Photographs

Every once in a while, I take some time to clear out old photos in my phone. Before the days of iStorage (is that what it’s even called?), I was always buying those itty bitty SD cards to increase the storage of my phone. Was I using all the apps? Nope. Was I running a multimillion dollar business that required all the memory? Not even close. But, let me tell you, that omelette that I had at some brunch in 2012, the picture of my manicure, the selfie with my stethoscope pretending I know what I’m doing, some completely boring presentation I was working on, my avocado toast, the (same) coffee I drink daily, the “cheers from me” glass of wine, 2.7 million photos of my dog, and probably thousands of mundane day to day things – all safely captured and stored on my phone.

I admit, I have a photo hoarding problem.

That said, I’m trying to reign it in and make a concerted effort to look through my pictures and delete the ones that really don’t need to be stored. Which got me thinking about the reasons I take photos in the first place.

Some are purely practical – send someone the picture of the intersection I’m waiting to meet them at, the receipt from dinner to split, the title of the book recommended to me, the tag from the coat I want to buy, the top I’m considering buying but need someone to remind me I already own ten of them and probably don’t need an eleventh.

Other photos are taken only to share the current moment. “This made me think of you,” “I thought this was funny,” “Look at how adorable Scruffles looks peeing right now,” or “This felt like it could be a very artistic portrayal of [insert topic of interest].” These are the photos that I need to rifle through and delete. And rarely do I actually do that. Do I look back at the manicure photo from 2012 and wonder why I took it? Yes. Why was this omelette important? No idea. What’s special about this unlabeled glass of wine? I’ll get back to you later on that one (*sips from wineglass sitting near laptop*).

Lastly, the “important” ones. This includes every photo ever taken of my dog. And all the other things that I seem to value. But what makes these photos worthy of saving and keeping? I don’t quite know the answer to that yet. I do know that many of the photos that I save are the things that I’d like to look back in the future and remember. Smile about, laugh, and be transported to a time that once was. In one word – memories.

So this got me thinking of how snapping a photo on our phone is such an easy task, we do it often without putting too much thought into it, but the sentiment behind is quite beautiful. What it says to me is:

I want to capture this perfect moment and carry it into the future with me.

Looking back at all the photos I have with friends, family, loved ones, the city views and most importantly – Mr. Scruffles, they are all capturing a moment that I desire to carry with me into the years to come. On that same thought, I think of all the times that others invite me into their photos, and how in so many ways it is a way of saying “I’d like remember this, and I’d like to remember you one day.”

How beautiful is it for someone to want to carry pieces of our time together into the future?

I am so grateful to have moments in my life that I want to carry with me into the future, and that I am surrounded by others who want to carry me into their future too.

xoxo,

Kathy ❤

One Day

Over the summer, I tried my hand at the Billy Collins Poetry Masterclass. Am I a poet? Nope. In fact, I am certain that my “poetry” will have Mary Oliver, Robert Frost, and Edgar Allen Poe rolling over in their graves. Rilke would write letters telling me to never quit my day job. Regardless, I promised myself when I started this little project that I’d give all the literary things a try. So here we are. My first “published” poem!

One Day


Hustling here and bustling there,
Honks, horns, and humans everywhere,
Train is running late today.
Yesterday.
Everyday.
It wouldn’t be right moving any other way.
We’ll eventually get there.
One day.

Eye catching glimmers through the windows at night,
Starry sky filled with dim and soft light,
Although, the stars appear less bright,
Dueling the electric current in the streets,
Bodies dancing, singing, and rustling in the bedsheets,

Thousands of steps treaded,
Through blossoming autumn and snowy spring,
Where my heart arrived shredded,
Truthfully – obliterated,
Every single step, even in chaos,
Darned a healing string.
Mind transformed into being more – and less – tough,
But no longer feeling not enough.

Gently folding memories away,
Slowly fading from too much, or not enough, Chardonnay.
The only thing left,
Is to hold my breath,
And wait until the future becomes the past,
To return home – one day – at last.

On Purposelessness

A while back (long while back) I wrote about my thoughts on being. Simply being for the sake of being. It’s been a little while since that post, and since the last one I posted, I have certainly had quite a ride. I moved to Chicago and moved back to NYC. Guess nothing really is quite like it. I started a job, left and started a new one.

I felt like this whirlwind was very much a culminating event and reflective of the way that I had led my life. Everything was always moving at the speed of sound, and there was always a path or direction that I was moving toward.

