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December 31, 2012

things i know for sure, on the eve of a new year.


as a lover of lists, there are some things i know for sure...

there are women who wear purple and women who don't. i will always be a lover of purple.
there are two kinds of people in this world: those who smile at the sight of a dog sticking his/her head out a car window and those who don't. i choose to smile. i don't understand people who don't.
i do some of my best writing with sports playing in the background.
i am my mother's daughter: lover of oprah, real simple, and mary chapin carpenter. and i'm a helper. i could die happy knowing my grave had those words on it.
i am my father’s daughter: i have a filthy mouth while watching sports, especially baseball. and i'm stubborn as the day is long. but we both love with every part of our being.
people who only talk and write about happy things are hiding something. life is good and ugly and varying shades of both.
bringing robin ventura to the south side was a good move.
the whole world needs to stop what it's doing and love itself more.

2013 is going to be beautiful.





he just loves to make this face when i'm trying to get a nice picture.
i love this face.

happy new year! 

December 30, 2012

clean slates.

people like clean slates; it's why we make resolutions. 

we don't need to wait until the start of a new year to make new promises to ourselves. every day should start with promises.

i will love myself, even though i know it might require more energy than i currently possess.

i will try really hard. at whatever comes across my plate.

i will say "thank you."

every day is another start. and after, or rather, sometimes, smack in the middle of a particularly difficult one it's easy to say, "fuck it. fuck this day and fuck this person who needs something from me. i have nothing left to give today."

we always have more to give. the bad stuff only lasts if we choose to keep it around. if we choose to let it cover us like a heavy blanket.

the wonderfully warm and wise anne lamott reminds us that we can "start the 24-hours over again as soon as we want." and she encourages us to participate in "radical self-care."

there are a million ways to show ourselves "radical self-care." yet, we hardly do. 

choose to do this. make the choice that you love yourself enough to put yourself first. love yourself. fight for yourself. make the choice that you're worth that much. choose is a very powerful word. life is hard enough. we don't need to make it harder.

we become the labels we assign ourselves. i'm italian. therefore, i'm emotional. and loud. i'm a writer. therefore, i'm sensitive and curious.


i am a girl named after a song. i am emotional and loud and sensitive and curious. i am all of these things and a million others. 
 

nearly a year ago i wrotei want less anything less-than wonderful.


i've stuck to most of those lists. but it's just really hard to eat less cheese. 

i will move more, in every possible way. this is what i want most for myself starting right now, not midnight monday night, but right now. i wish for more movement for you too. towards good and great and fun and beautiful and healthy and happy.

to 2013. cheers to all of us. salute.

December 28, 2012

on being humbled.

i'm sick.

i hate being sick. 

i'm trying to be better about using the word hate, only inserting it when absolutely appropriate. 

it's appropriate here.

no one likes being sick, but when you have issues relinquishing control it's worse. as day one of being sick turns into day five you find yourself cursing, in your head of course, the elevator that takes too long, or the person who needs something shipped to new york five minutes before you're walking out the door, or the headache that refuses to leave your right temple, or the job you don't get. you curse all of these things because you cannot control them. you didn't bring them upon yourself and you cannot make them go away.

it's humbling. life is humbling, sometimes in ten different ways all at once.

it’s humbling to find yourself at age twenty-eight taking a temp job found by one of the ten different recruiters you use. your regular office is closed for the holidays and the thought of not working for close to two weeks makes you so anxious you want to scream.

sometimes you do. 

you hate that at twenty-eight you have to take temp jobs. you hate that you sometimes have to use your lunch hour for job interviews. you hate that you've filled out the same set of forms dozens of times. you hate that you find yourself crying on the train after these interviews, especially the ones you know won't lead to anything. you hate that you haven't written and published as much as you thought you would by now. you hate that you don't know how to take it easy on yourself.

