When I meditate or listen to the universe every morning, when I’m sitting in my yard in the sun, snow or rain I almost always have a little cry. My nervous system regulates. Lets go of things. I feel the need to be outside, drink my coffee and ground and center and listen to what the universe is trying to tell me. I recently turned 60 and although I feel better, and think I look better than I did a year, two years, five years ago, I am worried that I’m not going to get to do things. That time is short.

The last two years of my life have been years of deep cleansing. Deep emotional purging. It’s been good. Very good. Hard, too. But the things that I am still struggling with are my Taurean desire for comfort, at almost any cost, and fear. Yes, fear. I have been afraid my whole life to live a life outside the bounds. Of living a life of risk and excitement and total and complete abandonment of what I think I should be doing. As I look back I realize that I was living someone else’s life. Sometimes that other person was me and sometimes it was influential people in my life. And that’s what I often cry about. In fact I’m a little verklempt writing this.

Don’t get me wrong. I have had a very good life. A life of blessings. And yes, comfort. I have never wanted for any necessity. I have a lot of stuff. I take vacations. Not extravagant vacations mind you, but nice trips with family, friends, and by myself. I am not wealthy by any means, but I have enough money to pretty much do as I please. I am very comfortable.

But seeking comfort is both my blessing and my curse. I was afraid to go out into the world when I was young. I came back to my hometown after college because I didn’t know what to do with my degree and my life. I wish I had just gotten the fuck out there. Out into the great big world. At this point in my life, living where I do is chafing. I am so restless I almost can’t stand it.

There were times when I did take chances. Breaking off relationships and starting new ones. Running for office. I did that twice and won both times. Adopting two children. I could write an entire book about adopting children from a foreign country. It was an almost two year odyssey. But those experiences seem like small potatoes now. I want something bigger and wider and exciting and soul shaking and earth moving. And I still don’t know how to do it, or get it, or go there. I have started several endeavors in the last two years; this blog and my Youtube channel. And I enjoy doing both. But I’m still here. I want to be somewhere else. But I can’t seem to find a lane.

And that brings me to the next part of trying to figure out where to go and how to stop worrying about being uncomfortable.

Stay in your lane. Follow your own path. What do those tropes really mean? I’ve tried following many paths. The paths of my friends. The paths of my parents, my husband, people I wanted to like me. People of whom I was jealous. People I thought I wanted to be like. I tried acting in ways I thought would make me likeable or loveable. I tried running like a group of my co-workers did because I thought that would give me entree’ into their group. (It did not.) I tried emulating people I worked with because I thought it would make me a better teacher. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. I tried liking the same kind of music the guys I had crushes on liked because I thought it would endear me to them. The results were meh. I think some of the reasons I sought comfort was because I was trying to be versions of other people. I spent so much time and energy absorbing other people’s energy, and trying to live like they did, like what they did, think like they did that I lost the essence of who I was. And that didn’t leave me enough emotional bandwidth to seek a different life than the one I knew. So I compensated. Over buying. I have a ridiculous amount of shoes. Of sandals. Of sneakers. Of boots. I have A LOT of bras. I mean I could have my own lingerie store. I have a lot of other things too. At one time a lot of credit cards. And a lot of holiday decorations. And a lot of things I never use, like china and crystal. And I compensated by having a life very similar to that of my parents. And it wasn’t, and isn’t bad. But it was never fully mine.

But I always did kind of have a different take on things. I always had my own sense of style. I was made fun of and teased for it in middle school and high school. I followed a different path than most of my HS or college friends. Almost none of whom I have any contact with any more.

