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.

gut it out.

I recently watched a 2005 commencement speech given by Steve Jobs. He said many, many illuminating things, one of which is that "...you have to trust in something. Your gut, destiny, life, karma. You have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future, believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart, even when it leads you off the well worn path, and that will make all the difference."

I was so enthralled with the speech that I paused it time and again and let what he was saying register with me. Let it mean something and speak to me in the midst of all the pain and turmoil that I have been experiencing. What ended up ringing true for me is that after all of my choices, all of the questioning in the face of huge fears, learning how to be more vulnerable, accepting some failures, knowing that my heart and intuition are worthy guides and being less sure of things, helped me ask the questions that I believe will lead to greater happiness. What do I want out of this life? What values am I most committed to and want to see in those whom I love? Who's life do I want to be living? How can I balance vulnerability with strength? What changes do I need to make within myself? What do I trust and what do I believe to be true?

Faith is hard work. Trust is hard work. You have to be in action and conscious of both for either to be valuable in your life, right? Otherwise they are just empty words, empty notions. I have to trust that my gut, intellect and support system will lead me to make decisions that are in the best interest of my daughter. I have to have faith that my basic soul's desire for someone to really understand me and love me is reasonable and attainable. I have to trust that my genuine hard work and thoughtful intentions will lead to the stability and prosperity that I crave. I have to have faith that my mind and heart will be open to the lessons that my failures and mistakes humbly bring with them. This is all active. I am conscious of all of this, day in and day out.

A close friend recently shared with me that a counselor recommended an exercise by which you wear a rubber band around your wrist and every time you see it, you are to ask yourself what emotion you are experiencing at that exact moment. We laughed and said how limited our emotional vocabulary really is: "ummm...tired? Hungry? Frustrated?" But the idea of this is fun to explore because with this exercise we can learn to listen to ourselves in a specific moment in time and that's very hard to do. It's easy to understand and feel emotions when they are at their apex, but how do you tap into your feelings when maybe they are more subtle or nuanced? A long history of subtle, quiet emotions can have a much bigger impact on our lives as they compound. They are still there. They are very real, whether we choose to let them settle over us or not. Imagine reaching across a table to hold the hand of someone you love and seeing that rubber band — a ha! I'm feeling it! I trust this feeling! I want to hold this hand! In this moment, this feeling is not lost on me. Or how about the opposite — seeing your hands folded together, the rubber band causing you to connect to an emotion in that moment and realizing that you feel alone even though someone is sitting across the table from you? What does that feel like? I know what it feels like and I wish I knew about the rubber band exercise long, long ago. I would have snapped it and felt it sting so I wouldn't forget, so I could learn to trust it and build on my own emotional intelligence.

It's always easier to look back and connect the dots that led you to where you are today. Trusting that any of them are the right ones today is incredibly hard. This is why I think both what Steve Jobs said and what that counselor recommended are so powerful. Feelings lead to action, or inaction, right? Balancing the incredible gift of emotional awareness with rationality feels like the right place to start. This is intuition at it's best..our gut giving us things to trust, things to believe in, and ultimately, giving us a map. Jobs also so wisely said, "Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become."

the new busy.

Are you kidding me? Every time I see Microsoft Hotmail's new campaign slogan, I make a face and shake my head. "The New Busy?" Seriously? I know some goofball(s) made a lot of money off of that "idea" and I shake my head at that too. (By the way, isn't it us, the Gen X'ers, that get made fun of for using air quotes? Well, perhaps we also over-use quotes in general, however I think air or typed quotes also add the perfect dash of tongue-in-cheek, don't you?)

As a friend of mine, ironically a former Microsoftie (or is it MS'er?), said to me over the weekend, "What even is the New Busy? What does that mean?" Weird. Who wants a new Busy? Find me someone who actually wants a new Busy. Seriously, call me. I will talk some sense into you. I want less Busy. I want a mini-Busy, a Busy salve, a Busy tamer, a Busy reliever. Honestly, I actually want the Old Busy. You know, the Busy where you had to juggle changing your home answering machine message (so that you sound like Wolfman Jack) and make dinner in time to catch "People's Court." Or the Busy where waiting in the grocery line for the man in front of you to pay with a check didn't make you want to go postal. Or how about the Busy where making a mix-tape took the same amount of time as it did to listen to it? Or the Busy where it was hands-down more fun to get a dirt clod thrown at you than try to respond to 287 emails before bed. I hate the New Busy and I hate that Microsoft is trying to sell it to me. I KNOW what the New Busy looks like and it isn't me trying to figure out how to fit in yoga. Bottom line: anything that is selling New + Busy scares the shit out of me.

