Here Comes the Sun, Little Darling.

I choose to believe that all things are circular.

Certainly there are the obvious things such as the earth, the atmosphere, the stratosphere, and much of the known universe - scientifically speaking.

But also, there are the less obvious (and sometimes less scientific) things such as mathematics, genetics, generational bonds and curses, fashions, trends, faith, belief systems, and love.

This month, I am moved.

 I've been left touched, moved and inspired...  by many things, really. But mostly, by the simple and striking recurring act of the earth's gravitational orbit around the sun.

In simple science, it measures time, for us. It creates the environment for many, many variables to coexist in a very narrow range. It creates life.

In an astro-physical sense so much is being created and influenced during that gravitational pull. Here, in our tiny little specks of human lives. And out there, in the universe, the galaxy, and far beyond in the unknown, the stuff that we can't see nor conceptualize, which happens to be most of it.  

Maybe it's the season. Maybe it's because it's my birth month. Maybe it's the daylight savings. I really can't say. But, in November, I am introspective.

This year, it was a slow and quiet arousal. I found myself elbow deep in my epiphanies, suddenly and without warning. There was no game-plan, no usual moroseness, nor typical, seasonal social withdrawal.

One minute I was feeling quite lonely, reflecting on this time last year - noticing that 5 of the people in my inner most circle are no longer here... due to death, prison, geography, and simply growing apart. And then, just like that I am laughing with some friends over a casual glass of wine, and BAM - like a flash of light, I see clearly what these shining faces around the table mean to me, who they are really, and why they are there in my life.

One minute I am feeling anxious and losing sleep over a stack of bills, and then just like that over my coffee and eggs, a realization, and then a plan, come clearly into focus - washing over me with a calming effect, and leaving me in peace, sipping on my warm coffee, just fat and happy,

One minute I am feeling tired and overwhelmed, simply overcome with all of life's idiosyncrasies. And then, just like that, on a long run in the rain, I can see clearly, almost in high-definition, the gifts, the strengths, the areas that need development and the obstacles in my life. Ground-breaking.

I am choosing to believe that all things being circular, 2010 was a learning year. It started terribly, on the eve of my birthday, which coincidentally fell on Friday the 13th last year. I didn't know until the following morning, but as it turned out, my young, and beautiful colleague had passed. It was sudden and tragic, and we all mourned deeply. Death, is never easy. Unexpected death, well, that will kick you straight in the guts and leave you on your knees in confusion and mercy.

What happened next was a yearlong series of unexpected events. Some beautifully poetic. Mostly, sad and confusing. But all of them, intense. I asked a lot of questions of myself, and others. And mostly, I remember just tightening up my boot straps and fighting my way through it.

The heart of the intensity came to me one grey evening, recently, as I walked through the city towards my yoga studio. I was forced by construction to take a more crowded, and often avoided, route. During this trek, a group of students emerged from the subway stairs. They were about 15 deep, and being goofy, as kids mostly are they walked side by side, occupying the whole sidewalk. They walked with their faces down while texting and talking and were consciously oblivious to the outside world.  Surely, this is precisely how I was as a teenager.

As I approached them on the sidewalk, I started to plot on my change in direction to navigate around them. Doing so, would mean walking at least 50 feet in the wrong direction and all the way out into traffic. Or, I could stop completely and hope that they would simply come to my obstacle and part ways, like the sea. What I did instead, and without thinking, was hunker down. Eyes up and chin down, I looked straight at them and quickened my pace. As my speed and intensity grew, so did my anger.  Admittedly, it felt surprisingly good as I bowled through the wall of teenagers, shoulder to  forceful shoulder with kids about 15 years younger then me. The tallest one, turned around glaring. His hands were in the air, and his eyebrows furrowed, like he had something to prove. His young girlfriend did the talking and cursing, and threatened to show me how she earned her nickname. I simply stared, empty, at them all, and said quietly "Do any of you have something to fucking say to me?" And just like that, they quieted. Maybe it was the quiet tone in my voice. Maybe it was the empty look in my eye. Maybe it was my shaved head. Maybe it was pity. But, nope, they had nothing to say. They turned around and continued on their walk. Just like that.

I went straight to the nearest stoop and cried.

For those that know me, I am not generally an angry person. And when I feel anger, I am present to it. I allow myself to be in that place safely, and briefly, and then I allow my mood to change and evolve - onto higher thinking and loving. It is natural for me to seek peace, and feel nurturing. So it makes all of the sense in the world that after that experience, I would sit down on a stoop and cry. I wasn't crying from vulnerability, or even in shame. I was crying at the realization of the loss of self. How empty I was, in the wake of all that was happening in my world around me.

