upswing.

I have this visual in my brain about my divorce: Upside down bell curve with reasonably steep slopes on both sides. At the top of the left side of the curve is the pre-separation frenetic 'high' aka 'denial'. The fall and sharp slope downward is probably fairly obvious (exhilaration, fear, confusion and resolve). And in that low basin at the very bottom is the debris field where everything collected after sliding down the slope. Loads of paper, some ash, some rocks, some stumbling blocks, fragments of lost momentum, pools of pride and tears, relationships and memories swirling around, some heavier than others, and a dusting of shaved ego. Standing in it was almost more difficult than the slide. That was a little over a year ago. Today, I'm solidly on the upswing side. It smells better, feels better, looks better, IS better...AND (not 'but') it's a new slope. My life is very, very different. I am happier than I've ever been in my life and that is a solid, maybe over-anlyazed (insert smiley emoticon), but hard-fought statement.

When I decided to take a step off of that ledge, I made a decision that caused me to lose nearly everything that I had worked for up to that point - my marriage, my financial stability, my desire for a specific type of family life for my daughter and myself, my work momentum, parts of my well-being and health, my money. But I am still standing, and now thriving, and I have no regrets. This is an incredible thing to say out loud.

I tried to go through the process, that initially was a separation, then a divorce, with respect and generosity. I was forced to make decisions during a time of deep pain, stress, confusion and fear and I made some mistakes, but I have to say that the mistakes were often more informative than the catalysts that required the reactions. The lessons I have learned are not just fuel for this upswing journey, but the inspiration. A friend reminded me, just today, of a Grateful Dead quote that I love, "Sometimes you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right."

So in homage, here's some of the 'light' I have been shown:

I have learned that I don't have to respect my ex for "who he is" (as some would suggest), I only have to respect him as my daughter's father. This is a solid, healthy distinction.

I have learned that I don't have to regret those 16 years for the decision to be sound. I invested in that life whole-heartedly. I just have to appreciate that I was present in those years.

I have learned that time and timing matters.

I have learned that being loyal is more about giving love than taking it away.

I have learned to expand my lens. Question more, but maybe judge less.

I have learned that I don't always need to explain, but I do need to listen.

I have learned that it's ok to fail.

I have learned that I am not broken, that marriage is not broken, that my family life and commitments are not broken.

I have learned that those that know you well, love you well. That the vulnerability required to be known well is sometimes exceedingly painful, but turns out, vital.

I have learned that I am highly capable, but I need help.

I have learned that what kids need most are visible efforts on the micro level —their value on the micro becomes the macro. Let's face it, probably adults too.

I have learned that what Newton said is right - there is no new energy in the world. When you suck up all of the energy, you have to put some back.

I have learned that the biggest failure of my life was the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I am still working very hard to make peace with the experience — for me, for my daughter, for what's next. It has been a hard, but ultimately amazing journey. My life spilled out, down a hill and settled in a big mess at the bottom. I am taking all of that good, worthy stuff and heading back up the next hill. That is what an upswing is...a climb.

I have a companion now, a love, an incredibly bright light. So when I think about my visual of the bell curve, I can't resist the idea of another Grateful Dead quote, "One man gathers what another man spills." I'm most certainly being gathered and I am grateful for his love and the love of my family and friends. I know that this is the undeniable fuel required to foster a new climb, this place I'm in — the upswing. Thank you.

lessons learned in passing.

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."

J.D. Salinger's first line in The Catcher in the Rye.

Thanks Mr. Salinger, I agree. I just don't feel like going into it. At least not the "whys" or the "why nows" or the "when did you knows" or the "how did you knows" or really any commentary on how it all happened, at least not right now. All of the analyzing, coping, struggling and enduring drained me. As of the very end of the year, I'm now divorced. It's over and I just need a breather.

Mr. Salinger lost his life in 2010, as did over 200 'notable' Americans that make the type of list that we see in nearly all year-end broadcast news features. I'm always a little stunned to see the list, forgetting some of the names from earlier in the year, or never having heard about their deaths at all, but mostly the names remind me of the profound impact these souls have had on our culture and our lives.

Manute Bol, the 7'7" NBA shot-blocker, died at the age of 47. I remember watching him in his early years with the Washington Bullets in the mid to late 80's, then picking up with him again in the early 90's when he was with the Philadelphia 76'ers. NBA basketball is my favorite sport to watch on television (1. NBA basketball, 2. professional tennis, 3. college football...if the official ranking is of any remote interest). Growing up out west, I preferred teams like my own Seattle Sonics, even loved-to-hate the Portland Trailblazers, the Phoenix Suns' Barkley years, Drexler's years with the Houston Rockets, the Lakers...we had plenty of things going on out here to keep my attention, but Manute was well, Manute. I think (I need to check this) he's the only NBA player to have more blocks than shots. I watched him because he was consistent in only one area, which was intriguing. Too tall, really, without the more well-roundedness of many pro-players, but he had a role and he perfected his one talent. I watched him because I knew I'd see some killer blocks. There is value in consistency.