"by now," those are dangerous and loaded words. 

you hate that things seem so easy for other people. you hate that things are this hard. you hate that no matter how much you try to prove yourself things seem to stay this hard. being angry sucks you of energy and hope. but hope never fully leaves. it's stubborn like that. 

the path you took to twenty-eight is not the same as anybody else's. it took you a long time, a painfully long time, to make the first step to take care of yourself, to do anything for yourself that didn't involve food, to free yourself of all of the things that weighed you down.

you had to crawl there. some days that still feels like your only movement. 

you start the temp assignment. the holidays come. you get sick. 

it's humbling to find yourself throwing up in the garbage can at a big, beautiful desk of a big, important company downtown. and again the next day in the bathroom only because you made it there in time. it's humbling to wash your face, sit back down, and research “stomach flu vs. food poisoning."

it’s humbling to be writhing in pain next to the man you love. because someone gave it to both of you or you gave it to him or he gave it to you. to let the other person see you like that, to feel safe enough to let him see you like that. 

it’s humbling to be able to eat nothing more than a handful of goldfish crackers and ginger ale for two days. 

it’s healing, to be slowed down, even when forced, to do nothing but go to work and go home and sleep, nothing else. to take time, real time.

i've been wanting to write about so many things. 

about having this blog for one year. about how much has changed since i started it. how i didn't think i'd still be where i am. and how i'm reminding myself that in doing everything i can i am doing everything i can. and the days i feel like i'm not doing enough i pray. i pray a lot.

i wanted to write about how wonderful my birthday was and how lucky i am. how my mom took me to dinner at gio's and we both ordered prosciutto paninis and split a piece of cheesecake. how we sat there and laughed for over an hour while listening to louis armstrong sing about christmas. how ben sent pale pink and purple flowers to work, flowers that looked and smelled amazing, how his card made me cry at dinner. how good the stuffed shells and tiramisu and white wine we shared tasted, all of it. i wanted to write about the love i felt with every card and e-mail and text message i read. how my grandma's voice mail singing to me almost made me cry at my desk. how she's done it every year since i can remember and how desperately i'll miss them when they stop.

i wanted to write about how beautiful my christmas was. sharing donuts with eva in the parking lot before church, singing joy to the world, watching this lovely little girl open her presents, how it felt to sit on ben's aunt's couch and watch everyone in that living room, how welcome i felt. and how good the cheesecake was. the drive back to his house, staring at the full moon and saying a prayer, taking a picture of this moment in my mind to always remember.

i have hope. so many good things have come this year. i say thank you everyday for my blessings, and there are many. but i need to re-charge, take a breath, and get a new start, a new year. i finally know what it feels like to want and need. universe, i'm ready. please.

this is my prayer. 

December 23, 2012

truth.

Every woman is a rebel, and usually in wild revolt against herself. -Oscar Wilde

December 19, 2012

what i know at 28.

at 3:05 this afternoon i will turn twenty-eight.

twenty-seven has been quite good, in so many ways. but i'm really excited about twenty-eight. i feel hope like i've never felt before. plus, i love even numbers.

in no particular order, these are things i know in my bones to be true. things i've come back to over and over again this past year.

happiness is a choice. 

certain things are worth the extra money: food is the first that comes to mind. eyelash curlers are another. others don't need to be expensive to be good, things like sunglasses and flowers. 


loving and forgiving are the hardest things in the world, but they're the most rewarding.


comparing anything about you to anything about someone else is the fastest way to exhaust yourself.


my body hatred is the most boring thing about me, but i'm grateful that it's brought about quite a bit of good.


if someone doesn't take something as seriously as you it has nothing to do with you. you can't make someone care.

sometimes the high road is the last place i want to be. 


worrying causes wrinkles. and migraines. and acne. and weight gain. 

talking is a form of healing, so is crying. 

there is nothing wrong with crying on the bus as long as it happens sporadically, you're wearing sunglasses (if possible,) and you know the reason why.  


be the person who asks why? 

ruffle the world's feathers. ruffle your own.

say yes. a lot.

consider yourself lucky if you have a friend who calls you peach. there's something beautiful about the love in that little word.