Since I’ve been back, I took on a position that doesn’t require me to advance, to publish, to take on 200 leadership tasks. For the first time in my adult life, I am going to work, doing my job, and coming home. I’m not reading emails, writing notes, working on lectures, directing projects.

I am coming home and doing absolutely nothing.

I feel as though everyone is torn about these things sometimes. On the one hand, I have the potential, power and ability to be moving mountains. On the other hand, it is easier for me to be living in a state of chasing milestones and ticking successes off than box than it is to be creating space for other areas of my life. I am good at my job. I am not good at many things outside of my job. So lately, I have been drowning in a sea of ambivalence, feeling dissatisfaction with my lack of purpose.

What is the purpose of my life now? No idea. But let’s see where it goes!

I fantasized about living a life where I am focusing on my artistic side. Painting, drawing, decorating, cooking, baking, writing, traveling. Yes. I even tried to get through the MasterClass poetry classes. (I might be brave enough to post somethings I tried my hand at…) I’ve wanted for so long to have this opportunity to explore these other facets of my life. Now I have it and I feel so untethered which has in turn paralyzed to take a step into any direction,

So it seems to me that I need to do some serious reframing of my feeling of “purposeless” and realize that sense of purpose is defined by me. And not my job. This is my “year of rest and relaxation” and hopefully, I can realign and figure out what I am doing and where I’ll be heading.

Maybe, for now, I’ll just sit here a while and enjoy the view!

2021 Intentions Revisited

I have not written in a little bit of a while – mainly because life has been a whirlwind and I am still in the process of processing things. (Isn’t that something? The process of processing?) I’m reaching the end of my (goodbye til next year?) stay in NYC and sitting in my empty apartment with nothing but an air mattress, wine in the fridge and the sadness in my heart to leave a place I love. It’s been a month of anxiety, but since this is a space we talk about IRL things – on Sunday – I actually had a serious moment of panic and needed to realign myself. Initially, I thought I needed (or wanted?) to set intentions for my move but instead, I ended up looking at the ones I had set for the 2021 year and in reading them, they gave me a sense of solace and hope.

For a while now, something that I have been contending with is whether I wanted to share them publicly (does anyone actually read this??) or not. The last few days, I have felt a strong feeling to share them and I think it comes from a need to reiterate a vow I made to myself at the start of the year.

Since I’m not in the business of oversharing, at the end of the year, let me tell you how these intentions came to be. Every year leading up to New Year’s Eve, I like to take time to meditate and write out “intentions” for the upcoming year. Usually I take the the time to do the Anuschka Rees “Year in Review” (https://anuschkarees.com/blog/2017/12/28/your-year-in-review-2017) about 5 days leading up to the new year, and then I like to set goals for the upcoming year. Last year, I dedicated an evening to the YogaGirl Conversations from the Heart Intention Ceremony (https://www.yogagirl.com/podcast/conversations-from-the-heart/new-years-intention-setting-ceremony-2021). It gave me the space to set my goals, dreams, and desires, as well as to be open to life’s ebbs and flows. Overall, it grounded me and drew a map for my year. As long as I know I’m making some progress toward something, I feel like I am “moving forward in life.”

Back to the point of the story, when I was having a meltdown and thought I wanted to write new intentions for my move to Chicago, I instead ended up reading old ones and felt the urge to share them because they moved me reading them. (This was jotted down and I am transcribing it so bear with me. And, let’s be real, I can’t read my own handwriting! 🤦🏻‍♀️)

“In 2021, I want love…”

“I want to give and receive love, be surrounded by love, find love, make love, and feel love. I want to be happy, joyful, and light. I want to worry less, and laugh more, I want to appreciate each moment I have as if it won’t happen again. Isn’t that what life is after all? I was to feel confident in my choices, in my life. I want to travel, try new things, grow relationships, find the growth in family. I want to the keep close to those I care for, and create new relationships with those who enter unexpectedly. Let go what needs to be freed. But mostly, I feel it in my bones, I want love and warmth, I want to find where I belong. I want love, love of all shapes and sizes and forms. I want to laugh until my stomach hurts and have tears in my eyes. But I just so, so, so am ready and open to give and receive love. Love others and be in love… Create love, grow love, be love, and soak in love. That is my intention for 2021, my year of love.”