Staying on the basketball theme, the legendary UCLA basketball coach, John Wooden also passed away this year. If you know anything at all about college basketball, you know he was an All-American player and then a revered coach that took the likes of Bill Walton and Kareem Abdul Jabbar through winning seasons. I think he took the Bruins to ten national championships, seven of which were in a row. All of this happened prior to his retirement in 1975, so at the age of three, I was hardly aware of his influence. What I do know and remember is his influence after those years. His very simple take on how to be successful, not only on the court, but in life. One of my favorite John Wooden quotes, which my mother would certainly appreciate is, "If you don't have the time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?" Enough said.

Richard Holbrooke, a passionate veteran US Diplomat that served under four presidents, died suddenly in the last quarter of the year. He most recently was serving as special envoy to Pakistan and Afghanistan, arguably one of the most difficult posts in today's environment. He was known passionately as a "warrior for peace." As a personal friend of two of my friends, I picked up that Mr. Holbrooke was an irreplaceable colleague, a mentor and a diplomatic lion. One quote that always struck a chord with me is (said upon reflection after an intense Global Initiative Conference spearheaded by former President Bill Clinton): "The controlled chaos is one way to get creativity. The intensity of it, the physical rush, the intimacy created the kind of dialogue that leads to synergy." Seems to me that maybe he understood that there is power in leveraging and working with the highly emotional tenor of complex situations.

Miep Gies, the Dutch woman who, with her husband and close friends, helped hide Anne Frank and her family from the Nazi's in a secret set of rooms in Otto Frank's company offices in Amsterdam, died in January of this past year. How could anyone possibly understand the stress that she lived with during those years — the fear of being discovered, the fear of the discovery betraying the lives of her friends? And yet, showing up to work day in and day out with this enormous secret just on the other side of a door. Yet, when asked if the worrying consumed her, I am humbled by her response: "No, on the one hand the workload did not allow any time for worrying and on the other hand, we had the satisfaction of doing the right thing."

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So after reflecting on these "notable" deaths and what I learned from their lives, what I am interested in saying is: thank you. It was not the worst year of my life. It was the most challenging for sure, but there were many, many lessons, some that were downright soul filling, tucked into that year. It's fitting that much of the events of the entire year came together at the very end and fell on the heart and mind of a woman who feels it all. So as I sit here, mere days from it having slipped into the archives, I can say with absolute certainty that in many ways, it was the year of my life. The one where I’ve never felt so alive, so human, so scared, happy, desperate, awkward, empowered, loved and inspired.

Perspective is a powerful teacher and I’ve had more cause to reflect this year than any year prior. Just as with the reflections on the lives of the "notable Americans" who passed, the stories and moments that others have been willing to share with me during this past year were powerful. Moments that were incredibly honest, sometimes shocking, always illuminating, and always a reminder of how complex we are as humans. I was grateful to hear, witness or experience these moments, so in honor of them, I'll end by envisioning a year in which the following might have happened. I would love to sit and talk about any or all of them, whether they happened to me or someone else, because if we let our life’s stories be heard, they might tell us what’s next.

This year…

…you might spend two hours in a snowy hot pool with your pre-teen daughter and her friend, having the conversation of a lifetime, while an entire bar full of twenty-something après skiers are just on the other side of the glass and you, not being a twenty-something, might start out feeling self-conscious (maybe it’s because you are in a bikini), but an hour in, you might look up into the sky, let the snowflakes fall and melt on your eyelashes and feel very, very happy to be your age and stage.

You might sit at a dinner table with a woman who’s husband walked out on her, her boyfriend who’s daughter wanted to change her last name after he and her mother got divorced, and a husband and wife whose relationship led to the divorce from a close friend of yours (who obviously was not in attendance) and find yourself drinking champagne and talking about their crazy neighbor and too-spicy penne ala vodka.

You might have many EVCFs (Email Volley of Confusion and Frustration). So many in fact, that you might create an acronym for them.

You might receive a wildly expensive gift on a first date, making that (too bold of a move) the precursor to it being the last date, and secretly wonder if you could sell it on Ebay to pay your legal bills.

You might write your ex a manifesto on love, life, self and marriage that ends up falling on deaf ears, but you might save it and think you should present it to your next love and say, “This is what I want. Are you in?” You might think it’s silly to waste a good stream of consciousness.

The greatest two words all year might be “or not,” also known as: "not your responsibility."

You might feel so incredibly fucking excited about the life that is opening up all around you that you can't stop yourself from singing at the top of your lungs while driving down the street and wondering if the people in the neighboring cars are as happy as you are. You might think not.

You might be obsessed with all forms of electronic communication, so much so that you might experience the unfortunate event of someone accidently opening the bathroom stall and you not being sure what is more embarrassing — the texting or the partial nudity.