My daughter has this neat thing that she does recently, when she is trying to illustrate a point. She'll draw a simple analogy and place you in it. It doesn't seem like much, I know. But when you see her in all of her animated action, glowing in all of her raw emotion, it really hits home.

"Sofia, eat your squash"
"Mamma, how would you feel, if you saw something new that you never saw before. And your mamma asked you to try it so you did. And what you found was that it felt like you were eating a bowl of rotting, black strawberries. But then your mamma forced you to eat it anyway. Wouldn't you feel sick? Wouldn't you be sad that you couldn't make your own choice. Wouldn't you?"

How would you feel if life wasn't being easy on you? If you were being dealt blow after blow in an almost comedic string of unplanned events.   Wouldn't you feel angry? Wouldn't you feel sad, and overwhelmed, and complain all the time? Wouldn't you feel disrupted and bereaved and lost in trying to pick up all of the pieces? Wouldn't you?

And so I choose to believe that that circle has come to a close. With the full revolution of my 31st year behind me I had this awakening that it was a learning year. While mostly intense, and with many fires blazing around me, I survived. Some things burned up and became ashes, and what stuck with me I carry through to the other side, renewed. I arrive here, in the start of my 32nd year  with vision and purpose.

I have no idea how I got here, but by God's mercy and grace.

Scorpio Moon

"It took me a long time and most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured.  I realised somehow, through the screaming in my mind, that even in my shackled, bloody, helplessness, I was still free: free to hate the men who were torturing me, or to forgive them. It doesn't sound like much, I know. But in the flinch and bite of the chain, when it's all you've got, that freedom is a universe of possibility. And the choice you make, between hating and forgiving, can become the story of your life."

--Gregory David Roberts - Shantaram

Well hello there. And, happy Halloween to you all. Whatever that means.

The history of "All Hallows Even (Evening)" which proceeds the "All Hallows Day", is an ancient Roman tradition which is said to have originated in the feast of Pomona. This day is one in which our ancient ancestors were said to have invited into their homes the spirits of their dead. This was a cathartic act, done for the living, to reconnect with their history, and to complete themselves with their past. As a nasty by-product, other (much more evil counter-part) spirits would/could arrive, causing a terrible potential suffering. The wearing of a costume, could potentially "trick" the dead into passivity (no human souls here), thus not causing harm or on-going wicked-ry. ( I wonder, did my Justin Beiber costume, stifle any evil spirits?)

This weekend, though, I dug deep.

In the true spirit of inviting in the ghosts of my past for reconciliation, those damn dark reapers arrived, hand in bloody fucking hand.

My daughters Father and I have not been getting along.
I don't know how else to say it, except that he and I don't see eye-to-eye, on anything from financials, to schedules, to health insurance, to the classes she takes on the weekend, to the pants she is wearing home to what she should be for Halloween.
And, it's been slowly killing me.

This weekend, I had the privilege of connecting / re-connecting with a single parent friend over dinner. I was impressed, to say the least, at the fluidity in which her broken marriage transitioned into her and her ex's unified front. It was a model for all parents, who call it quits... and truly inspirational.

Although, I'll admit, I felt somewhat ashamed. Here we are... my Ex and I, 7 years out, and still fighting over these basic logistical things. It's heart-breaking, to say the least. And when my daughter has trouble sleeping at night, I'll open the page that is bookmaked "here" at her parents stupid-fucking inability to be harmonious.

I wish we could go to therapy. But, that happens to be another thing we disagree on. I wish I had it in me to just stifle my inner voice, and make it work for him, at all costs for the better good of the group. But, then, hey, I'd still be married, wouldn't I?

At the end of the day, what I want is for us to be able to put our amazing child first. For her to see us, her parents, who happen to not be in a committed-marital relationship, and for her to still be "lit from the inside" from these two people, who love her deeply, and are capable of modeling for her what happiness, and personal and spiritual success look like.

Will we get there? I can only hope and pray to God. Can I bring myself to: be kind in the face of adversity; bite my tongue; appreciate that this person despite our differences and realize that he and I are linked FOR LIFE; Embody Grace?

I sure as hell hope so.

As my friend shared with me this weekend... "Parenting is stewardship". You get the child that you get, and are meant to have. Whomever they happen to be, your job is to raise them, and not fuck it up. And, I guess the same holds true on the back end. As a child, your parent is yours. Whomever they are, you can only hope and trust in their process, that they will provide the best life possible, within the limits of their means.