Here's the New Busy:

How many times have you called the cable company to have them explain to you the very best deal, triple-whatever, including digital-whatever, taking up at least 45 minutes of your evening, only to get to the very end and they say that "Whoops, that price is not available in your area." Exactly. Me too — once was enough. So the New Busy stuck with basic cable and had to call and order stupid digital boxes that I had to set up on my own, which required at least one support phone call, upon which they tried to sell me the digital upgrade, which had a great price (!), only to discover that alas...not available in my area. Honestly, the New Busy is exhausted just from writing this paragraph.

How many times have you told the grocery checker that you forgot your club card, but could they please give you the discount this one time? Little do they know that the New Busy intended on signing up, but after I filled out the card, I realized that I have to bring that card back into the store. You can't mail it. You can't do it online. I have three neatly completed applications in the bottom of my New Busy purse. You find them.

When you've made your pet boarding reservation, did they tell you that the required boarding-specific immunizations are not up to date, only to discover that your vet can't see your pet until the week after you return from your trip? The New Busy had to find a new in-home boarder.

I called in my prescription refill. Easy. Then fought for thirty minutes to find a parking space. Hard. Only to be told by the pharmacist that they can't give me my prescription because my insurance only covers payment on the last week of the month. No, I'm not kidding. The New Busy had to do it all over again...two days later.

The New Busy keeps re-sending emails to myself so they appear at the top of the list.

I carry any and all liquids in ziplock bags all the time because I've been burned by running out of FHA-required one-quart bags on airplane travel days.

I tape my parking pass to my coat on the last day of the month so I remember to put it on my rearview mirror that night.

Trader Joe's' steam-in-the-bag vegetables almost make me cry with relief.

I cancelled home milk delivery because paying the bill online and remembering to email them every time I needed to reduce or stop delivery took more time than just buying it at the store.

Finding time to read "Real Simple" takes a real commitment.

I use Pert Plus.

An ad for a 5-minute dinner recipe makes me laugh like a mad scientist.

I pay my daughter to make her own school lunches.

I email during traffic jams, text on elevators, and return phone calls while grocery shopping.

When I'm out jogging, I have to carry both my iPod and my phone because no, I don't have an iPhone. That would require switching carriers and that's a rabbit hole I don't want to go down anytime soon.

The smaller garbage cans, which the City promotes to reduce waste, are only 12 gallons less but they don't have wheels.

One staple of the New Busy purse is three different power adapters. Enough said.

The only folks who are making it easier for the New Busy are the paid parking lot owners, who's online over-time fine payment system is a breeze.

Ok, ok. This could go on longer than the New Busy has time for. I'm from Seattle and I do appreciate Microsoft from a regional economy stabilizing angle (that was a mouthful) so, I will give them a break. They didn't invent the New Busy, and honestly they have some legitimate tools trying to help us wrangle it. It's not lost on you either, I know, that the "New Busy" campaign is supposed to be doing exactly that — selling a Busy-wrangling tool. Maybe that should have been the campaign. A cowboy, Busy in the role as the villain, MS as the cowboy's rope. Cowboy + Rope = Busy being wrangled. Works for me! Microsoft?...Call me. If you get a busy signal, don't worry, there's an app for that.

jumping the shark.

I was having a great laugh with a friend the other day when I referred to something we were talking about as "jumping the shark" — the popular idiom used to describe when there is a clear, defined moment when something takes a nose-dive. If you are not familiar, the idiom comes from an episode of the TV show, "Happy Days," when the (before that episode) über-cool Fonzie character jumps over a shark on waterskis wearing jean cutoffs and a leather jacket. Yes, that sentence just happened. Jean cutoffs, leather jacket, shark, waterskis. Pretty obvious now, right? The show "jumped the shark" and the ratings were never the same.