You might find that your already close relationship with your mother actually had room to grow. You will be eternally grateful for her support.

Your best friends might have the best timing and they might save you, over and over again.

You might find yourself in a hot tub with half a dozen singing choral opera singers.

You might lose your cell phone in a hot tub, when you are not even in the hot tub, because a man trips and knocks your wallet out from under your arm because he might have been stunned to see a woman try to kiss another woman. That might not be only time that year that you get propositioned by a woman.

You might experience the toughest moment of your life when you tell your daughter that you are separating from her father, and over the next year, she might blow you away with her transparency, her intelligence, her responsibility and her resilience. It might be the most difficult, but the most inspiring thing you will see all year.

Your funniest childhood friend might say that you are funny.

You might discover that your 20 year old college nickname is actually spelled with an 'i'.

You might not know how to tactfully change your relationship status update without sparking awkward commenting, while your ex just simply unfriends you and then posts a photo of you on his Match.com profile. It might just make you laugh hysterically.

You might find that bacon is good in every scenario, including emergency abdominal surgery.

You might believe in fate.

You might lose sleep, your appetite, your confidence, your money, your momentum, your faith in some and your confidence in others, but you might gain yourself.

You may find that some friends are necessities and some are luxuries.

You might realize you have to stop putting yourself in these situations!

A convertible ride along the lake, or a walk over the Golden Gate Bridge, or an hour and a half wait in line to eat breakfast, or a conversation on a rooftop bar, or radishes and dip on a summer's day, or racing your daughter down the ski hill, or dancing by yourself, or having your photo taken in Chelsea on a luminous night by someone who thinks you are beautiful, might be salve for your soul.

You might spend three hours with nothing more to do then sit, drink a few beers and debate the President’s handling of the economy, the concept of Jumping the Shark, inventing a leather coat life vest, is there a good Catholic democrat?, giving your children a sense of their Jewish background, and the fairness of how the snow removal debacle in 2008 lost the mayor his job. The last one might spark more debate than any of the others, but that might be due to what number beer you are on.

You might have the best and most interesting conversations of your life.

You might learn that you should put the oxygen mask on yourself first.

Your faith might be restored over a cab ride in your favorite city in the world.

You might look like a fool, feel like a fool, be taken for a fool, but not have any regrets and that includes the hysterical crying when you put the cat down and the psychics (plural), just to name two.

You might cry every day, just once.

You might find new perspective on friendship, motherhood, ambition, humility, patience, endurance and loyalty.

You might receive the birthday card you've always been dreaming about.

You might apologize…a lot.

You might disappoint, but you might inspire.

You might be disappointed, but you might be inspired.

You might be congratulated, pitied, hit on, avoided, smothered, rejected, helped, hurt and saved. It might be overwhelming at times.

You might find yourself not knowing what Florence and the Machine are actually signing about, but not caring because in the way she sings about Happiness, for the first time in your life, you might feel it coming at you like a freight train.

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"Dont ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." — The last line in The Catcher in the Rye.

I don't know if I agree with that one Mr. Salinger. I would have rather shared, learned and then maybe lost, then never shared at all. This year, more than ever. So I think I prefer: "What'choo talkin' 'bout Willis?" Are you smiling? Me too. Rest in peace Gary Coleman (1968—2010) rest in peace.

And here begins, a new year...

for the love of madonna.

I went to church this morning on my way into work. Last night, I tried going to the small, neighborhood church that is affiliated with my daughter's school, but I couldn't get into the sanctuary, so I chose to go to a different one this morning that I thought might have a better chance of being open.

St. Joe's is a large, beautiful Catholic church built on a hillside in a dense residential area minutes from downtown. The whole site is really a compound taking up an entire city block with a large K-8 school attached. The sanctuary itself probably holds several hundred people and it's stunning with two-story high, rough hewn wood ceilings, stone walls, luminous stained glass and of course, well-worn dark wood pews. It is the church that I went to when I first moved here in college, and the church where my daughter was baptized eleven years ago. It's affiliated with the Jesuits, which has a history of social justice, so they were respectful of our decision to select Jewish Godparents, provided my mother, a lifelong Catholic, stood with us during the ceremony. I honestly, no question could feel God in the moment the priest made the sign of the cross on my daughter's head with holy water dripping down her cheeks.

I heard on the radio this morning that the other Madonna (Ciccone), is opening up a string of ultra-luxe fitness gyms around the world called Hard Candy. None of them, initially, will be in the US. Once again—way to go Madonna. Ingenious. Make us hungry for it instead of letting us be the first to trash it. The first one is opening up in Mexico City on November 29, then other places like Argentina, Russia, Brazil and of course Europe will follow. Another reinvention, she rocks. So here I was, sitting in traffic, on my way to church, reading my horoscope on my phone and thinking about two Madonnas.