I certainly do not have control over many things on this earth. Things have happened between Sofia's Father and I, which have ultimately brought us to this ugly truth. But, I do know this:

I can control how I choose to live and represent this very moment.
I can choose to be bound and enslaved by that past, or I can be free to live in the universe of possibilities that right now offers.

The moon is in Scorpio, my friends.
This time is often pivotal for me.
And especially this year, closing the circle on a year of just terrible things... It's time to dig deep, and just be fearless about what we find.

Cocooning

Sometimes I wonder whether I would've done this, become a parent, if I'd known about this kind of love. Mostly, and obviously, I think: Of course. Don't be silly. But sometimes my love for this child feels almost like an affliction. Like my heart is in the fist of a beast, and I'm utterly helpless. Some tiny thing will catch my attention... Sofia quietly watching a squirrel at the feeder, or the way her lips look while she's sleeping and that love feeling will start to bang around inside my chest like a huge, flapping bird.

Just tonight, I was helping Sofia dry off after her bath, and I noticed the pale blue veins that run under the skin of her lower back, like marble. She was babbling away in full color ("Do you think if I mixed vinegar and spices and green oil, I could actually make peas?"), but just for a second the sight of those veins and of her blood coursing so visibly through her made her seem so fragile, and made life itself feel so precarious.

Which, of course, it is and it isn't. This love it's like an ocean of joy, but with an undertow that's something else. Grief, maybe, or fear. In Shakespeare plays, all those characters who are just stricken with love are always tossing out expressions like "over-fond." That's how I feel about this child of mine.

Yesterday, I arrived to Sofia's after-school early for pickup, so I secretly watched her on the playground for a while. Being a systematic rule-follower, my daughter is very intent on staying in the same after-care program, year after year. And many times, early on in the school year, most of the kids are strangers to her. They'll get close enough before the school year is over, but for now, she is a little shy. She observes everything intently, seems to enjoy herself, and talks a blue streak as soon as she gets in the car ("Gracie threw me an invisible star today? And I caught it andphhtttstuck it right here to my forehead."). Her teachers, who are lovely and really seem together, tell me that Sofia is very friendly and empathetic, but that she often keeps to herself not that this is a problem, just a tendency they notice.

Still, sometimes Sofia tells me a little something about her day that just kills me like, she'll mention how some of the kids sit on a row of pillows during morning meeting. "Would you like to sit on the pillows, too?" I ask, and she shrugs a shy little shoulder. "Well, Imightlike to," she says, and smiles, "if someone wanted to save me a little spot one day."

But yesterday, I watched Sofia swinging by herself on the swing, raising her head up to look around every now and then, watching the other kids streaming by in noisy packs, and my heart just seized up. It's so hard to let go of this desire to protect her to fold her up and stuff her in my pocket so that she'll never get hurt. Whether or not Sofia's lonely on the playground now, certainly at some point in her life the world will turn a cold shoulder her way, and she'll need to make her own warmth. It's hard to reckon with.

We all go through this, I know the wistful side of parenting. I was in my friend Jen's office yesterday, admiring the photos of her son. Every child is a work of beauty, but hers happens to be beautiful in an illuminated oil-painting kind of way: red, red lips, shining gold ringlets. "Could you die?" I asked, and then asked again, because Jen was distracted. "Could you justdie?" She finally sighed and looked up at me. "Of course," she said. "That's how every parent feels."

Exactly. I think about the things I didn't understand at all before I had a child. Like the Pieta.

The past couple of weeks have been stressful for me, and surely she can pick up on my tension in certain areas. 

It makes me sad to think about how our idiosyncrasies can wholly affect our children's perception of us and the world at large. I know with certainty that I haven't been perfect on this journey. Surely, I have been selfish at times. And often my emotions ruled, bringing poor judgement into play. 


Also it isn't always easy being a single mother. It isn't always tough either, if you have the right kind of support...  but, it definitely brings things to a whole other dynamic in regards to truth and consequences. It's a whole other kind of game. 

This last weekend, I took Sofia to the beach to relax. My hope was that we could just spend some time away from the city, and chaos and just be on a new adventure together. We mostly accomplished that,  although not without colliding headfirst with a situation that was years in the making, and certainly put a dark twist on the weekend.


The little darling, she didn't even notice any of that. She only seemed to notice the waves, and the fire, and the woods, and the fresh air. I tried my hardest to pay close attention to her changing moods throughout the day, and stayed present to who she is, and who she is becoming. By the end, it was her soft constance, that was soothing to me and ultimately brought me back to balance. 


