Writing

It’s a beautiful morning today.  There is a light breeze, the sun is out but not scorching, and the sky is clear.  The temperature dropped so it feels simply delightful.  I left my apartment before 7:30 am so that I could get in a destination walk to and from Trader Joe’s to pick up a few groceries for the week.  My plan was to be in and out before the Saturday rush.  I was walking on the east side of the street, which is less sunny, thus cooler, in the mornings.  When I approached 68^th Street I was in back of someone else with a cart who had a similar plan at Trader Joe’s.  She kept trying to get around a woman with her dog whose leash straddled the entire sidewalk.  When I got close enough I said, “Excuse me, we want to pass you and your dog.”  She didn’t move.  I was less polite in my next attempt.  “You’re taking up the whole sidewalk, can you move so we can pass?” “Fuck you” she said as she barely made room for us.  As I made my way around her dog, I said “You don’t have to take the entire sidewalk.”  My tone sounded as annoyed as I felt.  Even though I had been happy to be out and about on a glorious day, I quickly turned into a grouch.  Again, she repeated, “Fuck You!” This time louder so there would be no mistaking her ire.  I didn’t look back, and I’m not proud to say that I then gave her the finger with my back to her.  Only in retrospect could I think clearly and realize she’s not having a good morning.  Did I need to add to that?  

It’s sweltering outside.  The humidity and the temperature are high.  Though I have a good number of chores to get done, I’m choosing to spend this time writing this blog in air conditioning.  I haven’t planned what I’ll write, so as unoriginal as it is, I’ve started by mentioning the weather.  Inspiration is not forthcoming.  I just walked away to go into the kitchen.  I cubed and toasted bread to make breadcrumbs to go with the zucchini I purchased today at the farmer’s market.  In fact, the bread came from there last week.  I‘m making zucchini fritters.  The eggs that go in the mix come from another stall at the farmer’s market.  I didn’t see the right onions, so I’ll have to go out for them.  I so enjoy the sweet and savory combination of the fritters.  

It’s something of an irony that my and my husband’s 27^th wedding anniversary is on the 27^th week of this year.  I like coincidences like that.  When the stars align, I feel good all over.  Twenty-Seven years is probably the longest commitment to anything I’ve done in my life.  I like variety, so in the past I could do something for a while and then I’d move on.  I took a very different tactic for our marriage.  While Larry is someone who likes routines and enjoys what he knows, I like to try new things, preferring to being adventurous rather than staying in place.  Though we were a bit older than our contemporaries when we got married, I was 38 to Larry’s 45, we had a lot to learn about relationships, particularly long-term relationships.  

This Tuesday I become a published author with In the Time of Coronavirus, Reflecting on the Past to Embrace a Joyful Future.  To that end I am doing everything I know to do to promote this book, working to get it into stores, sites and libraries and into readers’ hands.  It is a daunting task.  I am overwhelmed, yet very excited.  

I was nervous.  I had agreed to participate in a Zoom panel which included reading from my pre-published book, In the Time of Coronavirus. but it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken to a group.  As I was practicing, reading the blog post a few times, I noticed my voice sounded like it was stuck in my throat.  I did not think that was a good thing.  

We can be shiny and perfect and admired, or we can be real and honest and vulnerable and loved. But we actually do have to choose. --Glennon Doyle Melton

I listen to Glennon’s podcast, “We Can Do Hard Things.”  On one of her podcasts she said that she used to worry that no one was listening to her.  Her audiences were small, her readership small.  But then she started seeing and hearing the few who were listening.  She realized that each person was important, not the number itself.  It was so meaningful to hear that.  I have taken it to heart.

As a psychotherapist I’ve noticed that so many people in and out of my office will say, “I know this is boring, but…” Traditionally therapists don’t respond, we only listen. I’m more interactive, so I respond to the statement that they think what they have to say is boring. I’m curious. I don’t find what they tell me boring. But I want to know how they see it themselves. The subject matter is secondary to their perceptions and experiences of living their lives. I am fascinated by that. Luckily my profession affords me to privilege of hearing their insights and opinions regarding their lives.

“Don’t wait for people to tell you who you are.  Show them. “ 

Laura Benanti

I just came home from seeing Audible Theater’s production of Nobody Cares, written and performed by Laura Benanti.  She is a singular talent.  Before the show there were a bevy of celebrities in the audience including Patti Lupone, Sarah Bareiles, and Larry Owens.  They came to enjoy an evening featuring their colleague and friend.  

“Procrastinate now, don't put it off.”
― Ellen DeGeneres

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I spent yesterday  procrastinating.  I cooked, I baked, I looked things up online.  What I didn’t do was tally my expenses for budgeting and taxes.  I am not fond of bookkeeping.  Nonetheless, I was able to sit down and focus after I did everything I could to avoid the inevitable.  It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated.  Nor was it as fun as taking the day off.  

This week I’m sharing some past sunsets.  Seeing sunrises and sunsets makes me smile.  Sunsets remind me that nothing is permanent.  And sunrises are an apt metaphor that we always have a chance at a new beginning.  Both sentiments give me some peace.  And we could all use peace.

I voted early yesterday.  I like my councilwoman and I wanted to keep her in office.  What I don’t get to vote for is the abolishment of daylight savings time.  We turned the clocks back last night, and ostensibly we got an extra hour of sleep.  Then in April we “spring” ahead losing that hour.  I say, no thank you.  

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  That was a common idiom of our mother’s lexicon.   She lived true to that statement.  Even when she attempted to comment on something she disapproved of, she did her best to soften it.  As a teen, I often was asked the question, “Janet, do you think that’s the most complementary outfit?“  Or it could have been make-up, pants, hair style or any other appearance-related observation.  As a sensitive teen I was crushed no matter how much she tried to say it diplomatically.   

I set out to go to The Brooklyn Museum to see the Africa Fashion exhibit.  I had intended to see it twice before but got waylaid, so my determination to get there yesterday was fierce.  My plan was to slowly jog in Prospect Park getting out at the arch and walking the few blocks to the museum.  Once I made it to Prospect Park at an unfamiliar entrance, I opened up Maps on my iPhone and set off.  

It was a mere coincidence that we happen to be in Split, Croatia the same day the New York Times travel section featured 36 hours in Split.  It’s about the same amount of time we’ll be in Split, which is a beautiful port city on the coast of the Adriatic Sea.    

The Q train came to a halting stop.  An announcement immediately came on asking “Who pulled the emergency cord?”  At the end of our car, a good citizen thinking there was a request to pull the cord, got up from her seat, pulled the cord, even as the train stood idle.  She sat back down returning to her book.  A hardcover, old school, though she looked barely 25.  

It was a full moon this week.  I love looking up on a clear night and viewing the magical, mystical moon between the high rises.  Ever since I was a child I’ve found the moon an enchantress.  Myths have their place, and for many years I counted on myths to justify my outsized love of a full moon.  In times of feeling invisible I felt seen by the moon.  

I am a planner. Though I am open to spontaneous experiences, I usually rely on my calendar to settle into the day. In recent months I have had to change plans a good number of times.  Often, I’ve enjoyed folding the new into what I had expected.  But this last week too many plans changed, and my equilibrium is off.  My sense of self along with my comfort levels are being tested.