The sanctuary visit was my mother's idea. About ten years ago, when trying to sell my house in the downturn after 9/11, she came over and buried a small St. Joseph figurine in the backyard, upside down. We got an offer within a week. Today, I'm trying to finally put my divorce to bed, and in light of the tears that I cried over the disappointment of it all the other night, she said, quite simply, "go light a candle." So I'm sitting in my car, the taillights in front of me glowing red in the reflection of heavy rain drops, the sound of the wiper blades cutting through Madonna's Hard Candy news report and reading my horoscope on my phone, which had the ominous advice to not let myself be 'emotionally blackmailed.' I never like horoscopes that have good advice but imply that something will happen that requires the advice. Ugh. Will someone try and emotionally blackmail me today? That sounds fun.

What would Madonna do?

I am a very spiritual woman. I was raised Catholic, my mother even taught my Catechism classes (!), and I love that I share this cultural background with 1.1 billion other souls on the planet. Ok, ok, let's be honest, it's the most culture a white girl from a small'ish agricultural community in the Pacific Northwest is ever going to achieve (well, technically I have a Jewish step-family with a Japanese sister-in-law, and I'm twelve and a half percent Cherokee, but that is definitely another blog entry...stop laughing, you know who you are).

I love that you can go to a Catholic church in a different city and the mass is still essentially the same. I believe in the meditative quality of the rituals and I absolutely believe in God. I believe in the concept of worship and the intellectual study of religion and faith. I was raised a Jesuit, which is anchored in the aforementioned concept of social justice, as well as humility. I am decidedly not the most humble person I know, but I do try and I whole-heartedly believe in the Big Idea of humility as it plays out in and around our lives. Therefore, I am not interested in tackling the issue of priests and celibacy, but I strongly respect the notion that they have humbly reduced their lives to the very simplest of devotion, and thus, this is a person that I am comfortable talking to me about God. I believe in a lifelong investment in your own spirituality, which for me means it's highly personal, grounded in the humility of accepting what we don't know, and working hard to have faith. I am on the farthest end of evangelism as you can get. So much so, that I would venture to say that most of my friends do not know how spiritual I really am. That being said, I am always interested in discussing faith, religion or spirituality, but I often listen more than I contribute.

I'm a fan of both Madonnas, having grown up with both of them, but the modern day holder of the moniker had me thinking this morning. About disappointment, about reinvention, about survival. For as incredibly strong as she is, I bet she's been emotionally blackmailed a time or two, but she survived and thrived. So did the original Madonna. Both of them are survivors and both of them reinvented themselves. Mary went from being Joseph's wife to, well, you know the rest of her story and Madonna Ciccone went from being Madonna Ciccone to, well...Madonna. How dare I compare the virgin mother of Jesus to an oversexed single mother, you ask?...humility. I think you do the best you can and I think the Virgin Mary would agree with that.

This morning, the sanctuary was totally empty and very dim. The candles previously lit by other visitors were peacefully flickering in the corner. I stood there for a minute and let the magnitude of the quiet settle over me. I've been meaning to come here and have a talk with God. I wanted to reconcile the disappointment — mano y mano. In that cavernous, dim, empty, beautiful sanctuary, I lit candles for my daughter, for a friend of mine with a child my daughter's age who had a brain aneurysm a few weeks ago, for my friend who is beating ovarian cancer, and one for those struggling with or enduring a loss of any kind, then I sat down in a pew and prayed. Prayers of gratefulness, guidance and reconciliation. I am doing the best I can and whatever drives the Madonnas' resolve and reinvention maybe we will never know, but I'm inspired by it and if someone has the audacity to emotionally blackmail me today—bring it...I'm channeling "Like a Virgin."

love, love.

A friend of mine's daughter started Kindergarten last month. A big transitional time for any kid, any family, and so far their transition has had the relative ups and downs that are to be expected. More ups than downs, but regardless, he started adding a little bit of predictable fun into the morning routine whereby they run around the playground together for a few minutes before he kisses her goodbye at the classroom door. Occasionally the fun also includes a bit of a race and of course, my friend lets his daughter win. Just the other day, however, she looked up at him after the race and said, "next time let's hold hands so that it will be a tie." Insert audible, heart-warming sigh.

What she said struck a chord with me. First off, I love the demonstration of compassion and desire to include her dad in the win, and secondly, let's be honest - that's damn smart for a five year old to come up with the idea that holding hands would be the perfect strategy to prevent one person from winning, which means you would tie, which means the fun will be fair. I like this little strategic, yet compassionate thinker. I like strong-willed girls who have ideas. Bravo! Ever since my friend told me the story, I also can't shake the analogy of it. The idea that when you love someone, you don't always want to win, that sometimes you'd rather hold hands and tie.