In an attempt to be a “real” writer I recently attended the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop at the University of Dayton, a semi-annual conference for humor writers and aspiring writers. The conference’s namesake is famed humor author Erma Bombeck who lived in Dayton and attended the U of D. I’ve been publishing my writing on WordPress for almost two years and on Substack for about a year and a half. I missed the last conference, not finding out about it until the reservations were full. The workshop sells out quickly every other year so I made sure to sign up as soon as registration opened for this year. I was/am looking at expanding the number of followers and for ways to get a bigger audience for my writing. The roster of keynote speakers and workshop presenters was impressive- I was especially excited to see author and actress Annabelle Gurwitch of the 90s show Dinner and a Movie, which I loved years ago. One of the takeaway messages was that you don’t have to “stay in your lane” to be accepted, to be a good writer, to be successful. That there are many ways to get where you want to be. Everyone I met was great. And encouraging. But I didn’t come away feeling like I found my tribe. Like I found my place and my people. And that got me thinking…..because I overthink absolutely everything. Is there something wrong with me or am I just destined to do my own thing mostly alone?

My recent epiphany is that I have no path. I have no tribe. I’ve tried engaging other people, inviting other people, encouraging other people, following what I thought were like minded people on social media, I’ve asked people to join me on my ventures and in my interests and have found virtually no takers. Occasionally someone will go along with me but it’s either short lived, a one shot deal, or very rarely reciprocated. So, alone I go. And sometimes all of that makes me cry a little. But I’m gonna try to not be afraid.

Saw a post on Facebook that got me thinking about exits. About people with whom you were once close, or with whom you thought you were close, exiting your life. Those individuals that you shared intimate details with, secrets, longing, ideas, music. Sometimes these people were part of your orbit for a substantial amount of time, like decades. Some for maybe only a few months, but you still felt a bond, a kinship, a soul connection. And then just like that, poof, they disappeared. Except it wasn’t just like that. There were exit signs. Maybe you just didn’t want to see them. Maybe you still don’t.

Perhaps it’s because I’m a Taurus, stubborn, and I have a difficult time letting things go. I harbor feelings for people and things for waaaaaay too long. I kind of stick around hoping they will come back. Until it’s painfully obvious they aren’t. I guess what I’m struggling with today is that this fucking hurts. And that’s kind of hard or embarrassing to admit. That I am hurt by people who abandoned me a long time ago. And when it happens now it brings that hurt right back up to the surface. I am an adult. A senior adult. Shouldn’t I let this kind of thing roll right off my back? I mean why do I give shit about people who reject me? I’m cool. I’m fun. I’m interesting. If they don’t want part of this then it’s their loss, right? None of those work. I still feel sucky. I think what I’m feeling is part of my inner work these past two years trying to let go of deep seated fears and feelings of inadequacy that probably spring from hurts and traumas experienced as a young girl.

These feelings surfaced yesterday and today for two reasons. I saw a former extremely close friend who is now basically a ghost in my life post something on Facebook- I know, I should shit-can FB. But like I wrote above, I am a lingerer. She posted about something that happened a very long time ago. An event in which I was a major player. An experience in which we did something together. She didn’t even mention me in her remembrance. She did however tag a friend who basically had zero to do with the event, as if the two were together when it happened. That third person played a very minor role in that long ago happening. But this post made me think WTF? I don’t rate a mention? As if I wasn’t even there? Again, WTF? And why the hell do I care? I mean I have probably done the same thing, let go of people. And more than likely in unkind ways. But this is the thing that I think is the difference. I look at people with whom I was once connected and don’t want them to be non-entities in my life. I would like to stay connected with everyone who was important to me at one time or another. I don’t want to let anyone go permanently. Sometimes a break is needed for sure. But if you were a part of my heart and soul, you will always be a part of my heart and soul. And I would like to talk to you. To see you. Maybe reconnect with you in some way or another. I guess that’s not possible, you know, “some people are in your life for a season and then it’s time to move on” kind of thing. And maybe it’s my Taurean “doesn’t want to budge” energy, or maybe it’s immaturity? I mean maybe I’m not mature enough, even at this advanced age, to be able to let people go. Or to think I can reconnect when obviously it ain’t gonna happen? I don’t know. All I do know is that a recent exit has brought all of these feelings rushing back. I allowed someone into my life with whom I thought there was a strong connection, an invisible cord. It came out of the blue. It kind of knocked me over because I wasn’t looking for nor expecting it. And because of that I think I read more into it than what it really was. I’m also really good at living in a fucking fantasy world in my head. I’m trying to let the feelings flow and to put all of it in its place. But where that place is I don’t know right now.