When I initially saw this, I was convinced that this belonged to someone else. But then after careful examination, I realized that it was in fact my own chicken-scratch and rambling thoughts that I was reading. So instead of writing new intentions which would probably be just as wine fueled and stream of consciousness as this one was, why should a different city change my goals? Nine months ago I wanted to welcome love into my life in all its wonderful forms, I’ll do my best to continue doing my best at that. Despite my anxieties, fears and resistance to this transition, I will try my hardest to continue to carry this intention along and do my very best to embrace this year’s Chicago experiences with “love and light in my heart.”

Cheers to the year of love!

My Adoptaversary

Ruff Ruff! Hello furrrr-ends!

Today is my adoptaversary and mom doesn’t even know I’m on her computer typing away. We had the BEST day today!!!!! Mom gave me special treats, the kind that I only get once a year, we snuggled on the couch, she gave me ear and paw and belly rubs and we event went to the pretty doggie park! I got to play with my doggie furends! I’m a bit tired from all the sniffs and runs now so I might have to take a nap in my special hiding space behind the couch soon! That’s the BEST nap place, and I also hide there when it’s bath time! (Mom tries to bribe me with treats. Don’t tell your pawrents this – the secret is to use your paw to pull them toward you without moving!)

I had a really good year. Mom was home most of the time, almost everyday, so I got belly rubs and pats throughout the day. Every. Single. Day. I also got to play with my toys and got treats just for being “cute.” Mom always tells me that she loves me so much and sometimes she tells me that I remind her something really important. She says that I remind her that she is enough just the way she is. I think she’s pretty jazzy and I wouldn’t change a thing about her. (Maybe keep her home with me even more hours of the day!!!) I don’t understand why she’s always worrying about her hair or nails or looking in the mirror and making funny faces when she grabs her belly. I’m not sure our hooman pawrents get it, so I just look at her with my big black eyes and try to tell her she’s perfect to me. I don’t think she speaks my language because usually she says “What’s wrong baby? What do you need?” when I talk to her. Hoomans are so funny sometimes, and they don’t seem to get the things we puppers do!

I’m really looking forward to this summer and more time at the doggie park! I think mom is making some plans to move again and I’m a bit nervous about a new city and a new apartment. I know all the best hiding spots in this one but I can’t wait to have new flowers, grass and trees to sniff, new plaes to expawlore and I’m getting excited about all the new furends I’ll meet!

I’m getting a little sweepy and I hear mom coming! I’m so happy to have been with her for the last 3 years! Ruff Ruffs and tail wags to many many more!

🐾🐾

– Scruffles

The Feelings

I’ve been quiet the last few weeks, between being busy with work, interviewing for a new position, some travel, and trying to spend as much time with friends as humanly possible, it’s been a busy last few weeks. I am happy to say that I have accepted a new position, and I am very excited to be starting this next step of my life – the part where I’m supposed to know more things than I did the day before I started. It’s funny how medical training works.

For those who know me, I was always an “I got this and I don’t need anyone else’s help” kind of gal. (I still am and I have to tell you about how the universe keeps trying to teach me to unlearn that… stay tuned!) Although during the throes of the COVID-times, I was calling my mom daily. I was scared for her, and scared for what would happen. I was in NYC, and she was in Chicago and I couldn’t just hop in the car and check in. My sister was far away and I was scared for her as well.

During those very scary early days, I vividly remember walking miles and miles with Scruffles through the city- at night – talking with my mom.

During the “early days,” I remember calling one of my supervisors in a panic that I cannot come to the hospital to work my shifts over the weekend, because my university prohibited moonlighting. The exact shifts that my rent most depended on. remember the last grand rounds that we had, and the last time that I met my colleagues as a class, sharing individual treats to celebrate birthdays. I remember the very last time I went out to dinner with friends before the city locked down. I remember the zoom birthday celebration my co-workers surprised me with. I remember having long days of zoom lectures, and giggling at my peer who was obviously multitasking and living his best life, running during the classes. I remember being sick, with COVID, and my kind friends calling to check in on me, giving me medical advice and doing everything possible to keep me in my own bed. I remember sitting on my chair by the window, sharing photos of the Manhattan sunsets with a friend, drinking our Rosé. I remember socially distanced bike rides with my girlfriends, and my first socially distanced outdoor pizza after months of lockdown.

Who knew that this would be our life – for a year?