I'm a tennis player. Tennis is a sport that goes in and out of fashion and currently it's back on the rise, which honestly I have mixed feelings about. When a sport like tennis (that requires very specific playing surfaces, weather protection and equipment) gains in popularity, there is an increased demand for courts and time, and this can ace out people who maybe can't afford it or who don't have the time or wherewithal to navigate the complicated lottery systems, waiting lists, etc. I am not naive, I know how tennis is perceived in many circles, but it drives me crazy when it is considered to be a "rich kid's sport." I grew up classically middle class in a small town. We could not afford the local private tennis club, so I learned how to play tennis from this quirky, energetic and talented young guy who offered lessons out of a converted apple warehouse. It. Was. Awesome. I loved it! In order to get on the (one) court, you had to hit a ball up against the smooth concrete wall 100 times with only one bounce, or you had to start over until you did. That was only the start of the crazy, competitive drills we feverishly endured, and we genuinely loved it. He put us into regional tournaments and these scrappy kids that came out of the warehouse typically fared pretty well. In the summers we moved to the public courts by the community college and came home sunburned and sweating, with iced towels around our necks. He really believed in competitive play. He believed that we would learn more about how to win by playing as many matches as possible, reminding us that all the technique in the world couldn't give you a "W" without strategy, experience and mental toughness. He drilled into us that each match is like a new start: Love, Love. Each time we stepped on the court, it was anybody's game.

Over the years I've had some memorable moments on the court. I had a drag-out 2-1/2 hour match where I ran to the back fence, jumped up to reach the ball with my racket, and proceeded to slide down the hard grey cyclone with my face as the buffer. I once played a Japanese duo that didn't speak any English, but grunted "YUH" every time we served. Yep, when we served, not them. I totally McEnroe'd it one time when my ex slammed an overhead into my shoulder — surprised we didn't get divorced right then. Conversely, in another match, I hit my partner in the back of the head on a serve, which required her to get an MRI. Thankfully not until after our win. I lost a mixed doubles match to a guy who used a wooden racket...no, not in 1978, in 2008. I've played with a sprained ankle, a sprained knee, a sprained wrist, one contact missing, a bloody toe, blisters, overused muscles and even a plantar's wart right in the middle of the ball of my foot. That required about six Advil for the pre-game warm up. I nearly always have at least one intentional racket drop per match - just for self-deprecating, bad-shot comedy - and I'm known for the basketball-esque bum pat after a quick strategy talk with my partner. I played a singles match on Court One against a girl about 15 years younger than me and endured her family cheering at every winner, which was nearly every point because she was creaming me. And one time in a tournament, I was losing badly and a girl who was a much better tennis player, yet my peer, kept mouthing to me "popcorn feet, popcorn feet!" which is the grade-school term for "keep moving." Humiliating and ultimately...didn't work.

I've had dozens of razor-thin wins and losses, great excitements and frustrations, gallons of Gatorade and beer, varied partners, courts, clubs and coaches and it continues to be one of my passions. I still play competitive tennis today. I'm a marginally above-average player with a decent record and I'm known to play hard, develop solid on-the-spot strategies, talk a lot of self-promoting and deprecating smack, all while scrapping my way through some solid match-ups. Sounds just about like my personality summed up in one sentence. I am often an evangelist of the sport - wanting to win, but loving the camaraderie of the sport and still glowing even after a loss. The things that I learned in that drafty apple warehouse are still true today and of course the ideals spill over into my personal and professional life. That's what happens when you invest in anything in your life, right? I feel lucky and grateful that my mother sought out that coach so long ago and it's no wonder that I can still smell the faint scent of fresh-picked apples when I walk on a court.

Tennis aside, we are a competitive society. I'm of a competitive generation and I'm also the product of the 1970's/80's ideal, "women can do anything." I am admittedly competitive with myself, wanting to always have that internal voice (and let's face it, my mother) say that no matter the outcome, I did my best. That I came onto the court highly optimistic with grounded confidence — Love, Love.

So what I love about the story of my friend and his daughter is that I think it can be a hard thing to balance a strong, competitive, confident spirit with compassion and empathy. With the willingness to try hard and develop skills, but also love the game and want to invite others to join the fun. That there is much to be gained just for showing up. And life is the sum total of all of our experiences, right? No doubt my friend's daughter will play sports, or be in the school play, or enter an art contest, so the opportunity to continue to develop these skills will continue throughout her life, but how fantastic that they exist for her today? So I applaud my friend for doing what many of us forget to do - stop, take the extra ten minutes and be present for our kids in a predictable and meaningful way that is clearly giving her an opportunity to demonstrate the complexities of her developing personality. It means something. And in turn, his daughter is learning more than just that her dad loves her, or to outrun him, she's learning that it's great fun to see him with her at the finish line. And all before the bell even rings...love, love.

Oh and by the way, my daughter is learning to play tennis in a converted airplane hangar.

happy anniversary.