What I love about this particular idiom is that it identifies an exact moment when the collective conscious says, "Yep...we see it. Right there, that's the moment. Things really sucked after that." When used in the context of entertainment, there are examples all over the place. Like when Quiet Riot went back on tour, this time of college fraternities and with only one original band member. Or when Mr T pushes Rocky Balboa's trainer out of the way and the push causes him to have a heart attack (WTH?) in "Rocky III." Or how about starting with the opening credits of Bret Michaels' "Rock of Love Bus" (as opposed to "Rock of Love" which...rocked, but most people I know won't admit they watched it. I even caught the "Rock of Love Marathon," which was a fantastic Sunday with popcorn for breakfast, lunch and dinner.) Frankly, nearly any sequel has to be very careful about not strapping on the waterskis. What about in music? How about when John Mayer said his penis is like a white supremacist in Playboy? (For the record, that entire article is NUTS. Read it. The white supremacist thing got all the play, but seriously, there are some nuggets in there. He has one whole answer that goes like this, "It's all about geometry. I'm sort of a scientist; it's about being obtuse with an angle. It's sort of this weird up-and-over thing. You gotta think 'up-and-over'." I know...just read it.) TV? George Costanza's fiancé's envelope-licking death on Seinfeld? (Although many will argue that the show was still brilliant after that.) I think "Melrose Place" jumped the shark when the Kimberly Shaw character comes back from the dead, pulls off her wig and shows Michael her scar. That was only in season three! Ironically, the actress that played her, Marcia Cross, currently has an online poll suggesting that her "Desperate Housewives" character's lesbian story line is jumping the shark.

This could go on for days.

People use "jumping the shark" to describe all kinds of things, but typically they use it inappropriately. "Jumping the shark" is not just a disappointment, it's the demise. It's also not just an over-reaching commentary such as describing the entire state of Seattle Mariner baseball, it's a definitive moment. And the cool part? It's a moment that you know is a moment right when it's happening. No rear-view-window reflection required. Like when Republican vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin told CBS News' Katie Couric that she could see Russia from her house. Whether you like her or not, she jumped the shark right then. Or when Helen Thomas, a nearly 60 year veteran of the White House press pool, recently said that Jews should go back to Germany (I understand that this one line is a bit out of context, but trust me...she jumped.) Or when Larry Craig, the former Idaho senator who was arrested for lewd conduct in an airport restroom sting, claimed he had a "wide stance." Watch out, we have a jumper!

Again, this could go on for days.

So after all of my laughing, I have been reflecting; what are my personal jumping the shark moments? I've had them. I know so because again, you know when something's jumped. I've had dates jump the shark. Like when I was first out of college, a guy that I had previously adored from afar in high school (three years older) asked me out, took me to a great Japanese place for dinner (all going well), then proceeded to take me to the airport lounge for drinks. If it wasn't bad enough to end up at the airport, the kicker is that they were known for serving stiff drinks. Bad move. I had some fun with it — including making him believe the date was a roaring success until we got to my apartment and I shut the door before any chance of a goodnight kiss. For the record, he jumped the shark the moment he turned into the airport parking lot.

My marriage jumped the shark and I know when that moment was. I know exactly when my path to becoming an attorney jumped the shark, as well as when friendships changed, relationships altered, or paths redirected. My list could go on for days too. Yours? It's kind of interesting to think about, isn't it? We know these moments exist right as they are happening. Whether we want to accept them or not, or when we accept them or not, is really the question. There were five Indiana Jones movies despite the fact that he saved himself from a nuclear explosion by hiding in a refrigerator. "Melrose Place" lasted seven seasons I think and it got nuttier and nuttier. "The Price is Right" jumped with Bob Barker's first plastic surgery, then again with his sexual coercion scandal at age 71 (ick), and yet again with Drew Carey as host (in my opinion) and you can still tune in and watch ecstatic Ohioans on vacation win at Plinko. And then there's "Happy Days" which limped along for another seven years after Fonzie was all wet (as were the ratings). Why? Who knows? As usual, I'm not trying to answer any big questions, I'm just thinking about these things. Exploring. Shaking my head a little. Sometimes I guess we humans just like to beat a dead...shark.

