Thanking the Turkey

During this trip so far I have been going through a lot. I've been paying close attention to the way I feel and react with familiar people in familiar situations. I have been trying to notice what is going on in my head, in my heart and in my body. I have learned a ton about myself during this year in Berlin and before I flew to LA this time, I was worried about how I would be. Could I keep up the self observation? Could I stave off  the massive self judgement? In moments in which I have, for years, acted on auto-pilot, would I be able to stay with myself?

There have been an incredible amount of feelings, connections and sensations while I’ve been here so far. But the best part is my overwhelming sensation: gratitude. Gratitude for the fact that the sun is shining. Gratitude for the fact that there is so much food in the fridge. Gratitude for the laughter in the living room. Gratitude that my mom still calls me when its late and she wonders if I'm coming home. Gratitude for how fast my friends' children are growing. Gratitude for friends who offer up their gorgeous houses to sleep in and to cook thanksgiving dinner in. Gratitude for the 11 kinds of pie in the kitchen. Gratitude for time to drink coffee and hear my friends’ stories. Gratitude for the fact that I can hug my mom as long and as often as I want. Gratitude that it’s impossible to see all the people I love while I'm here. Gratitude for messages from friends about the first snow in Berlin. Gratitude for new socks. Gratitude for random text messages, just because we can. Gratitude that Emerson and Averie remembered me and weren’t at all scared by my bald head.

My heart is full. And so is my life. Thank you. Happy Thanksgiving!

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Retracting Apologies

Since being in LA I have gotten to see a few friends. And even in the short period of time that I have been able to spend with them, I have noticed something consistent. There comes a point in the conversation where the small talk ends. We cut through the easy to talk about stuff and arrive on something hard. Something real. Something emotional. And then, usually a few moments into a conversation that really matters, something unusual happens. They apologize.

I used to do this all the time. In fact, I still do. I say I am sorry for going too deep. For sharing my heart in a way that isn’t “positive”. It has always been my thought that its not nice or cool to bring people down. It’s not really good to share what's bad. Its my job to take care of my own pain right? Work through my own issues and not trouble other people with them? But the more I think about it, the more I think that’s one of the lies I have been telling myself for as long as I can remember.

I'm not sorry anymore. Not for breathing, not for laughing and especially not for crying. It means I'm alive. It means that even though this world can be equal parts un-feeling and amazing, isolating and beautiful, I still have a pulse and a heartbeat. I am in this thing, experiencing it right now. And I feel honored when someone cuts the bullshit and shares their heart with me, especially the parts that aren't particularly pretty. It’s one of the most beautiful things we can do, let someone in. Let someone swim in our ocean. And by realizing that in other people, I am more able to realize it in myself.

So I would like to take back my apology. All the times that things have gotten intense or real, that I have “broken down” and opened up, I'm not sorry. Because it’s our gift to eachother. Permission to experience this life thing honestly, originally and unapologetically for the first time.

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Shot Glass v Mug

Blogging is funny. It’s this interesting way to reach out and share in the digital world. And even though my main goal is being in the present moment, even as I write I will be sharing the past or future. I had a dear friend write to me the other day. He had found my blog after 12 years of being out of touch and used reading every word of it to catch up on who I have become.

And while he has gone on to marry and have children and create a successful career, he was very generous with his impressions of why what I am doing matters. But this “me” on this screen is only the one I write about. The one who can put two sentences together about her feelings. If I'm honest, I spend most days neither able nor wanting to do that. And sometimes I wonder who that girl really is. The one who isn’t particularly inspired or inspiring. The one who isnt all that wise or enlightened. Most days I'm just trying to find a balance between aspiring to my potential and accepting myself for who I am.

I have a lot of friends on facebook. I feel quite certain they couldn't all handle where I'm coming from, most of the time. So there is a lot I don’t share. Not on the internet. That’s what a nice long talk and a good cup of coffee is for. That’s something each one of us should earn face to face and soul to soul. Its something I try not to forget. I’d like to think that these two versions are equally me. It’s the classic case of shot glass and mug. Same contents with different capacities.


So when can we sit down for our cup o joe?

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