choosing to do nothing is not dealing with things. this is different from letting go. we all know the difference.


the sound of someone i love calling me rhi is one of my favorite things in the whole world.

find something that feeds your soul. it cannot involve food.

karma is real.


it's possible to somehow feel equal parts angry, sad, and indifferent.

angry, sad, and indifferent is a bad place to be. 

admitting you need therapy is hard. getting there on your own is harder. finding a green chair in the office of a former chicago cop is a blessing. 


needing therapy does not make you weak. 

talk to strangers. to this day some of my best friends are people i randomly started talking to. 

have friends of all ages. this will come in handy more than you could ever anticipate. 

falling in love is worth the wait. it took me over twenty years to love myself. and then i met ben. i wouldn't have it any other way.

food is not your enemy.

maybe and should are dangerous words. use them wisely. 

people will try to silence you everyday in small, quiet ways. pay better attention. stop allowing this.

thank you is its own prayer. it's enough. 


i finally get what anne lamott has been getting at. hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. you wait and watch and work: you don't give up. 

this is my prayer for twenty-eight. i'm ready. 

December 18, 2012

music, margaritas, and finding myself in a red rental car.

when i went to kentucky last summer i called jim from a mexican restaurant. 

i sat at the bar and ordered strawberry margaritas and steak tacos. while i waited i walked outside.

i'm really not good at waiting.

i cried on the sidewalk.

i'd driven seven hours in a red rental car to see mary chapin carpenter. by myself. in the front row of a beautiful old opera house in downtown lexington.  

i'd do it again tomorrow.

i was unhappy with my life at the time. i was so sad and lonely my bones ached. i needed to get away. those are the cliffs notes

there is always a reason for tears. and sometimes they come out after eight-hour drives and two margaritas. 

this woman has provided the soundtrack for so many parts of my life, sad and wonderful.

in this world there's a whole lot of sorrow, but a whole lot of ground to gain

i learned to love this woman's music from my mom who always played her cds in the car. and before cds she played cassette tapes. i still remember what the cover of each album looks like. 

i listen to this woman when i'm sad and lost. when i'm happy and grateful. when i need to feel strong. when i feel stronger than i have in months. when i need comfort and clarity, when i need a strong woman in my ear and in my heart. when i'm looking to feel peace. and twenty minutes of her voice does more for me than yoga ever could.

i feel a world away from that summer and from the girl on that sidewalk. but i still remember the dress i wore that night. and the navy blue heels. and i remember sitting in that velvet seat not talking to anyone, waiting. waiting for this shorter-than-i-expected-her-to-be woman to come onto the stage fifteen feet from me and sing for two hours. this soft, strong, wonderfully flawed woman to sing songs about brave women. confused women. fun women who go through days when they also feel afraid. women working through things and trying to be better, women who mess up and clean up on their own terms and in their own time.

women. 

men too, of course. 

this woman's voice reminds me of what i am trying to be. what i'm trying to figure out. and i get closer and closer to it on the third and fourth listen of one of her songs as i take out whatever piece of scrap paper i can find. because something always always comes to me that i don't want to forget. this woman does that to me.

i keep trying to write about kentucky, about those six days. just six days. 

on a post-it i put above my desk i wrote, i want this essay to feel the way i felt in that red car listening to mary chapin carpenter. i would stare at it as i typed. and put it on my desk next to my computer as if making those words closer would pull the others out of me. 

i am changed by this woman. i've been changed by this woman. the word free is in the front of my mind. it won't go away. 

i know this means something.

music, margaritas, and finding yourself in a red rental car. this is everything.



it's a long enough life to be livin', why walk when you can fly

December 15, 2012

music helps.

earlier today we danced around ben's living room to this. eva loves the word down. when words aren't enough music sometimes helps.

December 14, 2012

life, as of late.