I’m gonna go try to deal with my feelings now. If I am inspired, or feel the need for more writing therapy, I will report back about how I managed.

Hope no one ghosts you. Hope you are able to keep connections. Hope you don’t let feelings of fear and inadequacy invade your beautiful cosmic energy.

PS- After I wrote this, I saw a post on Instagram that gave me pause. I follow E Dan Smith whose handle is mystereartist. I love his posts. They help me stay calm and centered and they help me make sense of the shifts that are happening in my life. And in the last two years there have been MAJOR shifts. This particular video was about how people don’t leave you, you don’t lose them. Relationships change frequency and sometimes you outgrow them. You have to be certain than they didn’t “ghost” you. Stay certain that they will come along on their own time. That’s something that I have struggled with my whole life- the desire, the need to bend time and circumstances to my will. To hurry things along. I’m pretty sure this stems from feeling like I need to control, I need to be in control. Something must have felt out of control when I was young and so I’ve spent decades trying to make up for that lack. Uncertainty makes me anxious. And this is something that, over the last two years I have been trying to let go of. Mystereartist says that the antidote is to just keep sending out love. To blast everyone, including yourself, with love. And because I can’t not tie everything into music, as

I’m typing this I’m listening to The Outfield’s All the Love in the World

All the love

All the love in the world

All the love

I’ll be sending you girl

All the love

All the love in the world

So yeah, I sound like a broken record. About not having friends. I keep writing about it, returning to it. If you’re reading my stuff you are probably tired of it. But I find this time in my life confusing, confounding, it makes me sad sometimes, not as much as it used to though. And I am definitely better about dealing with it than I was when I started writing two years ago. I have resigned myself to being alone a lot of the time and doing things and going places by myself. And I do not by any means mind doing things alone. In many cases I now prefer it. I am definitely not the same person I was then. I’ve come to terms with letting parts of my past go. I’ve done a lot of work in terms of recognizing habits and patterns and things I learned and internalized from growing up and my parents. I’ve jettisoned versions of me and frankly, when I look back at different parts of my life I can’t even believe that WAS my life. I cannot even stomach the thought of going back and doing some of the things I did. I think about my career in teaching and there’s very little I miss. It’s like it was a dream or an alternate universe, like did those things really happen? It’s strange to me how that was me and that was my life and how my life now is nothing like that. Not in any way, shape, or form. I feel like such a different person.

Recently I’ve lost a lot of weight. I completely changed my diet and exercise routines and though those have a lot to do with weight loss, I know that what it really was me becoming….. New? Different? The real me? Who I always was underneath all the layers I wore? I feel like the body I have now is what it is supposed to be. I feel healthier. Lighter. In a lot of ways beyond just the physical. I feel like this is the weight and body I am supposed to have. I feel less puffy and poofy. This is not a treatise on lifestyle and weight loss. I think people are beautiful in all sorts of physical forms. For me this is more about the inner, the mental, the thoughts and the soul. In some ways I feel like I am in the process of freeing myself. But I’m not completely free. I’m still carrying around sadness and regret and what ifs and why didn’t I and why DID I…..

And for all of the work I’ve done I still feel like something is missing and I don’t know what that is. Or where to find it. Sometimes I think I’ve found kindred souls who feel like I do, who are searching, and we are aligned in some way and the universe brought us together. And then I realized I was making shit up again. That is what I still have to work on.

OK- so all of that is bringing me to these ramblings.

Crying in MAD and MOMA

I recently took a trip to New York City by myself. I’ve written about going to concerts by myself but I have never taken a trip or mini vacation by myself. I’d been to NYC many, many times before, but always with either my mom or my mom and assorted friends, and a few times with just friends when my mom became unable to travel and a couple of times with a group of 8th graders for school trips. The twenty or so trips I took with my mom are some of my fondest memories. Trips in the winter, a blizzard in 2003, the heatwave in the summer of 2003, on Amtrak or JetBlue, such fantastic memories. I hadn’t been back to the city in four years and was really jonesing for some serious city vibes so I decided, kind of last-minute, to just do it. It was exactly the trip I needed at exactly the time I needed it with exactly the person I needed to go; myself. Although my yearning for a soul aligned friend is still strong, I have started to really enjoy going places by myself. I don’t have to manage or arrange or please anyone else. I can do and go where I want and when I want. And I thoroughly enjoyed spending six days, originally supposed to be four days but a blizzard gave me an extra two, wandering, sitting, thinking, walking, shopping, eating, listening to music, all by my lonesome. It was interesting. And I can’t wait to go again.