Hmmm..with that joke, did my blog just jump?

isn't it ironic?

Ok, I'm back to Chuck Klosterman again. I should probably write him a fan letter and maybe I will, but first I want to explore an idea sparked by one of his essays involving Ralph Nader, the consumer advocate turned national political candidate, and Rivers Cuomo, the singer/songwriter and frontman for the band Weezer.

I started running recently. I would say, "again" but honestly that would be totally disingenuous. I'm sure my lack of discipline surrounding a regimented exercise routine will eek it's way into an entry at some point, but for today, let's just picture me as a runner. Jacked up on sunshine, a wide woodsy urban trail packed with comrades drinking the cool aid, an athletic-enough me hitting a good stride with my iPod fueling the pace. Weezer's "Troublemaker" on loop and my gleeful connection with the lyrics evident on my face. I get it! Klosterman nails it again: Cuomo isn't being ironic, he means what he is saying! Listen to it now with this in mind...it is awesome and interesting.

In his essay, "T is for True," (http://tinyurl.com/2drfv2a) Klosterman deftly identifies how both men present a literal and non-ironic world view and this is confusing and frustrating for most, if not all, of the rest of us. Irony is so common in our culture. It makes us laugh, feel comfortable, be casual, sound smart. Being literal can confuse most of us. There's a bit of a lie in irony and it's easier to hide in that space - for the giver and receiver. The literal truth can be harder to swallow, and sometimes we also just don't care. Sometimes I think it can even backfire. A filter can be good and useful. Irony can be useful, can't it?

I am a classically ironic person (note how many times in my entries I have to pull us out of irony by saying words like "truthfully," "honestly," "literally" and "really"). I like to be casual, funny. Yes, you've heard me say how open I think I am, which can mean less ironic and more literal, but the truth is that I am typically only really open and transparent with those closest to me. (Admittedly I do think I am probably more open than maybe the average person, but still...) Like David Foster Wallace wrote in 1993, "an ironist is impossible to pin down." That can be me. That can be a lot of people.

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day who, according to him, made the mistake of asking his ex-wife how she is doing. He got an ear full, but I think he was hoping for the ironic "just super, thanks." Even with the likely scathing delivery, he could have stepped away from that answer much quicker, which is what he wanted. For all of my talk about being more open, bringing more authenticity to the table, having the courage to tell some truths (not all), blah blah blah (insert smirk), I have to say...irony is an oft-used, pervasive tool and frankly, it's a safety-net. Can you imagine if I employ literalism when the barista at my building's coffee shop asks me how I am doing, and I reply with: "Not great. I'm freaking out about lack of income right now, I've only eaten half a piece of toast and crappy tea this morning, and you are about to charge me $5.70 for a cup of milk with some green powder in it and I'm completely at your will because I have a headache that requires caffeine to relieve it." COME ON! Even if I went the other way and went literal with the positives (which would sound like bragging), the bottom line is that both scenarios would evoke the exact same reaction - horror. Who the hell is this woman? Or if I answered every question about my divorce with what really is in my head? Uh, no. Depending on the audience I will say things like, "It's super fun" or, "Don't do it. Just have more sex." Light and flip. Ironic.

All of that being said, it's possible that we do overuse the "to tell you the truth" lead-ins that soften the impact of the literal statements. David Foster Wallace also said that "...our pervasive cultural irony is at once so powerful and so unsatisfying." But I wonder, is it really so unsatisfying or can't we find a happy medium between the two? Can't irony be a valuable social tool, the aforementioned safety net?

