Tag: my story

  • The beginning

    The beginning

    As I begin to understand the real impact of my kitchen table, I see that its beginning was not just 2017, when I started writing this blog. It began with the first significant version of me and how that tiny child and her experience shaped all of who I am today. And who I am still becoming.

    Say hello to Karen1.

    The 4 1/2 year old kindergartener who started having trouble climbing the steps to the school bus.

    Her mother noticed first and then it all unraveled.

    At first, there were simple local pediatric visits, until a specialist became necessary. Within days paralysis set in and walking was out. The diagnosis was polyneuritis, or as it’s now known, Guillain-Barre. A virus that attacks the nervous system and for which there is no treatment. I’ve always described it as being a little like polio.

    Then came the big trip to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in NYC. The one that ended, or more accurately began, with my admission to the children’s ward.

    We lived in NJ so it was a hike, usually a train ride, for my parents to visit. In those days no parent was allowed any more than normal visiting hours. Certainly not allowed to sleep there. So, I was left in a curtained slot in a ward with all the other sick children.

    It still amazes me how much I remember about this experience. It’s spotty for sure but there are definitely moments that could have happened this morning.

    Here’s what I remember:

    • Confusion
    • Fear
    • Loneliness
    • A lot of stuffed animals and cards my mother put in a scrap book that I still have today
    • My grandfather stitting with me for hours, reading books and holding my hand
    • A particularly mean nurse ripping a bandaid off my butt only to give me yet another shot. Which, by the way, was what seemed to me to be a shark spear
    • The endless stream of doctors
    • Voices from the other side of my curtain. Especially one conversation in particular when I heard a doctor tell my parents that “there is nothing we can do but wait and hope that the virus dissipates on its own. But I have to tell you that it’s reached her lungs and one side of her face and if it doesn’t subside she may die.” Yes. Right on the other side of my cheap thin curtain. This was when I could only smile on one side. This I will never forget.

    Then there was the unfortunate fact that it was winter and one day there was a big snow storm. My mom wanted to train in anyway, but my dad refused. “ It’s too dangerous” he said. The storm may have been a blizzard that lasted for days – this I cannot remember. But I do remember endless days of solitude.

    By some miracle, my tiny body began to win the fight and the virus lessened bit by bit. Within about a month, I was discharged home to extensive home physical therapy and to heal.

    Eventually, I returned to the school bus and here I am today.

    The point of this story is this.

    Prior to this experience I am told that I was an outgoing, feisty, funny, vivacious child. After, as my mother put it, I became her “shrinking violet”. Quiet, solitary, shy, uninterested, hesitant to make friends, or do anything.

    I now understand the impact that this experience had on me. Each version of me around the kitchen table is, one way or another, a reaction or response to it. Like the “Karen bitch” who pushes people away. Or the “shy Karen” always hiding so as not to be seen. The “Karen” that can only be alone for a limited time before spiraling into an anxious puddle. The “defensive Karen” who stubbornly gets immediately offended when told that she is wrong. And certainly “anxious Karen”, who fears everything and everyone, trusting no one. She smacks right into “runner Karen”. The runner is always moving because, of course, you can’t hit a moving target. She turns and runs from everything that is unknown or maybe even known. Either way, whatever is threatening triggers the starting gun. She runs partly to escape fear and uncertainty and partly because she can.

    As I said, my mother always told me that after that I was never the same.

    In many ways all of the identities that sit around my kitchen table are an unintentional way of dealing with that 4 1/2 year old reality.

    Some might meet this story with horror – especially moms. Some with doubt that an experience like that would have such a lifelong impact. And some with sadness. But I have met this with something extraordinary. First, that I’m fucking lucky to be here today and second that there is NO TIME TO WASTE.

    The many versions of me serve to protect me from the fear and loneliness that polyneuritis left behind.

    So, when you look around your table try to understand that each of your many selves serve a purpose. They are vivid examples of your own individual history. And they are to be embraced. Embraced as life savers and also as what makes you unique.

    I will admit that the Karens just keep coming.

    • Some are unintentional.
    • Some are fueled by the underlying need, whether I know it or not, to be who I was before.
    • Some are somewhat “deliberate” in that they are trying to overcome what polyneuritis left behind – like the one writing this.
    • Some are just triggered by a current event.