I was last in the city four years ago. I went with a friend with whom I’d never traveled before. It was the first time I’d been to the city with someone other than my previous travel companions. It was fun. I mean any time spent in the city is fun. But it wasn’t the same and it really brought a few things home. Mostly that I was never going to have the kind of experiences I had with my mom and other friends again. Hours at the Elizabeth Arden Red Door Spa. Drinks at chi chi rooftop bars. Walking blocks and blocks, uptown, across town, downtown, literally from one end of the city to the other. Lunar New Year parades. Back, back, back, back door purse shopping in Chinatown. Our trans friend who danced with us outside Blue Smoke to some Tina Turner. Jazz, jazz, and more jazz in all the famous jazz clubs; The Iridium, Dizzy’s, The Village Vanguard. Big Apple martinis that cost only $12, when they gave you the shaker that had an entire second martini in it. The Whitney when it was uptown. Christos’ beautiful crimson Gates in Central Park. Those trips were unique, a blast, memorable, and over. The over was a stunning epiphany. And a huge part of me reconciled with putting the past in the past. I knew in my heart and soul that something had ended and it made me wistful but I also knew it was time to let go. My mom died a few months after this trip. She was such a good travel partner. Maybe it’s better for me to go places by myself so I don’t compare what used to be.

So….to NYC I went. Like I said it was almost a last minute trip. I had been thinking a long while about going. But I am good at talking myself out of doing things. One of the things I am trying to do in my new timeline is take chances and opportunities and stop being so damn afraid. And when I travel, I always get anxious right before the trip. So of course after I made my plans, and got myself all excited, I wondered what the fuck I was doing. But the money was spent and the tickets were purchased so away I went on an early JetBlue flight.

When I finally committed to going, I started looking at what was going on in the city that I could manage by myself. I saw that Jason Isbell would be performing at Radio City Music Hall and even though I was not super familiar with his stuff I decided to just do it. I was surprised that I was able to get a really good seat, like maybe fifteen or twenty rows from the stage. Yeah, it was expensive, but- Radio City Music Hall!!!!!

Was. Totally. Blown. Away. One of the all time best concerts I think I’ve ever been to. And of course the neighbors in my row and the row in front and back formed a fun little cluster, chatting, dancing, and sharing stories. I love that aspect of going to shows alone.

I made the requisite trips (two) to Macy’s. Can’t go to NYC and not go to Macy’s. Bought some things, of course.

On Sunday I made brunch reservations for one of my absolute favorite restaurants, Robert, at the top of the Museum of Art and Design. The restaurant has the most spectacular view of Columbus Circle and Central Park. I love that it’s not a tourist joint. The food is fantastic, service outstanding, and a pianist plays during Sunday brunch. Just so very urban and sophisticated. The kind of experience I crave more of and don’t get very often living here on the edge of nothing except Lake Erie. After brunch I toured the museum. And that’s when things got, well, emotional.