Today was my 14th wedding anniversary and Sunday is my 38th birthday. The last time I celebrated my birthday as a single woman, I was 23 years old (technically, I was 22 because I met my ex shortly after my 22nd birthday). Yep, that makes my jaw drop too...all the way to the ground. No longer (quite) that young woman, I will be celebrating this milestone birthday with my best girlfriends this weekend, and when telling the plan to another friend of mine (male), he laughed, saying we were cleverly disguising a divorce party behind a birthday and he's sure it will likely turn out more like a bachelorette party. (Which in our case is more of the "dance party" variety rather than the male-models-jumping-out-of-the-cake variety, just to be clear.) Of course, if that were the case, this time I am being sent out of marriage rather than into it and therefore, there are some mixed emotions. It's nearly the perfect scenario in which to use the word, 'bittersweet.'

My wedding anniversary and my birthday have fallen in the same week for all of my adult life, so it shouldn't have come as any surprise that these two milestones would once again butt up against each other this year, but honestly?...I nearly forgot. And I definitely didn't appreciate the significance of the two events until today. Five days separating the last anniversary that I will officially be married and my first birthday on my own. Surreal. I had several friends pause in their day to send me encouraging messages, and of course my mother went above and beyond, leaving flowers on my desk before I even got into the office, and I was once again finding myself grateful and humbled by their affection. But what does it all mean, all of this emotion? To say goodbye to a significant part of your life and turn around and celebrate all that remains, and all that is still ahead? What an odd paradox, but I'm also finding it oddly comforting to address both things back-to-back.

I watched a movie recently that was set in India and there was some brief discussion about Kali, the Hindu Goddess of Destruction. If you've ever seen her, she can be deemed as a fairly disturbing image. In one hand she wields a macheté-type of sword that she uses to hack off the heads of men, many of which she has strewn around her neck in a form of gruesome garland. She is standing over a conquered soul and in general, she emanates terrifying power and strength, with blood dripping from her sword. I started reading and then thinking about Maa Kali and the idea that maybe sometimes we have to endure the destruction of something to make room for something new—a better way, a more enlightened path. Like how a forest fire ravages a hillside, but we also know it's a necessary cycle to life, to the re-birth and the very sustainability of the forest.

Maa Kali is indeed the Goddess of Destruction, but she is said to represent the death of the human ego, of all that is evil, false and phony. She is depicted with four arms, two of which she is using for this great battle, and two to bless her devotees. She is seen as a mother figure and is one of the few goddesses that never married and renounced all worldly pleasures. It's said that those who look upon her image and tremble, do so because they are egotistical and attached to worldly pleasures. If you find the sweetness and compassion in her image, you can be released from your ego and can more easily reach spiritual enlightenment. But who among us divorces ourselves from our ego and worldly pleasures that easily? Exactly. Thus enters Maa Kali.

I know what has been destroyed in my life to make room for the change that is needed. Change in myself, change in my life. Some of it painful, as a proper 'destruction' promises (insert tongue-in-cheek emoticon), but not without the awakening that is inevitable from such a drumming. And this idea of Maa Kali battling it out to bring forth a better path translates to everything I can think of in the human experience - nature, death, society, science, the economy. This is a universal idea, but ironically such a tough, tough thing to accept. We fight fires, we fight death, we build stronger sea walls and bail out banks. Trust me, I'm not suggesting that we stop doing any of those things, and I'm not even pretending like I understand what we should and shouldn't fight for, but I do find the concept of accepting destruction as a means to a better thing as illuminating. Think of the incredible ingenuity that often comes from destruction, like houses being built above the high-water mark that are affordable and easier on the environment, and a return to the power of the small business operator, after the fall of large national companies, on who's backs we are re-building our economy, just to name two from recent memory.

Don't we learn more from our failures than our successes? Don't poignant, beautiful things often develop from the ashes of destruction?

I remember exactly one year ago sitting at an incredibly over-priced restaurant, arguing with my ex and eventually crying at the table on what was then, our 13th anniversary. But all couples fight. Someone ends up crying some of the time, right? I don't think that meant we were destined for failure, but it is interesting to fast-forward one year and to be sitting here at midnight, penning a blog entry about destruction. Choosing it, enduring it, accepting it and letting it unearth a new path.

I have no plans to celebrate the end of my marriage, that would be totally disingenuous to who I am as a person and what I really believe about marriage and my marriage in particular, so I am honoring today's milestone with humility and appreciation for the life in those years. For the good that it did bring, most especially our daughter. And in five days I will celebrate my birthday and be truly grateful for all the years of my life, including how good I feel today and how optimistic I feel about what is to come. That, I am comfortable celebrating and honestly, I can't wait. Maybe it would be fitting if I were to buy myself a Maa Kali statue and have THAT come out of the cake?! That would be a destruction that would be utterly painless...my friends and I would devour that cake bite-by-bite, I am certain of it, and maybe I'm onto something...

free fall.