It is her, Sofia, through her wonder, and laughter, and raw love, that bring me into the best version of myself. It's a strange push-pull that we are in, as mother-daughters, teachers-students. 

here is a love that I carve out myself for this tiny little person, who grew inside of me, and grows into herself every day... But that love can hardly contain itself and the line flirts dangerously close with an overwhelming fear. The kind of fear that only exists in knowing that you have something so precious, and that there is always the potential to lose that precious. The fear grows parallel with the love and hides cautiously in the shadow. It's like this big shovels just reaches into your soul and begins to create a space for this little person. You can't help but wonder what would fill that space, if that little person were to one day go away. It is like a glass tremendously full. But, at any moment, you are aware, the glass could be knocked over and become desperately empty. 




Tonight, as I tucked my daughter into bed, she asked that I put her in a cocoon. "What's that?" I asked? "You know..." she said, "It's when a Mamma puts all of her love into your blankets, and the love protects you, so you can sleep better. That's what happens with butterflies. Did you know that?"


 I kissed her forehead and tucked her in, and my heart went flapping again, around my chest like a bird.

"Yes, my dear, I did know that."

The Love Triangle

Last night I received an unwelcome email. In a moment of pain and desperation, the sender blindly reached out to me for (hopefully) some concrete answers as an objective outsider in their rather tumultuous relationship. The email was relatively brief, but chock full of dirty little secrets. There was no disclaimer. There was no gentle approach, and certainly no soothing invitation for me to come in. With one click of my little finger, I was force fed an entire meal of discontent.  I was quickly stripped of the freedom to choose whether or not to be involved in this dark little web of lies. I couldn't have stopped it if I tried.

Reading the note was a mixed bag. I felt confusion, no longer sure what to believe, as appearances collapsed into lies. I felt guilt for now being privy to all of these awful things, without anyone else's knowledge or invitation. I felt angry that the writer of this email would be so selfish in unloading these intimate details onto a stranger like me, who happened to be closely connected to the targeted parties of the email. But mostly, I felt empathy. I connected instantly to her confusion and frustration. In an ugly, but painfully raw delivery of the truth, one couldn't help but acknowledge the dark and cold place that she was reaching out from.  It was just a brief moment that the familiar feeling came over me, and the passing nod of recognition turned my spine cold.

Looking back on the archives of my own love history, I know now that I was lucky. The men that I shared my life with were generally good people. Sure, there were differences (many). And yes, I am confident in all cases, that the eventual parting of ways was the right thing to do. But, to my knowledge, no one ever vindictively set out to hurt me, or set me up.  If anything, we loved too deeply, mostly quickly, and had an intense inability to let go, when it was clear that things were not lining up. The end result of that kind of equation is that many good years passed, and passed, and passed. We had fun, and we learned a lot, a lot, a lot. But, also a great deal was lost in the dwindling investment of time, and feelings, as these sort of love-relationships would never produce any fruit.

And I don't mean this kind of fruit.

It's clear to me now, that choosing a life parter is both equally more and less simple than we make it out to be. On the one hand, the search is an  intense overkill. I mean, all we really need is a good person, who can hold a decent conversation, make us laugh once upon a while, and who will tolerate our idiosyncrasies, and sometimes poor behavior. Possibly, someone who shares similar values, and dreams as us, and who is willing to invest the time and where-with-all to go the distance. Believe it or not, there are PLENTY of people in this world who want to both give and receive that. So, partner up, people!

I am reminded of my homecoming to the United States, after living in Italy for several years. A leisurely stroll down the cereal aisle left me spinning into sensory overload. There were so many choices, and so many different categories, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Essential Minerals, check. Fiber, check. Low sugar, check. No unnecessary additives, check. What should have been a simple check list left me frozen in a 45 minutes stalemate of indecisiveness. Analysis Paralysis.

On the other hand, I know it is really not that simple. Not, in modern, western culture anyway, where we are always constantly craving MORE. We, as a general people, are mostly sadly unfulfilled in our daily lives. We are relying on the next thing to happen to us, and in our lives, to lock in that forever happiness that will lead us to feeling elated and connected as humans. And when we can't find it, we just fill it up with more stuff.  We create this search for that other person who will complete us, like the 2 halves of an enlightened whole. And, in that search, we determine ourselves, to never, ever settle for anything less than completion. And then maybe we do anyway. And, we spend the rest of our miserable, married years, questioning whether or not this is was the right choice, the right person, the right life.

Last nights email was certainly a fresh jolt out of the dreamy wedded bliss set-up, that we convince ourselves only the "real thing" can look and feel like.

We want to have so that we can be. And I know that innate feeling is a complicated puzzle that we set out on solving from the earliest moments of our existence. Loving other humans is so natural, and so complex and it is a long and sometimes convoluted journey to monogamous, and fulfilling partnership, if we ever get there at all.