Jonathan Adler, if you are not familiar, is an artist who specializes in ceramics and home decor. His husband is Simon Doonan, famous as the window dresser and creative director at Barney’s New York. MAD is currently exhibiting the Mad MAD works of Jonathan Adler in a full circle kind of moment. He first sold some of his pottery to the American Craft Museum, as MAD was known, back in 1993. Walking through the installations was emotional and moving in a way I did not expect. I was not aware of his story. He is my age, having grown up in a decidedly unglamorous small town in southern New Jersey that he has described as rural and isolated. He became interested in pottery at a summer camp he attended in 1978 when he was 12 years old. What really struck me was how this immensely talented, and now very famous artist, grew up in an environment similar to the one in which I did. He was kind of a loner, and eventually found his path after a series of misaligned jobs and experiences. He “attended” Brown University- the school I really wanted to go to but was not nearly smart enough to get into, but really spent most of his time throwing clay at nearby RISD. What struck me emotionally was his meandering way to becoming the artist known today. He moved to Manhattan after college, tried law school, worked in the entertainment industry, and once he committed to ceramics full time had to cold call buyers when he wanted to sell his pottery. What struck me, and made me cry, was the story of how it took him a while, and a lot of blood, sweat and tears to finally create the career and life he wanted. Twenty years from that pottery class at summer camp to opening his first store in SoHo. I thought about how I had no idea what I wanted to do when I graduated from college, how I kind of meandered from one thing to another trying to figure things out. The difference is that I didn’t know how to follow my passions, or- as I am coming to grips with today- I was afraid to follow my passions. I have a very good life, but I wonder almost daily where I would be if I hadn’t been afraid. And that’s why I cry. Because I am trying to forgive myself for being afraid. And I cry because I am trying to tell myself that I didn’t do anything wrong. The path I chose was OK. It provided me with many blessings. And then I cry some more because trying to forgive myself, to love myself is so damn fucking hard for me.

Being “stuck” in the city a few extra days due to the snow storm afforded me the opportunity to do some more fun city things. Seeing Skelelton Crewe at Sony Hall was pretty fucking cool- and yeah. I cried there too when they played Weather Report Suite. I was able to change my flight without any fees or hassles. I was in a nice hotel, a nice room with a view, so I was perfectly content. The last day, before heading to JFK, I went to MOMA. I absolutely love abstract expressionism. I took a grad class on post-war literature and we talked a lot about the entire movement in art, film, literature and I was so intrigued. The post-war era has always been interesting to me- that Beat Generation. Those precursors to the hippie movement. So seeing Jackson Pollock, Lee Krasner, Robert Motherwell in magnificent real-time moved me so much. I’ve seen them before, but it had been a long time and I forgot how stunning, in the true meaning of the word, these works of art are. And so I cried. I just felt so overwhelmed with emotion at the power of the paint and the canvas and the room and the power of the art. I crave experiences like this and living where I do, they are few and far between. They make me feel alive. I can literally feel waves of vibrations and energy from the gigantic canvases that touch me deep down in my soul. And one of the reasons I cry when I see them is because…back to the root of the issue, I wish I had created a life in which these experiences were not few and far between. And I know I am lucky to be able to have these experiences at all, even infrequently.

So yeah, I was crying in some pretty public places. And ironically I just read an article about the best places to cry in New York City, lol. All of them were public places. Not necessarily art museums but places like Central Park. If the weather had been better I may have cried there.

To wrap up this interminable rambling, I have been crying here too. Maybe it’s the energy coming at the end of the astrological year. Maybe it’s because it’s been a long winter. Maybe Mercury in retrograde. Maybe I’m unsure of someone’s intentions. Maybe I got too emotionally involved. Maybe I’m just working through shit. Maybe I’m just a lunatic.

Whatever it is, I’m trying to chalk it up to shedding past versions of my life in an attempt to find who I am authentically. I’m crying to rid my psyche of old energy. I’m going to plan another trip to the city and maybe I will cry at the Met or the Whitney. Or maybe Central Park. ;-)

A hawk and a text.

I have been struggling with something the last few days and really feeling lost, stupid, and like I made bad decisions. Wondering how a fairly accomplished and educated woman can make foolish decisions. But also trying to forgive myself for being human, being curious, being overly sensitive, overly sharing energy and feelings.

I’ve done a lot of reading, watching, and thinking about breaking through. Forging ahead. Shedding and becoming a new version of myself, or getting back to who I really am. Remember the book that was popular in the mid-90s, Reviving Ophelia? I don’t think people read it any more but if I recall the theme and message correctly, it was about how girls are conditioned. And when they hit puberty something happens to them in which they lose the freshness and fearlessness and essence of who they were as young girls. This definitely happened to me. And I think it happened to other girls who were my age. Something changed in middle school. Hormones. Boys, Focus. Passions that were healthy. As a woman who is about to turn 60, I am still dealing with the repercussions of those long ago changes. Am I the only one? Am I a lunatic? Recently I find myself craving those long lost passions and am trying to find my way back to them. Back to my authentic self.