So a year later, things are still not quite back to normal. I don’t need to reflect what every single person on this planet has been feeling. It’s been a transition, and now, I feel comfortable with this way of life. I have my (not real) routines. I have my doggie next to me all day. I have my yoga pant selection down. The older I get, the harder it becomes for me to adapt to change.

What I am actually processing, is that my new chair was thoughtful to include me in an email sent to the department. I was initially quite excited and thought it was the first step in being welcomed into this new family I’d be joining. Then I read the email. It was his reflection on the uncertainty and confusion at the start of the pandemic, as well as the memes and youtube videos that they used to cope.

I was in a silly way hurt over the email. It felt like such a unique experience to my current colleagues, that I got all the feelings and decided it felt like I was in a way moving away from what I knew, and into the unknown, and intruding on their experience.

But is it really an intrusion? Or is it simply the fact that we all actually shared something monumentally tragic and challenging, no matter where we were? I knew that most places proceeded similarly to the way we did. I knew that most everyone coped similarly, and yet, somehow, it felt sad receiving that email from my future chair.

It reminded me that I will be moving away from a community which had become so close, so important, and so critical in getting me through the last year.

So – here I am. Sitting in my apartment in NYC, having so many feelings over the fact that my future boss is thoughtful and made an effort to include me into my future work community, sharing their COVID experience. I’m still confused at what it is that I’ve even feeling about it, or why. Excitement? Fear? Resistance? Betrayal? Anger?

Regardless of what it is, perhaps this is a sign that it’s time to start opening myself up to sharing those experiences with those who are not in my inner circle. I did receive the email just as I was having a moment of fear, wondering whether I made the right choice.

After all – we went through this together.

On Expectations

I was recently having a celebratory birthday dinner with some friends and a discussion came up regarding the future of our relationships with one another. What will that look like? Although I am quite an anxious person (my anxieties have anxieties), I’ve handed over the trajectory of the future of all of my relationships to the universe. I’m by no definition “chill.” I would never leave the house with even a cup left in the sink, I must have enough food to feed half of my complex anytime I host an event, I am bothered by not having a plan for the weekend, and I am, as many would say, “forward thinking and always prepared.” That’s code for “you’re too anxious and you need to get it together.”

But back to dinner. That night was lovely, albeit cold- very, very, very cold. The memory of that evening includes the birthday girl smiling and laughing, simple and elegant lights adorning the ceiling, the tent surrounded by planters, a view of the city, and a sommelier pairing wines with our dishes.

These little moments between my mundane and repetitive days make me feel alive.

Otherwise, I feel like a robot with a glitch in my code, repeating every single day. I wanted to savor the ambiance and the laughs and the company for the weeks to come. I didn’t want to worry about what we’ll be doing in a year, I just wanted to take it in.

Although, older-wiser-me has gotten a bit better at navigating friendships, younger and less-wise-me had very different expectations for my friendships. What I did have that probably needed the most attention, was some very confusing ideas of who is a friend, a colleague, and an acquaintance. I also had some very questionable hair color choices, clothing choices, and cocktail choices. (But that’s another post.) I didn’t really know – I lacked experience and the experiences I had were… pretty awful.

As a younger child, I was picked on for many years, and given my studious nature, natural inclination toward introversion, and very unfashionable attire (compliments of my mother who wanted to live out the fantasy of sending her daughter to a Catholic school, while attending a public school and living in a rough and tough neighborhood in Chicago). Other examples of sticking out like a sore thumb included being sent to school with traditional Polish dishes for lunch, never having those coveted “designer” Nike or whatever shoes, not being allowed to have too many friends as a kiddo, and requiring that I help with house remodeling projects rather than being a kid. The one or two friends I was allowed to have in elementary school moved away, then we moved away to a school where I did not belong. At all. There was no Facebook or Instagram or text messaging. Not helping my case, having a last name that is very similar to Lewinsky (during the Clinton scandal) was a goldmine for “jokes.” Congrats! You now know more about me than I have probably ever shared with most people until now.

The TL;DR summary of the last paragraph is that I didn’t really know how to make friends, and I didn’t know what it was like having friendships that didn’t result in some form of exploitation.