I don't pretend to have all the answers. I am still on my own personal journey as well. I have had failed relationships, and many losses. I have been on both sides of the love cloud. I have love and lost, and fought and forgiven, and I sit here today, a single 31 year old mother of one, albeit, very, very fulfilled by my life as it is right now.

However, I know this: we are responsible for the quality of our own lives. Moment to moment, micro-second to micro-second, in every moment, the way that we are being will determine the outcome of what we have. Be and then have. And maybe, just maybe the very resolve that has brought me to that truth, will help me let go of any expectations that I have in a life partner, and what that may or may not look like in my life, when that time comes.

I can only hope, that when they do come around, whole person to whole person, that I am humble and grateful, and that I recognize them for all who they are and all who they aren't. And, that we love each other anyway.

It's Monday Morning and the Cat Died

Well, Hello! Did you find me here? Welcome!

Welcome to the collective gathering spot of mostly what will be the pool of overflow from my life. The constant and bubbling brook that is the stream of my thoughts, my love, my travels, my philosophies, my photographs, my experiences and time.

Since I have only one pair of the two little pairs of fish feet, that are the epicenter of this blog, mostly it is my voice that will be represented. My little fish is in the 2nd grade, and thereby mostly occupied during the day. But, for all intents and purposes, this will be our life together, as I see it, as I planted it, and as we grow it.

I had wanted to kick this thing off with something chipper, and bubbly. I imagined talking about how my life for the last 31 years, although tumultuous, has been nothing short of beautiful, and even poetic at times. I imagined talking about the love I have for my little fish. How sometimes, I love her so much I feel like my heart may burst. I lay awake some nights simply in awe of the gift, that has been mothering this little person. I could have talked about my travels. And how small the world still seems to me. Or, something existential, such as how even the smallest of choices, have in time, forever altered the course of my life.

But, not today. It’s Monday morning, and my cat died. The Cashmere Cat, as I called her, whom I rescued from the terrible fate of being drowned in a barn, in the Fall of 1997. Born in the back-wood countryside of Hartford Connecticut, this little black and white tuxedo cat has seen, smelled, and tasted nothing short of a good cat life. She had lived wonderfully, in 4 states, and 2 countries. She  loved being outside, and for the life of me I could not bring  myself to lock her within the confine of my home, and often let her roam in our garden, or stretch out in the sun on our balcony in Rome. She was a survivor, and a sweetheart. She saw me through some of the most passionate, and challenging times of my life. And, she always, always, always, slept next to me, tucked neatly within the folds of my own body, serving herself as a sort of cashmere little pillow. She often purred in her sleep, and the warmth of her little, purring body, often comforted me. It was a tragic finding, of what seemed to be a peaceful death. And I just pray, that in my absence, she transitioned peacefully, to whatever awaits her on the other side.

I knew something was wrong yesterday when I came home from a weekend away, and she did not come to me, as always. Her food was untouched, and I could not find her. During the night, in what turned out to be a premonition, I dreamt that she had died, and can still see the dream-like image of her little black and white body burned into my mind. This morning, that image materialized into real-life. And, the hardest part is knowing what to do with her, in all of my grief. My only reprieve is that she seems to have died suddenly, and without pain. And while it remains a mystery to me, at least I know that she did not suffer. I will miss her deeply, in the days to come.

How strange this morning was. How strange this month was, this year, this life. It is the perfect marker in the path of the strange, that I seem to be winding down these days. I’ve witnessed great loss this year, and terrible grief in those around me. I’ve lost my Co-Worker, and almost my best friend, in sudden, and massive brain aneurysms. I have witnessed another colleague lay his young wife to rest, after a losing battle with brain cancer. There are places in this world, just wrenched with suffering. Some far away, like in Haiti, where they are struggling to regain equilibrium from an earthquake that almost destroyed them completely. And others, just around the corner from my home and my heart. And while I understand that suffering is what brings us to be human, I also, like most humans, struggle to understand where it fits into the larger equation of our time here on this earth.  But one thing I know for sure: we absolutely do not get to choose when it is our time to go. Life can end for us at any single moment, of any single day. And for this reason, and for many others, we must live our lives so that when Death comes to us in that way, like a thief in the night, that he will have nothing left to take from us, for we have truly lived.

This is the story of the stretching and challenging of my heart, soul, family and mind. It is finite, for the story ends for all of us eventually. But, for me, not today. So, while I still can, I write it all down.

Rest in Peace, Simone. Thank you for sharing my life for 13 wonderful years.