    But all are part of the tapestry of who I am.

  • Karen Speaks Boldly

    April 25, 2026

    Who Sits at Your Kitchen Table?

  • Peace. A message to me.

    Peace. A message to me.

    Peace is such a sweet word. It is spelled with soft, light letters. It sounds sweet and kind when spoken and it resonates in a way that sparks light and calmness.

    So why is it so hard to find.

    I hear so many – SO MANY – people: therapists, inspirational and motivational speakers, intuitives, mediums, coaches, people of all walks of life talk about the importance of peace. Of course we hear it on a larger level, especially these days, but more importantly there is the notion of finding inner peace.

    Again. why is that so hard to find.

    I think this:

    Peace is elusive. It is sneaky. It is often in disguise. And it looks and feels different to everyone.

    We – and I am speaking about me and the other Karens at my kitchen table – have a common thread that runs through all of us, as different as we are. We have tried to find peace in all the wrong places. Right now I picture all of the Karens around the table and they are frantically nodding their heads in agreement and high-fiving each other. The speech bubbles above their heads say something like this:

    “Thank God, she finally sees it.”

    “I wondered how long we’d have to wait.”

    “Jesus it’s exhausting waiting for her to get something. . . . “

    The thing I am finally getting is that I have been lost when looking for peace. I have expected that peace would come from people, from things, from spaces, from jobs, from money, from being thinner, from being prettier. You name it.

    I have whined ad nauseam to anyone who will listen that all I want is some peace. To feel whole and at rest. To feel free from worry and anxiety, anger and hurt. To just ‘be’.

    The problem is that what I have been doing is trying to find peace in my person – completely outside of my person. What I have NOT done is taken this whiny wish and accepted responsibility for finding it in my self. My ability to be at peace in the world has been entirely dependent on someone or something else. Anyone or anything other than me. I don’t necessarily mean a lover or a spouse. But most definitely someone or something other than me. I have been looking for my own peace on the outside.

    I guess I could say that this stems from the age old woman’s role model – Cinderella (or Aurora, or Snow White or – pick one – they all run from the same script). After all she certainly did not have peace while working her ass off for her horrid stepmother and sisters.

    But boy, bring in the Prince and all the flowers bloom, stars shine, birds sing and peace reigns down on her.


    Make no mistake I loved those stories. I wanted to hear them over and over again. After all they are our first ever love stories. But they certainly set us up for failure. Not many of us find a prince or princess who will ride in on a stallion, take us to their castle – with its gigantic closet – and save us. Bringing peace to us and all the land.

    As misleading as all that is, using those lovely fairy tales as an excuse for my lack of finding a peaceful existence is just that. An excuse.

    Lately, as I ponder the elusiveness of peace, I have redirected my focus inward. This is not an easy transition for me. I am far more likely to feel like I have to DO something or FIND something and finally peace will be mine. Well, I have certainly done and found a lot of things in my life. And none of it has really brought the kind of peace I am talking about.

    I am also realizing that peace is not a romantic concept. For some reason in my mind romance and peace go hand in hand. Thanks Cinderella. I appreciate the sweetness of the story but I think you are wrong. I also do not think that happiness and peace go hand in hand. In fact, I believe that even in moments of unhappiness, you can be at peace.

    So where is it and how can I have some.

    I think the probability of finding peace is all about personal acceptance. Acceptance of who we are, where we are, what we have, what we don’t have, who we are with, who we are not with . . . just acceptance of all of it. The good and the not so good together have to be enough.

    Peace is not about expectations. In fact, I think peace is more about not having expectations and instead is about feeling satisfied in the moment. Feeling grateful in the moment. It is a letting down of wanting – of needing more.

    I also think that peace is something that is perhaps momentary. It is probably a lot to ask of yourself to be at peace 100% of the time. But in certain moments I think it has to be possible if, and this is a big if, you will let it in.

    And by the way these concepts are completely ours to own. Ours alone. And that is maybe the crux of it – the magic word – Alone.