It was almost as if for my own security, I needed people to act in a certain way to ensure that I knew they were actually my friend. Of course, where do we turn to when we don’t have the answers? The internet! Before that, well, library would have probably been the right answer, but the reality is that shows like Full House and Seventh Heaven (and maaayyyybbbeeee Power Rangers) were the basis and foundation for the script I created that ensured I would know who was and was not a friend. Older and wiser me (ehem, but still young and spry) has loosened up my definition and I no longer have a rigid set of “inclusion criteria” that I use to determine who is a friend or foe. Dare I say, I am much more “chill” about the whole process.

So how do we decide who is a friend?

Do we define friendship by years we know one another? Similarities in experience? Shared cultural backgrounds? Is a friend someone who’s fun at a party and otherwise absent? Or someone who never attends an event, but is present daily? What is a friend? I thought I knew, but I really don’t know anymore, and I like to believe that I’m mature and wise and know something I didn’t know when I was younger. In fact, I do know that friendships are fluid, and someone who I have known for a year or two, can have a closer and more vulnerable connection than someone I have known for many years. Alternatively, a friend whom I may have grown apart, may have re-entered my life in a new way, rekindling or creating a new version of the relationship. This got me thinking about what is different. I’m still mostly the same. Still enjoying”crappy” music, biting my nails, reading obscure and somewhat pompously written books, and still kind of weird.

What is different, other than the few extra gray hairs and rising numbers of candle on my birthday cakes, is that I finally am beginning to learn something important:

Expectations are what breed disappointment, resentment, anger, sadness.

I love that I have met so many interesting, ambitious and kind individuals who are unique and add just the right flavor to my life. I love that I have people that I can reach out to and have dinner at a “bougie” place, or ooze over the amazing finds at the consignment store, or talk about the designer jacket that was 70% off (that I’ll NEVER be able to afford regardless). I love that I have someone who will go to the farmer’s market with me, motivate me to journal, encourage my ridiculous ideas, take a fitness class, share in a glass of champagne, or dissect a movie or a book with an in depth psychodynamically oriented analysis of the content. I love that there are people I can share my struggles and hardships with, and others who want to celebrate my accomplishments, check in on me when I’m sick. I am a lucky gal. L though if you want to know, I can’t pinpoint who constitutes as a friend, and how someone becomes a friend.

Each of these relationships beacons a unique dimension, added depth and complexity that my life would otherwise lack.

When I initially was making the decision whether to leave the East Coast for Chicago, this was an area of deep sadness, sorrow and fear. Leading up to the decision, the idea of possibly never having beautiful moments with these individuals has weighed heavily on my heart, and has caused me many sleepless nights and panicked mornings. I really appreciate and harness technology as a way to stay connected. Despite all the ways in which we can connect to others, not everyone will remain in my life, as this is the bittersweet reality. One thing that I have learned, is that oftentimes, it’s nothing personal and it was not intended to harm me in anyway. Our paths don’t cross as often as they did, but I am very excited that I can easily maintain collegial interactions with many of these individuals. Future friends or not.

Accepting the friendship ebb and flow, without placing expectation on what the relationship should be in the future, has given me a sense of freedom to appreciate it for what it is now.

It’s made me think back to my younger-and-less-wise life experiences, where I had placed expectations on myself and my friends, and at the same time, felt inadequate toward them, and developed hurt and resentment toward the lack of reciprocity in their interactions with me. (Mind you, this is all in my head because it’s not like we had a seance, made an oath that these are the ten commandments of our friendship, then sealed it with blood.) It bred a feeling of anger, layered underneath it was the feeling of worthlessness, inadequacy, and inability to be loved. Instead of recognizing that this was just a normal part of life, I felt that it reflected immensely on my own failures, and then instead of enjoying our reunions, I occasionally would approach them with a sense of obligation to individuals who I was convinced, did not care for me. Rather than viewing these relationships as an ebb for now, I took it to signify my own failures and inadequacies.

That said, as much as every transition in my life over the last ten years has meant the loss of relationships, it has also allowed me to learn that relationships don’t alway fully end. Many of the individuals that I had met during my time in Erie, Pittsburgh, Michigan, Philly, and NYC, I still keep in touch with, and I hear about their jobs and children and accomplishments, occasionally the hardships or challenges.

The memories of past relationships are the souvenirs left behind of the adventures I have lived.

If I happened to ever find myself in a city those individuals live in, I would not hesitate to connect, share a nice meal, chat about mutual interests, and enjoy that figment of a memory. No longer planning out the next rendezvous, but welcoming any communication with an open heart and mind, and being excited for the possibility of “if and when we meet again.”

