buy more than 58 million pounds of chocolate during valentine’s week? for your kid’s first ice cream cone, tell me it wasn’t chocolate? have family in town: then the go-to pan of classic chocolate brownies never disappoints. a favorite decadent dessert: melty lava cake oozing with chocolate goodness.

but who says we can only spread the (chocolate) love on special occasions? in fact, during the day to day drudgery is often when you need it most. many of us think of wine in much the same way, but this is a pocket-sized pick-me-up—without the throbbing headache the next morning :)

“take me away”: when i really want to splurge, i spring for a $26 box of exotic truffles from vosges, an haut chocolatier in chicago. wrapped in a gorgeous purple box and satin bow that puts even the iconic robin’s egg blue tiffany box to shame, this collection of truffles aims to transcend with tastes of exotic lands and indigenous cultures. chocolate paired with curry, wasabi, macademia nuts, cointreau, paprika and crunchy hazelnut praline is served up with whimsical names like gianduia, ambrosia, absinthe, naga, black pearl, budapest, woolloomooloo and my favorite, wink of the rabbit.

“a nugget of goodness”: if you’re not buying the opulent spin and yuppified version of this delicious treat, then do as i do most days: kiss—keep it simple stupid.  chocolate, nearly any kind of chocolate, can do the trick. it doesn’t have to be fancy to be fabulous. i often keep a little stash of hershey’s kisses in my purse. when the going gets tough, the chocolate gets going: out of my bag and straight into my mouth. it’s not about gorging and then feeling guilty later. rather, just a little taste, a nugget of goodness in an otherwise blah day. that simple. that delicious.

vosges’ tagline perfectly sums it up. “one love, one chocolate.” words to live by. love yourself. treat yourself. everyday bliss is just a bite away :P