    Finding peace is most certainly tied tightly to the ability to be alone. I mean really be alone. With yourself. I don’t mean alone for an hour or a day or even a week. I also don’t necessarily mean living alone. What I mean is the aloneness that arises from being still. Being able to sit with yourself in a space that only you occupy. Space that is more than physical. More like head space. Maybe even spiritual space. Definitely quiet space. Maybe that is actually the magic word – Quiet. Quiet is something I have never been able to do – at least not without struggle.

    As soon as I find myself in the quiet, even for a few minutes, I must immediately get up and do something. Put music or TV on. Do the dishes, groceries, laundry, anything. Or maybe I decide it must be time for a nap.

    I simply cannot just sit with myself in the quiet. And just be. Without judgment or second guessing or criticism or self deprecation. Or expectations and want.

    It’s not as if I don’t like myself. I do. Most of the time anyway. But sitting with me in the quiet causes me to be antsy. Fidgety. I am immediately in dire need of a distraction. My mind starts its spinning game. How many things can I think or worry about all at the same time, running around in circles. One stopping for extra time then being pushed out of the way by another who wants center stage. It’s exhausting.

    I so envy people who sit alone – anywhere – and look completely at ease. What a concept. Being at ease with just . . . you. I have to believe that there is peace in that space. At least I hope so.

    None of this comes naturally to me. And I know that it stems from fear and anxiety. The anxiety that comes from having to hear my own thoughts. Not just hear them but listen to them. Really listen to my mind and my heart – all of it. The easy pleasant things and the dark not so fun to acknowledge things. That is of course why the spinning game was born. It leaves no time for consideration or introspection. It’s like Karen 3, the runner. She is so good at this. She knows that if you keep moving you eventually are far too tired to think, to worry, to fear. But in that exhaustion there is no peace. So running doesn’t do it. It does some things but bringing peace – not so much.

    Because after all if you hard stop and really listen to the quiet in your mind and your heart you might not like what they tell you. Better to keep spinning or running until you land on a better thought.

    So how then can one be still and find peace. I think it’s a practice and takes a conscious effort to shut out all the voices. To stop spinning – stop running – sit alone in the quiet.

    I am sure that I will have to force myself to be and stay in the quiet. And I am sure that it will not be easy to do. But I see that all the other attempts at finding peace have failed. So for peace to land safely in my lap I guess I’d better stop moving. At least sometimes.

    Let’s be Still.

     

  • Lurve, Choices & Wistfulness

    I suspect that I am not alone in feeling like my mind, heart and soul sometimes gang up on me and present my past to me in unusual ways. Sometimes through dreams, the sense of deja vu, new experiences that seem to recall past events long forgotten and sometimes just plain old memories resurfacing at random intervals. Naturally these recollections include people – some I’d like to remember fondly and some I’d like to pretend never existed in my life. Either way it can be disconcerting to suddenly remember events that elicit old feelings and emotions and bring ghosts with them. Even when they are good ones.

    Being who I am, a self proclaimed ‘Doubting Thomas’, I naturally assume that, “Uh oh. I must have made some tragic mistake or my mind wouldn’t be dredging itself and bringing these people and events to the surface”. And although this is likely just the nature of being human – lately it has made me wonder about whether or not it should give me pause to think about who and what is cropping up and the impact it may or may not have on my life now and in the future.

    I am fully aware that I have led a very fortunate life. That is not to say that my life has been a walk in the park but I will say that overall I’ve been pretty lucky. With some exception, I had a pretty normal upper middle class childhood. I was lucky enough to go to a great college and law school. Have solid jobs that, if it weren’t for certain self-imposed weaknesses (a/k/a superpowers), allow me to live very comfortably. I have had and do have extremely wonderful and supportive friends. Some who are lifelong and some who were there when we needed each other and then we parted ways.

    I have been lucky to have fallen in love several times. Some of those times equate to what Woody Allen called being in “lurve”. That’s pretty special and doesn’t come around much. Nor does it necessarily last. But experiencing it is a wonder and something to be very grateful for.

    I’ve been around the marriage block a few times and, as a result of one very special marriage, have three amazing and perfect children. I was lucky enough to be able to stay home and raise all three of my babies and then reenter the workforce. As any woman knows, it is a gift to be able to stay home with your children but it also puts you a little behind the 8-ball once you start working again. I could write a whole post about that issue but that is not what this one is about.