Being open to the unknown, and having the comfort of knowing that everyone else is an enhancement of an already delightful life, has freed me. That freedom has allowed many relationships to flourish, ones which if I had approached with my scripted mindset, would have sizzled into ashes before they even grew into a phoenix in the first place.

So, I had come home that rooftop-birthday-dinner-night and reflected on many relationships that I had with people over the years. Some I no longer speak with, and others know all the details of my life.

Not everything is meant to last forever, and not everyone will stay forever.

Someone else will always find their way into our lives. They will bring something new, provocative, challenging and unique – we just have to be open to allow it in – rather than hang on to what we lost.

Maybe I’m just older, or less insecure about who I am and what I can offer, and perhaps I’ve really taken on the mutual and reciprocal approach to heart, finally. I’m not sure. But whatever it is, I like it. My social and professional network has grown and I have felt connected with more people now than I ever have in the past. I know that these relationships with fluctuate over time, some will grow closer, and others will grow further apart. But by not holding on so tightly to what I think should happen with any of them in the future, I am allowing space for what’s meant to remain in my life to flourish, and what’s meant to be a keepsake, preserved in that way.

No expectations, no hurt, no resentment.

Cooking Meditations

When it comes to my culinary skills, I am the furthest thing from Thomas Keller, Wolfgang Puck, or Gordon Ramsey. (Well, maybe I sound like Gordon Ramsey sometimes – oops!) In fact, I often imagine the things Gordon Ramsey would say to me if he ever actually watched me – it certainly would not sound like the elegant and ethereal poetry of Walt Whitman or Edgar Allen Poe. I’m a decent baker and certainly an excellent charcuterie board maker. Regardless of my cooking challenges, I am decent at few things – I can make a bad-ass grilled shish-kabob, my salmon is delicious, I can make pretty damn good tacos, my Alfredo is to die for, and I have received praise for my quinoa salad.

My cooking struggles certainly do not stem from my lack of cooking skills. “If I can figure it out to make it here in my life, I can certainly figure out how to cook like a chef” I tell myself. It’s rather, a lack of patience, time, and desire (to be perfectly honest) to perfect the craft. I work a LOT, and starting to cook dinner at 9 pm on a Thursday night knowing that I still have things to wrap up, and every fifteen minutes of the next twelve hours of my tomorrow is accounted for with meetings, visits, phone calls and emails, does not fill me with any sense of enjoyment. Rather, there is more stress and frustration at how I’ll ever get it all done and cooking seems like an added chore. In fact, sometimes my life is like a romantic comedy, where I scarf down a salad standing over the sink, or skip dinner altogether and have a handful of crackers and a few glasses of wine.

Today was the first time in a long time that I had the luxury of time to cook.

When I say cook, it’s more of a ceremony to me, or “the meditation of cooking.” I love pouring myself a glass of wine, turning on some music, and taking my sweet time to cut my vegetables, slowly sautée everything, watch the kitchen fill with bowls, cups and random utensils. Scruffles is usually curious, and eagerly keeping me company at my feet, delighting in any scraps that fall down. My little apartment takes on a life that is otherwise absent. I’m usually humming and swaying along with a song, wine in hand, basking in the warm glow of soft light and candles surrounding me. (My friends can attest to the fact that I have a deep love for the perfect cozy candle-lit atmosphere). It’s the rare and short-lived occasion that feels like a dream. And most of the time, I can even ignore Gordon Ramsey’s critiques.

I admit that I fantasize about the day I can share that scene with someone special; and I have to remind myself more often than I’d like to admit, that I am able to do this in my beautiful home, overlooking the glimmering lights of NYC, with an escape from the worries of the world. It wouldn’t be this, if it was anything else. It’s perfect just the way it is.

Sometimes, dreams are actually the life we are living, if we just take a moment to take it all in.

My Sourdough Pet

It seems like the sourdough bread craze took the world by storm. It was the new really hip thing to do. Yes, I joined the bandwagon. (But really, I was totally ahead of it… I swear! I baked before it was cool!) During the lockdown, I had my own baking escapades – banana bread, white bread, wheat bread, rhubarb pie (I really did make the best rhubarb pie in NYC – ask my friends), croissants, cookies… you get the point. I sheltered, I quarantined, and I baked.