Klosterman envisions the possibly asexual, and therefore not likely to even get married, Nader delivering a wedding vow like this: "In sickness, with the possible exclusion of self-contained vegetative states, and in health, assuming neither party has become superhuman or immortal." Who wants to hear that? On the other hand, Rivers Cuomo has a line in "Troublemaker" that I love and play over and over again. He builds it up by telling you that he is going to pick up his guitar, play heavy metal riffs, exactly like he likes, and lays it on us with: "You want arts and crafts? How's this for arts and crafts?" and he breaks into a brash and loud braggart-feel guitar riff. I love it. Listen to it - it's fun. And Cuomo meant it! He's in your face, there is no irony. But again - maybe moderation is really the key. We can't all run around answering every question like maybe the answer is in our heads, can we? Like maybe Cuomo, giving exactly what I am thinking with a loud guitar riff-esque approach? The answer in your head is no. Mine too. We all know that most of us can't and don't want to run around being literal all the time. People also don't necessarily want to hear it either, and that's not a bad thing. Ironically, irony can keep us connected but also allow us to step-back and take a breather when we may need it. Putting the guitar down is not so unsatisfying.

"My mother never saw the irony in calling me a son-of-a-bitch."

–Jack Nicholson

For the record...there's at least one literal statement in this entry.

walking a tightrope.

About six weeks ago, I was sitting at a friend's apartment enjoying a lilac-scented breeze blowing through their sunny second floor windows. Late afternoon, dinner and friends coming together. Amazing homemade guacamole (with red onion — great addition!), a coriander-infused cold beer (interesting) and easy conversation rolling from one subject to another.

On the south wall of their living room is a framed poster of the New Yorker magazine cover art from September 11, 2006. An artistic and interesting cover, regardless of whether you understand the significance of it or not. It's an almost all black and white depiction of a man walking skillfully holding a long balancing pole. As such, you assume the presence of a tightrope, but none is to be seen, and you assume the presence of anchors, but again, none are to be seen. The reason? The cover served as the magazine's five year anniversary remembrance of all that was lost on September 11, 2001. It artfully used Philippe Petit's unauthorized tightrope walk between the 111th floors of the Twin Towers on August 7, 1974, removed the towers, removed the rope, and reminded us of what can disappear into thin air.

Philippe Petit calls himself a tightrope artist and a world-class pickpocket. He's been quoted as saying, "I am someone who lives in the clouds and have no respect for the way humanity organizes society on earth. I don’t have a bank account, don’t have a car, don’t have a little box full of money." He is a life-long street performer and in 1974, he became, as the New York Post describes, "one of New York's most beloved curiosities." He has been interviewed hundreds of times, books have been written about him and in 2009, the documentary chronicling his famous walk, "Man on a Wire" (http://manonwire.com), won the Academy Award for Best Feature Documentary. Today, he is a curiosity still, but a powerful voice for independent, artistic thinking and for choosing to live a singularly unique life.

Since laying my eyes on that poster, Petit has been on my mind. I find it wildly interesting that the New Yorker brilliantly chose him as a beacon of remembrance. The visual depiction is profound, no doubt, and maybe a little obvious, but I think ultimately his endeavor is a powerful example of the indelible grace of one individual soul, of 3,000+ souls. Six years of planning and dreaming for 45 minutes 110 stories off the ground, dancing across the wire. I think his act reminds us that there is profound value in the manifestation of the individual soul. A powerful subtext to the visual used by the New Yorker.

Also since that sunny Sunday evening, the hosts, my friends, have also been on my mind. Shortly after that dinner, they shared with me the profound struggle that they are now engaged in. They are battling time, opinions, treatments and physical and mental exhaustion, and a host of other things I can't even wrap my brain around. I am struck by the similarities between the artwork on their wall, and their battle. An invisible tightrope, a unknown path. When I think of them, I am reminded that you cannot choose timing and fate, yet these are hugely defining forces in our lives. I imagine they are trying not to fight it, but to challenge themselves to learn how to live boldly with what is in front of them and be fearless about the outcome. To walk that tightrope with confidence and verve. Honestly, I don't have to imagine it, I know it to be true. They are soulful and strong, methodical and wise, and I know they are tapping into each other's energy to face all that is now their new "normal." I deeply admire them as individuals and as a couple. What I find incredibly fascinating about fate is that Cancer (capital 'C') might have always been lurking in their future, but fate brought these two individual souls together to face it as a united front. I am holding onto that thought, because I want to, and have to, believe that there are slivers of good that can be embraced when trying to boldly challenge yourself to dance across a tightrope to the other side.