    So, while I can admit that I’ve been lucky, I can also say with certainty that all of my choices have not always been the right ones. As a human, I think that making life choices is somewhat of a crap shoot. And that has to take into account whether there is really any choice at all or if it is all just a matter of fate. But as usual I digress. Let’s avoid fate for now.

    Some decisions are made spontaneously and some take years. In both circumstances the result is not always what you would expect or necessarily want. Rarely do we get a do-over when we find that what we thought we wanted did not exactly hit the mark. But if we are lucky, we learn to move forward, accept the consequences and keep the ball rolling. Sometimes it can be hard to even find the ball and then have the strength to push it. But with luck – and a good therapist – we carry on.

    Even when we “carry on” – and this is really my point – the universe will throw something in your way and raise a memory that isn’t easy to shake. Memories of lost experiences and people can be melancholy. Some people you never, ever forget. They stay with you no matter where you land and that can sometimes be reassuring. Like the loss of your parents. As hard as that is to accept when it happens, there is something comforting about always having them present with you in some way. Sad but comforting. Wistful.

    Some experiences that have ended and the people with them – once remembered – make me particularly wistful. Not because I am necessarily sad about the loss – whether it was due to my own decision, another’s, or fate. I might even know that whatever caused the loss ended up being the right thing. But even knowing that, it can be hard to shake the feeling of melancholy that the memory brings. And that makes me wistful.

    I find that it it can be hard not to immediately think “Oh shit, why am I thinking about this now? Where did THAT dream come from? And why did I make that choice in the first place? What was I thinking? What a mistake. And now it’s too late.” As if the memory and the emotion it evokes are telling me that I should have turned left instead of right and what a dumbass I was for for ignoring the left option.

    This of course only applies to choices we have actually made – not ones that were made for us.

    Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it applies to all left and right options. Those we made or those that were made for us. And maybe it doesn’t actually matter. Because the fact is that the result is here. This is where we are. Where we have landed. And where the future begins.

    Nonetheless maybe the lesson is that it’s ok to be wistful. Maybe that is what makes us whole. All of the lurving, losses, successes, choices, fates interventions, combine to create the you that is you. And you encompass all of it.

    Beauty comes in many forms and maybe the sense of our past lurves, choices, fates curve balls – all of it – however it happens, make us wistful. As they randomly show up they are beautiful simply because they were. Because they happened. We experienced them and that is enough.

    It is also not lost on me that all of these lurves, choices, losses, successes, exist in one or another of the many Karen’s that drive this bus. There really isn’t just one of me. There are many and each one holds a part of me that carries one or maybe many of these encounters.

    And each encounter is sometimes unexpectedly followed by a moment of pause.

    To remember.

    To mourn.

    To appreciate.

    To treasure.

    To learn.

    To do something different next time.

    Or maybe just to stay the course.

    It is all provocative. And how lucky are we for that gift. Right?

  • Broken and Beautiful

    This is for all the Karens, 1 through 7, at least 7 at this moment.  Thank you @jensebeny and @cyclefierce for introducing this to me today.  Listen and hear this.

    Enough said . . . .

    Broken and Beautiful

     

    81bN23Fg0vL._SX522_

     

     

     

     

     

     

  • Close the Damn Door

    Close the Damn Door

    Actually, just go ahead and slam it shut as hard as you can.  Trust me it’s quite satisfying.tenor

    I haven’t written much about the personal details of certain events in my life this past year and I am not going to start now.  But I am going to let Karen 6 out of the bag now since she has popped up consistently within the context of these experiences.

    In Karen, there is a girl who has little to no confidence in herself.  She takes blame easily and often allows others, usually very specific others, to intimidate her and cause her to doubt almost anything she thinks and feels.  In speaking with these people she can get lost in her delirious stream of thought, jumbling any idea or comment up so much so that she can no longer formulate a coherent sentence.  I guess you might say that these people instill a fear deep within her emotional circuitry.  Not fear in the sense that she’s frightened of them physically.  But the kind of fear that paralyzes your thoughts and actions, setting off a buzz in your head that requires only one thing – turning and running off at top speed. There is really no good explanation for why she exists.  Nonetheless, meet Karen 6 . . . . .