I had made a sourdough starter for the first time in my life over the summer. Truth be told, I didn’t realize what I was getting myself into. Sourdough starter is intense! It’s not like you can throw some ingredients together and voila! Bread! Nope, you have to feed it, take care of it, keep it warm, but not too warm, keep the area bright, but not too bright, sing to it, cuddle with it, and read it bedtime stories.

After I made my one and only batch of Dominique Ansel’s flaky croissants, I learned that I was a terrible sourdough pet mom. I probably should have given it up for adoption, sold it to a worthy parent, or put it in a sourdough starter hotel. (Yes, that is a real thing! Check out: https://sourdoughinn.com/hotel)

With my new recently acquired dutch oven (thank you my loves ❤️), I am trying my hand at sourdough bread again.

Armed with new knowledge and research, I am determined to keep my sourdough pet alive this time!

But there is this whole thing I mentioned earlier about having to feed it when it’s hungry, and keep it warm, and read bedtime stories. It’s mostly true. I’ll even play some Beethoven to help. It’s not going to bark at you, it’s not going to set an alarm and ring when it’s ready to be fed, it’s not going to nip at your feet, or cry relentlessly to get what it needs. You have to pay attention to it, learn what it looks like at it’s peak and know what it looks like when it’s hungry. You have to learn its patterns and preferences, and accommodate to them. There is no room for judgment. You cant say “You’re a crappy sourdough starter!” You appreciate it for the way the flavor changes, the way it bubbles when it’s fermenting, and what it will provide you over time. Exactly as it is.

I started thinking how much my sourdough pet has in common with relationships. I don’t necessarily mean romantic ones (definitely not my area of expertise), but I assume the principles can apply. Relationships are a fickle thing. If you’re anything like me, I’m much more of an introvert than an extrovert (although with enough wine, and in the right company, the chattiness will come out). I prefer to have one-on-one conversations than speaking in a crowd, and writing is easier for me than speaking. I can use just the right word, reframe and organize my thoughts as many times as I need, and quite frankly, not sound like a total buffoon.

Needless to say, I am pretty clumsy at making friends. Although, I’m not sure that making friends looks like an Olympic ice skating gold medal championship for anyone. I am proud to say, that I have gotten much much better at #awkwardconvos. That dance in the beginning – being just vulnerable enough – but not too vulnerable to scare the other person off, is a challenge to navigate for many.

After that, it’s like nurturing your sourdough pet.

I teach an undergraduate course called “Love Actually,” (ironic considering it’s the one aspect of my life that needs the most help!). It has been transformative for me, probably more than it has been for my students. The Cliff’s Notes version of the course – although please feel free to sign up for it – is that relationships require effort, and love in any form, has the potential to last if both parties mutually and reciprocally make the choice to put in the effort.

Like my sourdough pet, relationships require attention, feeding, and hydration. Relationships require effort and nurturing. Sometimes you have to allow others to nurture you, and other times you have to nurture others. It’s a matter of being attentive to the dynamics, and knowing when to accept and when to receive. I absolutely love when others share their life with me, and welcome me to share in their joys and sorrows – the big things, and the little things. The “OMG!!! GUESS WHATTTTTTT!!!!! I’m getting MARRIED!!!!” and the “I’m so pissed, I f*** spilled coffee on my favorite dress today! I quit! I just want to cry!!!”

Meaningful relationships thrive when we notice the intricacies of our friends. What makes them tick, what excites them, what makes them happy and what makes them sad. They require us to take an interest in other people’s lives, and take ourselves out of the spotlight. Relationships require us to feed them with compassion, empathy, love, patience, support and kindness. Relationships require us to nurture them by holding the light of hope for other’s desires, wishes and dreams.

I had an experience today, where I had hosted a small gathering and my friend asked me: “How did you remember that I liked this cheese?” I simply smiled and turned to her saying “I remembered when you mentioned that you liked it the last time we met.” She said, “I didn’t realize you were paying attention.”

So next time you’re feeling confused about how to maintain or grow a friendship – think of your sourdough pet.

Nurture it. Notice the patterns. Take the time to learn what makes others blossom and what their needs, likes, and wants are – and give them exactly that.

Envy

From a young age, I remember learning that I should not feel envious. My Catholic upbringing filled me with deep fear of purgatory and the promise of hell for being so sinful as to feel envious. My parents instilled in me that I was a terrible child for being jealous and that I should never speak of it, think it, or feel it. Mindfulness tells me that it’s a feeling I should notice, accept its presence, and move on to focusing on what I do have, rather than what I don’t. One of my favorite podcasts, “This Jungian Life,” on the other hand, suggests that the feeling of envy serves as a map to informing us, what it is that we really want from life. So, what the heck is a gal supposed to think or do when that little green monster comes up?