So how are these things related? The things I am struggling with go back to that pre-adolescent, I guess, trauma? Conditioning? Social and peer pressures? And it has to do with how I relate to men. I can feel how my desire to be wanted, to be seen as something special by males is centered on those feelings of unworthiness from almost fifty years ago. The thing is, I have had good guys in my life. Good boyfriends, good partners, male friends and acquaintances. I have been chosen and loved. I have been lucky. Even in relationships that didn’t last or that were probably not meant to be forever. Over the last forty-ish years I made fairly decent choices. My parents always made me feel loved. But there was definitely generational trauma in my household growing up that surely affected my self- esteem.

Do I wish I could go back and do some things better or over? Yes. And those are things I perseverate about. Choices made long ago. I have to let that shit go. Did I make bad choices and try too hard to be loved by the wrong guys at one time in my life? Definitely yes. But for the most part my male relationships have been good. But they still have been affected or influenced by my feelings of incompleteness. But what the fuck? Why at this point in my life am I defining myself by relationships with men? Shouldn’t I be beyond this? I am trying to sort shit out so I can be me. Unapologetically. Fearlessly. The thing I am trying the most to deal with is fear. Fear of what, I’m not sure. I’m beginning to think fear of really and truly living a life of, by, and for myself. I have always had FOMO. But what am I missing out on? I do know that I am afraid of life passing me by. Of not experiencing EVERYTHING. I’m running out of time. I have to stop being afraid of going, getting going, and breaking free. I have to stop being afraid of who I am in relation to other people. I need to fearlessly be me. And that’s not easy. I don’t even know who I am.

I was sitting outside in my backyard, in an Adirondack chair in the snow, drinking coffee on this cold, snowy but sunny almost spring March morning. I was ruminating and meditating and asking the universe to help me go with the flow, and as usual, had a little morning cry. Does anybody else have a daily cry? Well, I do. So I had my little cry and then from above I saw what I thought was a sign. I was about to go back into the house but before I did I wanted to stand at the edge of the yard and take in the cold beauty of the woods and the birds and the sun when a hawk flew overhead. It flew over the house, circled and wafted over the cold woods, dipped and floated. It was beautiful. Graceful, wings fully spread. It really moved me. It was so beautiful.

And then when I went back into the house I discovered a text from a friend with a specific message. This person had no knowledge of what I’ve been stressing about, and yet the text contained information that I definitely needed to read. Another sign? I’m going to believe so.

Here’s what I found about the symbolism of hawks from palosverdespulse.com

Eyes on the Horizon: The Elegant Symbolism of Hawks

Messengers on the Wind

In folklore and myth, hawks are often seen as intermediaries—bridging sky and earth, intuition and action. Their appearance during moments of uncertainty has been interpreted as reassurance: trust yourself. You already know what to do.

Whether one leans toward symbolism or simply appreciates beauty in nature, there is something undeniably grounding about a hawk’s presence. It draws the eye upward and the mind inward.

The Art of Timing

Perhaps the hawk’s greatest lesson lies in patience. It watches. It waits. It strikes only when the moment is perfect. There is no rush—only readiness.

In this way, the hawk becomes a symbol of opportunity recognized and seized with intention. Not haste. No hesitation. Just perfect timing.

From birdify.com:

• Transformation: It is what you might be changing, doing different things, or stretching yourself into something new.

And maybe here are a few more signs. As I was editing this and wrapping it up, Steely Dan’s Any Major Dude and Marshall Tucker Band Fly Eagle Fly were playing on Spotify.

Time to let go girl, and get the fuck going and stop feeling like you need to feel bad about any and every fucking thing. Maybe I don’t need signs to tell me these things. But that’s ok. I like receiving signs. Maybe the universe is listening to me after all.