    In many ways she is the epitome of the imposter syndrome – I am just not savvy enough to face this particular situation.  I might be smart in some ways but it really is all a sham,  The truth is that I am not enough – I don’t have what it takes – even though I might act like it otherwise.  It is in these situations where I turn and run that the imposter wins.

    Karen 6 has risen to the surface quite a bit this past year during very specific interactions with a certain person.  It’s important to recognize that she doesn’t show up but for certain people.  I imagine they must trigger something in her, causing her paralysis and brainlessness.  The reason doesn’t matter as much as the incredible impact on her ability to succeed in negotiation.

    I am presently in the middle of a negotiation of sorts and so Karen 6 is fresh and in my face.  I’ve struggled with her for years but lately, I have felt like it’s time to put the hammer down and figure out, not how to eliminate her, but how to take control of her.  How to stop giving others the power to tease her out.  Honestly, it’s embarrassing when in the middle of a conversation, one word can cause a brain scramble that is impossible to recover from.  Talk about sounding like an idiot as you try to formulate a coherent sentence that ends up sounding something like:

    “whatdoyoumeanIdontgetitandcantthinkofanythingsmartorevenreasonabletosaybecausemybrainhasceasedtofunction”.   Or like

    “blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahnananananananananananananana”

    This elicits the predictable shake of the other person’s head and the end of the conversation by their stating the obvious, that you are an unresponsive and nonsensical idiot.

    So how to do this.  This halting of another’s ability to snake around in. my brain, scramble it up and immobilize my thoughts.  Ultimately causing me to turn and run and then kick myself for doing so.  It’s a vicious pattern that I’ve become far too comfortable with.

    Typically I am a very visual person.  When I think about something I have to picture it so that it will sink in.  So, as I was riding the other day and as I typically do when on the bike, I pondered this issue.  Specifically, I was thinking about how to prevent this nonsensical idiot from showing up.  I tried to visualize what I could possibly do to avoid letting someone else control my reaction.  And BAM, there it was.  I clearly saw Karen7 seeing this person at an entrance.  I approached and promptly slammed the door shut.  Hard.  Effectively blocking them from entering my space.  And by space I mean my head.  There was something so gratifying about the physical act of swinging the door with all my might and hearing it slam shut, causing the wall to tremble as it did so.  Then I noticed that there was no doorknob.  And I thought –  “VICTORY”.  Out you go.  And stay out.  So, this is the image I call to mind when I start any conversation that might lead down this road.

    Of course, I’d be lying if I said that this was easy and that I now engage with confidence, speak my mind and stick to my guns all the time.  Nope, not so much.  But I can now sense when it’s starting, close my eyes and slam the damn door.  It seems to help me take a step away and remind myself that no one has the right to control your emotions or make you feel like less of yourself.  That, my friends, is all in our own hands.

    I’m sure I will continue to need to remind myself of this and tell Karen7 to back the f—- off once I unscramble my brain.  But I think I am fiercely on the road to taking back that power.  And am well on my way to being an expert door slammer.

    slam-door

     

  • I am a Mosquito Net?

    I am a Mosquito Net?

    I am a Mosquito Net.  What?73f8fc86c8f6135455c6d15d44a816bf--girls-bed-canopies-canopy-beds

    I had a conversation this morning with a very good friend.  Someone I originally met on the “bike”.  Since our first ride together, we have spent some time downloading (or vomiting) the deep matters of our lives and with that has come my great respect and admiration for her.  She is an orator of the highest nature.  She is honest, open and true to herself and doesn’t hesitate – even for a second – to express herself in sometimes very raw terms.  You can find her and her orations on social media but I won’t disclose her name unless she says to do so.  I will say that when she speaks it is nearly impossible to look away.

    We both arrived at our 6am ride this morning a bit early so we had a chance to chat.  Her first words to me were, “Thank God you’re here. I feel safe now that I know you are in the room”, or something like that.  She went on,  “Whenever I see that you are here, I feel safe.  I know that whatever happens to me will be OK.  I’ll survive because you have cast your net around me.”  And with a very thoughtful look, she said, “In another life, you must have been a warrior – like General Patton”.  What?  You mean the badass war hero?  But wait.  There’s more and it’s the best part.