"There is a solid bottom everywhere."

— Henry David Thoreau

The above is one of my all time favorite quotes and one that was always comforting for me. I take it as an idea that I'm not in a free fall, that there is a foundation in all experiences and that I will land at some point, preferably on my feet. In my mind, I always saw "bottom" as this spongy, pliant thing that, as much as it caught my fall, it also propelled me forward, back up towards the sky. "Bottom" meant stability, home base, grounding. Today, however, when I think of that quote, I visualize the ground speeding towards me at an unfathomable pace, hard and smooth as polished rock, and I can hear my bones breaking and my life being crushed on impact. Yes, there is a solid bottom everywhere...and I think I hit it recently. I should say that I hope I hit it because God knows I wouldn't want to do that twice.

It's been months and months since I sat in the smallest room in my house and asked my husband of fourteen years to separate. If I had had an inkling of what was to follow, I'm not sure I would have believed it, I know I couldn't have absorbed it, and honestly...thank God. Ignorance not only is bliss, but I think it is also the seed of courage. I faced many fears leading up to that moment, and there's no question that I feel I made the right decision, but I might not have been able to see my way through this experience if I truly understood all of the areas in which I needed to have courage...if I had known that I would have to face myself above all else. But in the end, thank God for that as well. It's been a gift.

Now, looking back, it's no surprise to me that the story line that I tried to live and believe in for sixteen years, is the exact same story line that I used to convince myself that we were going to have an amicable, smooth divorce. What I struggled for years to manifest in my life and my marriage transitioned too smoothly over to how I wanted my divorce and future relationship with my ex to unfold. In other words, the exact reasons I wanted a divorce are the exact reasons why the divorce wasn't going to go well, but I was still hanging on to my old rational that kept me in the marriage year in and year out.

Neither one of us liked conflict. We had so much history between us and we had suffered through and survived obstacles. We laughed enough. And of course there was our gorgeous, amazing daughter that we both love. We were at least friends, weren't we? At one point, these half-truths blinding me, I used Bruce Willis and Demi Moore's post-divorce relationship as a verb. (I'm sure the definition will show up under "amicable divorce" in the newest version of the Dictionary of Cultural Literacy). I said to my ex (feel free to laugh), "I want us to Bruce and Demi this." Wow. I've been known to say some memorable one-liners, but this one ranks up there and ironically, I think it's the tongue-in-cheek tag line of my renaissance.

I had some hard lessons ahead of me..most of them about myself. I knew who my ex was, what he and we as a couple were capable and incapable of, and I had reconciled my decision to get a divorce. But in order to survive the divorce, I needed to face myself.

Here's what hitting bottom finally showed me, and I will rely on the wisdom of Albert Einstein for this one, "Everything that can be counted does not necessarily count, everything that counts cannot necessarily be counted." When not in crisis, it's easy to give lip service to the idea of losing things that can be counted...money, professional success, financial stability, a home you own. But until you face the real possibility of losing it all, all at once, you can't as clearly see what's embedded in these things that you have built, things that can't be counted.

I spent my marriage trying to hold up all four legs of a table. I wanted to be in love, be married and I invested in the life that we were living. I remember saying to our couples counselor, that I was capable, reliable and responsible. That even though I didn't want to, I could do it all, that I could hold up the table legs. He said, "no you can't"..."Yes I can, I've been doing it"..."No you can't, you are here, aren't you?" I know, pause for obvious effect. The me that wanted to Bruce and Demi-it is the me that thought I had to hold up all four legs of the table, even in the divorce.

Hitting bottom crushed me, I can't lie. It was dark, ugly and scary. I couldn't lift a fork, or shut an eye, I was so burdened by the things that were happening to me, around me and within me. There had been a slow descent for sure, and the actual impact hurt like hell, but it shattered some walls that I unknowingly, but painstakingly, had built around myself. Crushed and hurting, I was finally truly vulnerable. Vulnerable enough to surrender to my life and I felt all the things that count rush in...faith, devotion, humility, strength, forgiveness and love. I found myself and that counts. It counts for my daughter, my mother, my family and friends. It counts for me.

These days I'm thinking of Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'" and remembering why I originally loved the Thoreau quote. Maybe sometimes we just need to surrender to our lives. Sit down long enough to let the sum of our experiences settle over us, let go and free fall into a place where we can heal and grow, even if it hurts.

can we handle the truth?

I haven't written an entry in awhile. It's ok if you didn't notice (insert lame attempt at humor.) The truth is that I am afraid, so therefore I have nothing to say. Afraid of what I really want to write about, what really interests me to talk about. Do I not think people can handle the truth? Maybe not yet.