Let me start by saying that I have never once resented anyone else’s happiness or success. In fact, I am very much a cheerleader for the people I care about and love. I will forever celebrate my friends’ successes, and will most certainly do whatever I can to help other reach their own success.

If I’m hanging out with you, and you’re not doing things for your life, we need to have a talk!

Now, the not so comfortable part about this post is that I have certainly felt pangs of envy many many many times in my life – when most of my gals were moving forward in their romantic relationships, traveling with their partners, getting promoted at work, getting engaged, getting married, announcing their first, second and third pregnancies, sharing their beautiful new homes and family portraits. What was I doing to reach those kind of milestones?

I constantly felt like I was behind. Inadequate. The runt of the litter, so to speak.

Worse then that, my experience was an obsessive reflection of my inadequacies and shortcomings, an in-depth analysis (think Barbara Walters asking the real questions on 20/20, except she’s a CIA agent trained to crack open Russian spies). Also, to add to the pleasantries, these investigations would usually happen in my brain at the witching hour of three or four in the morning. I would spend my nights evaluating and obsessing all the areas of my life where I went wrong, things I should have done differently, and trying to assess all the possible outcomes that could have happened, if only my “dumb, stubborn and lazy” self did something differently. I guess I was also a psychic that could predict the future of taking a different path.

My envy didn’t stop at “Welp, I want that too!”

My envy made me feel small and inadequate in every single aspect of my life. I’d stay up night after night, wondering, “what is so wrong that I can’t seem to get to this place that others arrived at so effortlessly!?” The worst part is that it didn’t stop at my insomnia. I felt so inadequate and insecure around my friends, that I actually started to believe my other favorite track that plays in my head called “Why Would Anyone Want you Around? You’re Such a Loser.” I used other people’s milestones, to evaluate and determine what my own worth and value to their life was. Makes a whole lot of sense, right?

Now that I’m not in that space anymore, I wish I could go back to my younger self and have my older wiser self talk some sense into her. (Mind you, my older and wiser self is still very young and spry!)

I had a moment of clarity that hit me one night when I was on my roof having some wine. I had sent a photo of the skyline to a girlfriend. “Loving the sparkle of the city!” was my caption. I was on my second glass of Rosé, it was the perfect summer night, I had just listened to some music I thoroughly enjoyed, and I was just sitting outside, taking in the sights and sounds of the city.

“I’m so jealous! I wish I was doing that instead!” paired with a photo of what looked like a tornado had gone through her home, complete with grinning toddlers. She probably could have used a glass (or a bottle??) of wine herself!

That text actually interrupted my thoughts about how incredible it was to be living here. Something I often have to intentionally remind myself to appreciate. I had gotten better at taking in the splendor and sparkle of the city nights. Often, I would catch myself thinking how I actually made my childhood dream into a reality.

The wine mixed with that serendipitous text, met with my overwhelming sense of pride and gratitude for that night, was probably one of the first times I actually stopped to think that we all look at our lives, and others lives, through a different lens.

I certainly pay close attention to the deficiencies of my life, and look at the big picture and the accomplishments and successes of others. I remember thinking that day, how silly it is that I spend so much of my life, using other people’s timelines, to measure my own success. What if, I just compared were I am, to where I was? What if I just focused on where I was now and only compared it to where I wanted to be. I really should try to take other people out of the equation when I am evaluating MY life’s success? What a thought!

“Alright, these are all excellent and wonderful ideas, but that’s enough thinking and gratitude for tonight. I wouldn’t want to overdose on it. And while we’re at it, also probably enough wine too.”

As I often do to escape the world, I opened my Instagram and came across a page filled with picnics in the park, smiling friends, wine glasses, a concert, a sailboat, dinner, and photos of an art exhibit. I caught myself thinking, “Wow! I wish this was my life! She’s doing so many amazing things!” (You see, perfect example of how my 23 second-long I-think-I’m-getting-it Buddhist moments are interrupted by my definitely-never-going-to-be-a-Buddhist thinking). I took a closer look at those pictures and thought “Wait, I did some of those things!!!”

I started to giggle and shook my head at the silliness of the situation.

For that brief moment, I was jealous of my own life!