    She likened her sentiment to me being a mosquito net, safely bouncing off all mosquitos and other flying nuisances that can cause havoc with us.  At first, I thought,  “Huh. What a strange reference.”  Mosquitos and other obnoxious insects get in your eyes, ears, mouth.  They bite and then itch causing welts and other really pretty marks.  Sometimes they even cause permanent damage if they carry disease but even in the best of circumstances – they suck.  Literally as well as figuratively.  They can be an annoyance that just won’t quit.  Protection from them can be priceless.  So, within her context of safety, I got it. mosquitonetme Still, you have to admit it presents quite an amusing picture.

    She has mentioned this particular observation to me before – maybe not the “mosquito net” but the safe place reference for sure.  The first time she mentioned this I laughed, rolled my eyes and said, “Now that’s a first”.  I thought, “how odd for someone to feel that way about me.  I don’t even feel safe in my own skin nevermind exuding that kind of presence”.   And of course, I also thought, “I wonder which Karen this comes from or if, God forbid, there is yet another one waiting in the wings for attention”.

    I know, I know this all sounds ridiculous and, at first, my eye-rolling nearly caused me to fall off my bike.  My self-deprecation never wanders too far.  But then I started scrutinizing this and, all sarcasm aside for the moment, today for some reason her observation had a far greater impact on me.  As we rode, I started thinking about it in a more general sense.  And I was completely and totally immersed in gratefulness not only for her observation but for her sincerity.

    A warrior?  A protector?  A safe place?  A net?  Of course, I want to believe that I am all those things for my children.  At least I hope they feel a little of that from me because God knows I would kill and die for them with no hesitation.  My Mama Bear is a precious trait and one that I will hold close to my heart forever.  In other words, don’t fuck with any of them or you will most certainly regret it.

    Still.  I couldn’t imagine how I could make anyone else feel safe just by being around.  I began to go through my list.  Is it my resting bitch face the presents this feeling?  Is it Karen2, the lawyer and one who is clearly in charge?  Is it the Karenbitch who is just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on anyone or anything that gets in her way?  I guess it could be some conglomeration of all three but I really didn’t think so.

    What I think is this.  People see in us what they need at the moment.  I liken it to how the right and necessary people seem to show up just when you need them.  For a moment or a lifetime.  They can sense that you might have had an experience or two that is similar to their own.  And in you, they see and feel what they need to get to the other side.  What I don’t understand is how it could possibly be me.  I do know that I probably act a lot more confident and strong than I usually feel.  But maybe acting that way is starting to stick.  Maybe there is some truth in the notion that putting a smile on your face will eventually make you feel happy.  Maybe it’s the same principle.  The more you project the character you really want to be, the more you will become them.

    At least in this instance, I think that might be it.  Projecting the appearance of strength and protection is most definitely something I strive to embody.  Maybe this is the first sign that it’s working . . . .

    So, here’s to being a mosquito net – I hope mine comes with diamonds and pearls.  #LBR

    images

     

     

  • I am here

    I am here

    I am here, I am here.
    I’ve already seen the bottom, so there’s nothing to fear
    I know that I’ll be ready when the devil is near.
    I am here, I am here
    All of this wrong, but I’m still right here
    I am here. I am here.
    I don’t have the answers, but the question is clear. 
      Let me ask you. 

    “I am Here” — P!NK
    Beautiful Trauma

    I have to apologize for the rambling nature of this post.  As I re-read this the 100 times I always do before hitting publish, I see that I am all over the map with my blathering.  It seemed to make sense as I wrote it, but on reflection I see that I failed to make many of the connections between the ideas that were in my head.  They were definitely there, they just didn’t seem to make it all the way from my brain to the keyboard.  Nonetheless I am going to post it as is.  Why?  Because that is the beauty of a personal blog.  I don’t have to please anyone or be perfect – just honest . . . . with myself.  So, if you can stand the aimless wandering thoughts, please give it a go.