I am about 75% of the way through the book, "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. (No, this is not a book report, I promise.) It's excellent and astonishing that it's her first novel. The core of the story is about two black women and one white woman who collaborate to write brutally honest stories about the black women's experiences as maids in Jackson, Mississippi in 1962. I was exposed to the study of civil rights as early as grade school, and in college I focused my Political Science degree on women and ethnic studies. However, despite everything that I have been taught, everything I have learned, reflected on and absorbed, it still astounds me that people really believed all that bullshit (excuse my french) about race relations less than fifty years ago! And I'm not some naive bleeding heart who doesn't understand the nuances of how powerful socialization and group dynamics can be, but it's crazy how pockets of this country, and powerful people, kept that degrading, inhumane and vile set of beliefs alive well into recent memory. I wonder? What issue(s) from these times will our children and our grandchildren be astounded by? Gay marriage? Immigration? I wonder. But now I'm on a soapbox and getting sidetracked...

They always say that you should write what you know, but honesty can be very hard. The characters in "The Help" risk their livelihoods, their friendships and their personal safety to tell their truths. Of course, that's to the extreme, and yet it raises an interesting question...what compels someone to tell their truth? To talk or write about what they know? It takes courage no matter how big or small the truth. Being separated from my husband and going through a divorce has made me a magnet for other people's stories. I'm just as attracted to their truths as they are to tell them to me and it's been fascinating. Why don't we share more, and more often? Exposing others and ourselves is an obvious reason. Timing is another. We actually keep a lot of secrets, us humans, we really do. I never really knew that until now. Maybe someday I will have the courage to tell some of the backstories, but for now, here are some truths that I have learned:

Married men and women cheat - emotionally and physically. And not just the emotionally decrepit ones, really great human beings with good intentions and loving hearts find themselves in that place.

Even the most driven, intelligent, spirited woman wants to be able to count on a man. Lean on a man. Be caught by a man. (...yes, this one is autobiographical, but I am far from alone.)

Psychotherapists and psychologists use their skills in their own personal arguments.

It's possible for an adult woman to cry for 8 hours straight and still be considered holding it together.

Regret is common.

Marriage is hard for everyone, but great partnerships and big, expansive, ridiculous love does exist.

Physical attraction is real and relevant. Chemistry and connection cannot be fabricated. Neither one need be rational or explainable.

Being 40+, never married and no kids could be a real problem.

Being 24 with a spouse and a child on the way could be a real problem.

People have things they can bring to the table if we will just let them.

It's possible that worlds will collide when your divorced, best male friend washes one of your children's hair because your estranged husband has made such a scene during drop off that you can barely function to do the job.

Timing is a bitch.

Fate needs courage.

Eating a sandwich, alone in a hospital waiting room, with no one at home waiting for you, tending to your friend who is also alone, and feeling happy, really happy about the connections that you do have is amazing...and so is the bacon.

Sex is not off the table. Everyone will talk about it under the right circumstances and many want to.

Email, Facebook, Twitter, chat, texting, cell phone chats with your Bluetooth on your drive home from work really do bring people closer together. It can also make you obsessive and crazy.

Asking the bartender to plug in your cell phone apparently is a common request.

Bikini waxes, good lingerie, high-quality shampoo and face lotion that smells like oranges — these small luxuries are for us.

Asking for help is hard but receiving it is honestly, pretty darn soulful.

Money is emotional. Duh.

An 11 year old has the right to say no to Facebook.

When your friend compares herself to Kelly from the "Real Housewives of New York," especially the "I've lost my mind, want a jelly bean?" part, you kind of love your friend even more.

You can keep it all together and not crumple. You can pick up the dog poop, pull the weeds, load and unload the dishwasher, do the laundry, take out the garbage, not forget the milk, pay the bills, keep a job, make new friends, raise a child, dance by yourself, get up and close the windows when it's raining, find your keys, sew the button on your coat and cut flowers for your nightstand...all by yourself.

Being emotionally unavailable is not just a catch-phrase.

It's possible to be jealous of neighbors that are naked in their hot tub...all the time.

More people still smoke pot than maybe you realize.

People will surprise you...again and again and again.

Book club is overrated unless you spend 80% of the time connecting and only 20% talking about the book, provided you read the book, which is worth it.

Flicking your disposable contacts across the room and refusing to put sandwich bags on the grocery list are really just silent protests.

The desire to do right by your children is black and white. The path is grey.

People fall in love really quickly - they just forgot they could.

Walking around New York City with just your thoughts, your iPod and a sunny day can be life changing.

A cat that is run over by a car on the day you file for divorce can break the ice.

Striving to be fearless is daunting, but has immediate rewards. Immediate.

It's important to make choices that are not just distractions. (Thanks for the insight wise newer friend.)

The challenges in life? That is life and that is not a bad thing. (Thanks for the insight wise old friend.)

Most people are good, really good.

Some people cannot handle the truth and maybe that's ok.

That's all...

...for now.

(p.s. I couldn't help using the picture of the Fonzie book because seriously...what was that guy hiding?)