"To me, its really so simple, that life should be lived on the edge. You have to exercise rebellion. To refuse to tape yourself to the rules...to see every day, every year, every idea as a true challenge. Then you will live your life on the tightrope." - Philippe Petit

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?)

gone fishing.

When I was a kid, I used to fish now and then with my parents. I remember it so vividly. I grew up in an area that was surrounded by two rivers and some small (very small) lakes and ponds. Not a lot of water, but some. Enough. We'd pack up peanut butter and homemade raspberry freezer jam sandwiches on white bread (my favorite to this day!), grab our poles and jump in the car. Not more than a 10 minute drive, we'd park along the lake, spill out of the car and I would race to the water's edge, throwing up hot, dusty clouds in my wake. I always had to be shushed by the regulars, who had been there since dawn.

My mother, at that time, was the general manager of a sporting goods store. A local, small-town iconic type of store that was every kid's dream. They covered everything: hunting, fishing, camping, soccer, football, baseball, tennis, skiing, volleyball - you name it, they did it. They had fashion shows with special guests, including NFL quarterbacks and magicians. Summer sidewalk sales with ice cream and popcorn. Ski demos with Olympic medalists. It was a magical place. As the child of the GM, I spent hours upon hours exploring every nook and cranny. I would sit in the tent displays and eat dehydrated strawberries. Climb in the rafters and peer down at customers. Collect ski wax shavings and make interesting sculptures. Hide under tennis skirt displays and draw pictures of people's shoes. Sit in the employee lounge and conduct mock hirings with imaginary applicants. (Yes, I really did that.) I had to work too. During inventory times, I was given jobs like counting the number of individual letters used for team shirts. Yep. Tedious, but I loved it all. The place had the ridiculously decadent added benefit of being directly in front of a bakery, so like clockwork, the intoxicating smell of baking bread would waft through the store two times a day. Heaven. It really was. I was like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory.

Since my mother was like Willy Wonka, she was my idol. She ran that place with incredible energy and discipline. Everyone knew where the buck stopped. She knew every employee's work habits, every vendor by heart, and how every piece of equipment in that huge store was used. She didn't ski or really play any sports, but she knew it all like the back of her hand. The right shoe for such-and-such activity, the best ski length for your height/weight, the appropriate tennis racket grip. She also had spent her childhood farming, fishing and camping. As a result, my fishing pole, quite simply, rocked. Sparkly green with a push-button release reel. Cool. And my teacher was my mom. Cool.

I'm remembering it all today because a thought occurred to me about fishing in general. Throwing something out there and seeing what you can catch. I've always been a fisherman in that sense. Typically very willing to ask questions, give an idea or an opinion, introduce myself to a new friend, spark up a conversation with a stranger. But I realize now that I was only fishing on sunny days and maybe not always catching what it is that I'm really looking for, or maybe what I need. I think to do so means you have to be more vulnerable. Rain pouring down, freezing cold, poor visibility. But the good stuff is under there in a storm, isn't it? (Did you read or see "The Perfect Storm"? It was also "The Greatest Catch")

This blog is helping me do that. Opening myself up a little further. Facebook, Twitter. Places where being more active can mean more vulnerability, but you also catch more things. Ideas, feedback, humor, opinions, leads, friendship. You can't get back what you didn't put out there to begin with. Doesn't mean I am telling all my FB friends what I am having for breakfast, but I am interested in the idea of being active in some meaningful way. Seeing what I can learn about myself and others. I am active in LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter professionally as well. What can I learn about my profession, the industry, colleagues and business in general from these mediums? It's been a methodical, slow process, but I am finding that I am learning a lot and it's been a good place to be.

In my personal life, I am trying to augment what I am already putting out there with more honest, grounded expressions of myself as well. Not with everyone, and still not about everything, but I'm trying. Honesty can be hard, for the giver and the receiver, and I'm a believer that not everything needs to be discussed or shared. I'm also fishing for more experiences in general. Trying new things or pushing my boundaries on old ideas and experiences. This fishing on a rainy day has huge benefits. Feedback, discussion, compassion, opinions, even criticism, are all essential to developing my own intellect, boundaries, empathy, motivation and self-esteem. It's been a worthy exercise for sure.