December 12, 2012

on fear and faith. and juggling the two.

we do things because we have to. 

sometimes they're unbearably hard, but we do them. we do them especially when it would be easier to walk away. 

those moments when we're tempted to walk away, we're walking away from ourselves. we're ignoring ourselves. no one else loses if and when we choose to do this.

it's hard to say, out loud, what we need from other people. it's really hard.

why is it so hard?

we don't feel deserving enough. or good enough. we don't feel like fighting for ourselves.

we all need to be fighting for ourselves.

it's hard to get to the place where we're capable of fighting. i won't lie and pretend that it's not.

i love myself. i really do. but it's taken a long time to get here.

and some days i don't. at all. and nobody can convince me that i should. it's not a 24/7 thing. it just isn't. life doesn't work that way.

should is a dangerous word. it implies obligation and weight and pressure. i really should be doing this. i should feel this way. the absence of the should is a feeling of failure in a sense.

these days happen. and these days pass. and it's on these days when i know i must show myself more kindness and love. it took me twenty-five years to learn how to be kind to myself. you better believe i want to help others learn. and learn much earlier than me.

i see glimpses of this particular sadness in other people, especially women. i can look at someone on a train platform and feel that they hate themselves. i can see how they're doing everything possible to not be seen. i remember what that was like.

i love myself enough to ask for what i need. a ride, a hug, a glass of wine, to be met halfway, to not be the only one doing the lifting. i love myself enough to remember how much more i deserve. i love myself enough to remember it's okay to need things. this is normal. this is life.

it's hard to ask for what we need. it's hard to feel like we can't do things ourselves. 

we were not put on this earth to walk it alone.

don't ever apologize for needing.

i love myself enough to eat the salad when i want the burger, but i also love myself enough to eat a burger when i really want a burger, when my body is craving this. i love myself enough to listen to my body and give it what it needs: sleep, a hot bath, a run, twenty miles on the bike. 

i love myself to quiet all the other voices around me. 

i love myself enough to listen. to the girlfriend who reminds me so much of my younger self it shakes me. shakes me and makes me laugh because the universe has one heck of a sense of humor. and when she says, "i feel like this is it, like this is as good as it gets," and you can see her future so clearly, but she can't, you tell her, "you have to fight. you have to start fighting." 

faith in yourself. this is step one.

December 8, 2012

start here.



these are your instructions
if you choose to follow
stop and take a big breath
begin with something hollow

December 7, 2012

a day.


yesterday in jim's office the first thing i said was, "today is not a good day." 

it was 1:00 in the afternoon.

"what's going on today?" he asked.

i told him. 

as i said the words my chest somehow felt lighter and heavier at the same time.

it was one of those days, a day you know is going to be bad as you're getting ready for it. you feel it. and those feelings are rarely wrong. but the thing about these days, if you pause and try to find something good, sometimes something can be salvaged. they offer something.

look for the something.

the day started badly. i didn't get news i wanted. what can i do with this? ask myself questions. this is always step one. 

so i did. i did what i do-think about things. a lot. my eyes felt heavy. everything felt heavy. 

days like yesterday are rare. that is its own blessing. i will leave yesterday there, in the past, away from today and certainly away from tomorrow. i will leave my disappointment and frustration and exhaustion. they don't get to come with me.

things will not always be this hard.

something better is out there.

it's going to rain all weekend. this makes me tremendously happy. a fresh start. i'm taking it.






December 6, 2012

tomorrow's going to be better.



December 4, 2012

on love. part two of a million.

a few days ago i was on the phone with ben, crying. things had been adding up and i felt all of them. 

that's called life.

i said everything that had been sitting on my chest. 

ben waited. he's good like that. 

and then he said something that made me cry even harder.

"i've got a lot of faith in you."

it was what i couldn't say/feel/believe on my own.  it was what i needed. a push, an embrace, a reminder. a reminder that things will not always feel this heavy. a reminder that i've been through harder things than this. and i made it through them. i did that. this man. this man who's never the first to let go. 

this man's faith reminds me that the faith i have in myself, though it wanes from day to day, is still there. it never left.