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...

making the time count.

It drives me crazy, but kids these days (yep, that just happened, I said "kids these days") are losing some of the fundamentals. Like telling time from looking at a clock face or counting change. It's cliché to blame it on technology, but that is of course, the truth. I read an opinion piece awhile back claiming that some of these things are like the chalkboard, at one time arguably a piece of technology (by definition), and "so what" if we evolve past that? Why do kids need to be able to tell time on a clock face when the future is digital, period? We are not still trying to start fires in our kitchens to cook dinner, are we? I have no credibility on this issue, but I believe it fundamentally changes how our brain operates and it worries me.

For me, it's about problem-solving. Understanding the genesis of something. Having more than one way to ask and answer a question. If your iPhone craps out on you (which my Palm Pré did the other night and I about lost my marbles) how will you possibly know what time it is? Of course living in civilization would point you to your friend's iPhone and thus, problem solved. But what if you were, say, in the mountains and you needed to get your bearings on how much time you had to hike out? The clock face was based on the sun dial, the shadows that are created at various times of daylight. I know, I know - basic background. Useless today? I don't think so. I wonder...are we giving our kids the depth of information they need for them to develop strategies to solve problems?

Problem-solving is an intuitive and thoughtful process, isn't it? We either do it at lightening speed for easy issues, or go through a longer process for tougher ones. Intuition is partially based on experience and partially on free- thinking, both help to develop natural triggers. To be thoughtful, you have to have a basis of something to think about, ie: information. Anyway you look at it, the more we know and the more we think about something, the better prepared we are to see all alternatives and create a strategy to work through it.

So believing all of that, how do we reconcile the influence of rapid technology and the loss of some fundamentals? Chuck Klosterman, in his book Eating the Dinosaur, lays out a fascinating look at the Unabomber, Ted Kaczinsky and his manifesto Industrial Society and Its Future. Fundamentally I think Klosterman's big idea in this essay is that we have lost our ability to be free (think "pure" not "political") thinkers because of the physical presence of technology and therefore the constant influx of messaging (from the media, friends, whatever). In other words, I think he's saying that we've lost the ability to think free-form. We no longer have the space, time or, to his point, lack of constant messaging from the technology in our lives in order to think more for and of ourselves. I think this is a sound argument and in my mind adds further fuel to the fire - loss of fundamentals plus influence and general "noise" of technology...where does that leave our kids and their problem-solving skills?

As I am known to do, when I am flummoxed, I think of what my mother is likely to say. I think I will ask her, but I am pretty sure she will say, "keep it simple stupid (k.i.s.s.)" Here I am blogging and filling the space with more noise. Email and the internet are my professional life lines. My cell phone, iTunes, facebook, Outlook calendar - all of it seemingly indispensable. I'm certainly not about to Kaczinsky-it and live out the remainder of my existence in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, so how can I "keep it simple, stupid?" How can I help my dot develop the fundamentals, think free-form, and develop stronger strategic and problem-solving thinking?

This question is being debated by people far smarter than me, in far more depth than I could ever imagine or absorb, but I need to parent now, real-time. So, I am going to employ the k.i.s.s. advice: I am going to start by shutting things off now and then, and asking my dot what time it is.

drinking the cool aid

I think today I am going to spend some time researching what happens to your brain above 5,000 feet. Or rather, at what elevation do you have to be at in order for euphoria to naturally set in? Maybe it's lower? Higher? Do people in Denver have a better quality of life than I do here at sea level simply because they are a little elevation-drugged?

I want some more of that drug. I have a love affair with the mountains, but not in the rain forest, black bear, snow-camping kind of way. I love the high-desert, thin-foliage, low-brush kind of mountains. Deep reddish brown soil, jutting rocks worn by ancient rivers. I am romanced by aspen trees, especially in the summer, riverside as the small round leaves twirl in the breeze. I like standing on a ridge and seeing a meadow laid out in front of me bursting with wildflowers. Again, I think this is the "elevation drug" speaking...I think.

I have not spent enough time taking the drug. Every time I get a taste of it, I am genuinely exasperated that I don't spend more of my life taking it all in. However, I am like the rest of us who don't live in Denver. Spending entire days in a desk chair, working to create the opportunity to get back up/out there. Last weekend, I was lucky enough to be skiing with my sixth grade dot, basking in the sun, happy and drugged. She drank the cool aid too and I nearly shed a tear when she said, on more than one occasion, "I'm so happy!" Those of us immersed in life with a tween know that this is a big exclamation. Her dad and I have separated after fifteen years together and the mountain drug was necessary and so good, for both of us.

This love affair and drug addiction aside, I am not one of those people who is especially adept or equipped to spend all of this time outdoors. I am a mediocre skier, would rather wear my tank top and tevas than real hiking boots, and like mountain biking on lovely, wide trails (aka - low impact/injury). However, I have always followed my mother's lead: get out there no matter what. She is NOT a skier, hiker or biker but when I was young, she did it all..for me. She was even worse than I was at all of it. One time on the slopes, she was bowled over at the bottom of the bunny hill by an out of control skier - - - who happened to have been my father. That was it. Ski bus was next (and a divorce as well, but that's another blog entry). We rode road bikes nearly every Sunday and my mother wore rubber bands around the bottom of her jeans so they wouldn't get stuck in the chains. (Yes, I said "road biking" and "jeans" in the same sentence.) With the purchase of our first four-wheel drive car, she could finally say goodbye to the dusty hikes, but still hello to the fields of wildflowers, and our car picnics on the top of windy ridges are still embedded in my brain. I like to imagine that she was chanting, "get the kid the cool aid!" to motivate her more indoor-inclined self to get out there. Largely due to her efforts, I have improved on her skill level in all of those areas, and in turn, my dot will be even more adept and skilled than me. This is as it should be.

Now that I am alone and cannot rely on her father to jump on the bike, I am trying to remember my mother's lesson. I will have to remind myself what it feels like to be outdoors, to be on the bike, to have that head-clearing clarity, that moment of endorphin or fresh-air-fueled bliss and make sure my dot has plenty of it in her life. I want that kid to drink the cool aid. She deserves it.