I don't remember as many of the big picture details of those fishing expeditions with my mother as maybe I would like. How many fish I caught or didn't catch, how often we went, what bait we used to catch what fish. Who knows? But I remember my mom baiting my hook, her brown curly hair blocking my view as she did her job, showing me how to cast, her hand over mine, and yes, even the occasional yelling of my name as I cast too close to a neighbor. I loved it. As a friend reminded me, "Give a man a fish, feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, feed him for a lifetime." I think I'm finding that I'm ready to do more of it, rain or shine, and see what I can catch.

I will never grow so old again.

Recently I rented and watched the George Clooney Oscar-nominated movie, "Up in the Air." There are many great scenes that hit home, and they hit home in this elegant, compact way that kind of stuns you. There has been a lot of focus in reviews on the depth of the Clooney character and his romantic relationship. However for me, the character played by Anna Kendrick (also of the "Twilight" series fame, but don't hold that against her) hit closest to home. She plays a 23 year old girl, two years out of college. A smart, over-achiever type who is trying to make a big splash in her company. She has a severe hair style, wears conservative dark suits to not draw attention to herself, and she looks much older than her age, but ultimately she's still just 23. I know that girl all too well. In case my memory doesn't serve, I have photographic proof of the twenty-something me wearing horrible pant suits, boy-short hair, nylons (ick!) and glasses instead of contacts, all in an attempt to appear older and more experienced. In the movie, the character hits the road with her wiser, veteran colleague (Clooney) and of course many things ensue, one of which is that she is broken up with, via text message, by the boy she moved to Omaha for. A scene that, through a spot-on dialogue with the veterans, ultimately unveils her youth and idealism which starts her on the path that eventually sets her free.

I was such an idealist in a lot of ways. I suppose a lot of people are at that age, but I was trying to hide it. I wouldn't have wanted anyone to know that I was such an idealistic, romantic dreamer. I was (and am) the fixer. That's what I do, I fix things. Catch balls before they drop. Responsible, reliable, capable. I kept a big lid on the passionate, idealistic, dreamer girl. I kept the high-expectation gig for myself and was silently struggling with an identity crisis that lasted for at least a decade. What a drag. What a drain. However, I think I was destined to live the responsible, reliable, capable existence until my arms were too full and balls started to drop. The boyfriend in the movie did this girl a favor by texting her and letting her go.

I've been experiencing exponential self-evaluation and growth for probably about a year now and at times, it can be overwhelming, but I am learning to stop fighting myself. Letting myself be who I am and taking the lid off more often. I am a very passionate person. I am very open and transparent. I explore. I talk. I respectfully challenge and opine. Recently a newer friend of mine said, and I quote, "your openness is overwhelming." The slightly repressed version of myself would have quickly been defensive and clamped the lid down tight, considering the comment to be negative. The me that I don't want to fight any longer knows that the statement is more about him than me, and that is not a negative comment about him either. I realize (now) that I am often a catalyst for real emotion and deep conversation. That is who I am and that is what interests me. And I know that that kind of openness and exploration can be scary, and perhaps even overwhelming, but I think it's valuable for us as individuals, and of course for any kind of meaningful relationship, friendship or otherwise. It's real. It's, insert the highly overused word of...authentic, and it allows me to be more comfortable in my own skin, my relationships, my professional ventures, my age and my life.

One of my all-time favorite songs is "Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison and I am ready to admit that I am highly attracted to the romantic visions the song evokes. I love everything about it. I love the romantic idea of jumping hedges, drinking clear clean water to quench my thirst, heading out into the ocean against tomorrow's sky, walking and talking in gardens all wet with rain, being satisfied not to read between the lines and never growing so old again.I don't want to miss things from here on out. I want to take more of it in, explore more, and I want to be more present in my life and my age. I'm trying. I will always be that person that you can count on, but I think I want to take the lid off of the romantic dreamer girl too, and I have made a silent promise to myself that I will never grow so old again.

private dancer.

I haven't tried it yet, but I've bookmarked the information for a new dance class I want to try. The title is very Fame-ish and I can envision myself with a couple dozen other hungry young dancers, gritty, passionate, working it out on the hard wood floors. Well, let me re-phrase: I can envision myself in the very back of the room, maybe not so gritty, definitely passionate and definitely working it out, but hopefully unnoticed. The class is called...wait for it...Heavy Bottom Funk. Yes ma'am! What a title! I am in love and I haven't even read the full description. I nearly made it one time, but chickened out. Someone help me get there, please? I want to do this. I can already feel the endorphins hitting my veins like a drug.

Dance was a big part of my life for many, many years. I took classical ballet for something like eleven years and then was on a dance-heavy cheerleading squad in high school. I was always pretty mediocre at the technical elements, but loved the music, theatrics and general body expression of it all. Dance was my outlet. I would roller skate to Supertramp in my garage, create elaborate dance routines in my living room to A-Ha, and fantasize about slow dancing with my latest crush playing Madonna's "Crazy for You" on my walkman. Dance also provided me with an incredibly powerful life lesson. One that stuns me today, now that I can really see it for what it was.

For seven years straight, from about the age of 8 to age 15 (formative, impressionable years!) I tried out for the Oregon Ballet's production of The Nutcracker and NEVER MADE IT. Picture this young girl who loves to dance, loves the ballet, and despite mediocre technical talent, was always a hard-worker, sitting in the red velvet seats of a classically-designed theatre, audition number pinned to the front of her black leotard, having an anxiety-ridden yet self-promoting conversation running through her head. That was me. For SEVEN years in a row. What stuns me even further is that my mother sat with me every year. I cannot imagine how that would feel now that I am a parent. Obviously, we both thought that I would make it eventually, right? I made it to finals nearly every time but there were always girls (or boys) that were more gifted, looked more the part, were taller, younger, older or fit the costumes better. These were all desired requirements for cast members, which is not uncommon for large, traveling productions with a limited number of costume sizes, etc. I kept going, kept walking out of that theatre year after year, waiting until we got to the car before the tears would inevitably start to roll down my cheeks. My mother must have been in pain as well, but I think she knew that there was value in this experience and so long as I kept choosing it, it would build character. I know that it did. To this day, I interview well, public speak without too much anxiety and am nearly always willing to put myself out there. To simply try out. The costume doesn't always fit, but I show up and this has been a powerful thing in my life.

Yesterday I had lunch with a friend who I love spending one-on-one time with. She's intelligent, warm, hard-working and disciplined. She, like many of us, is experiencing incredible personal growth, which has included "tune-ups" with a mind-body life coach. One of the coach's recommendations for my friend is for her to dance - this to a friend who doesn't (didn't) like to dance! Privately if need be, 10 minutes, three/four times a week. Crank up the music, shut the door and let your flag fly baby! No doubt my face exploded in a huge grin when she told me about this powerful advice. A few weeks ago, on a Saturday when I was in a very low place due to my pending divorce, a package arrived in the mail from a friend who knows my soul. It was a CD with songs you cannot just sit and listen to, you have to m-o-v-e! I put my dark place on the shelf, put on the CD and danced by myself around my house for two hours, eating Whoppers and drinking a beer. It was, at that moment, a life-saving salve. (Email me if you want a copy of the playlist. :) So I can relate to this idea of being a private dancer for yourself, of finding the salve, energy and joy in that form of body expression.

In my childhood home, my mother hung two framed photos side-by-side in our living room. The first one was of a homeless man who was a regular sight near my mother's place of business. She, like she has always done throughout my life, befriended him, would talk to him on a regular basis and eventually asked if she could take his photo. That photo and his face are ingrained in my mind like he is a member of my family. He is sitting on the steps of a nearby business, and despite his tattered, filthy clothing, scraggly beard and dirty face, you can see him dancing behind these gorgeous, bright eyes. Next to this photo, was one of a man dancing on railroad tracks. Underneath the photo is the famous Nietzsche quote: "And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music." I'm feeling the music, hearing the music (specifically Donavon Frankenreiter's "Move By Yourself") and I am going to make it a point to get myself to that dance studio...who will join me?