    I have been listening to a lot of music lately.  Actually, music has become a much more significant part of my life over the past 2 years or so.  It has helped me get physically stronger as I cycle to amazing playlists created by my amazing CycleFierce tribe; it has helped me cope with sadness, invoking tears when I would certainly rather not shed them – I almost never do.  Music has opened pathways to a certain awareness, sometimes mindfulness, that I might not otherwise have perceived.  It has brought me great joy as well as great sadness when I hear something truly appropriate in a particular moment.  So, I guess you could say that I have developed a new appreciation for music, its melodies and lyrics.  I have always been moved by music but it is somehow different – more intense now.  

    This morning I heard the lyrics from P!NK’s “I am here”.  I’ve heard them before.  Many times in fact.  But today they struck a nerve.  As with most songs, you can interpret the lyrics in many ways but for me, today, it meant only one thing.  That is that I am – in fact – here.  Right here.  Right now.  The decisions I have made before are in the past.  The mistakes I’ve made, my drop to the bottom is history.  I hope I have rectified my mistakes in some way and I truly hope I haven’t caused too much harm as I’ve tried to claw my way back up to the surface.  Nonetheless, they are part of my history – not my present and not my future.  And I am here now, not there.  And that, of course, is the struggle. Being here now.  Not there now.  

    The trouble is that if our decisions are truly in the past and we should live here and now – with mindfulness of the present moment – then how can it be that all these Karen’s keep popping up sometimes obliterating any chance I may have of being mindful.  They have certainly grown from my past and in many ways are not going anywhere. 

    I could argue this notion with myself endlessly. 

    My decisions have most certainly made me who I am – one Karen or another – and left a thread behind for better or worse.  But how can I really be here, now, in this moment, without any pretext, when one of those prickly little threads has picked me up and dumped me right here.  It seems impossible for me to stay here and “just be”, when some of the baggage weighing down those threads seems to hover around me, showing up here and there, without notice.  

    As I’ve written before, so much of our life undeniably leaves deep tracks in our mind, heart, and soul.   This idea is a difficult one for me because the contradiction is clear.  We are here now, in this moment, which has never occurred before.  Some would say that each situation is fresh and new and can be met with absolute purity.  But can it?  Surely these remnants influence our movement into this new fresh moment.  And how do we overcome the propensity to let past experience continuously influence present moments?  I face this dilemma all too often, knowingly or not, and it is inherent in my ability – or inability – to be in the moment – here and now.  

    Another way I tangle up my brain about this is through my expectations.  It is nearly impossible for me not to look ahead to what comes next.  To ponder, ad-nauseam, my next move and anticipate how the current situation will play out.   Again, this is an example of being unable to live in the moment and can be pretty damaging.  After all, you know what they say about assumptions – they make an ass out of you and me.  Sometimes I see myself expecting behavior that is based solely on the prior reactions of others.  How unfair is that?  And truthfully, it can become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  As I set my expectation, I behave in a certain way.  Often this produces the very reaction I “expect” but really want to avoid.  Sometimes there is just no winning . . . .

    Accepting the impact our history has on our current existence is, of course, easiest to recognize when it involves something beautiful.  Like the joy I have experienced in my life.  And I have had much joy.  There is no doubt of that.  I have felt love, exploded with laughter, watched pure sweetness and seen true natural beauty.  And so I have to recognize the notion that these threads of sweetness and beauty are still there too, right along-side the ugly.  

    So what do we do?  How do we temper the past, all of it, and its influence on the future.  I’m actually not sure we can.  But I am bound and determined to try to live each moment as purely as I can.   

    So many yogis – and I have many in my life – can easily do this.  They meditate – you’ve seen me try this one. . . . .  unsuccessfully.  Read about that fiasco here. Or at least check out the photo below for a good laugh ….. 

    These people practice yoga on a daily basis – letting each sun salutation greet their day with joy and hope.  I’ve tried this too.  Winding myself up into a pretzel, stretching my body to the point of almost snapping.  I know that with time and practice this becomes a truly lovely experience.  And your body will thank you for allowing it the space and room it needs to breathe.  And this filters through into your mind, heart and soul.  I know this with my smart brain but just can’t quite ever pull it off.  

    What I love about these P!NK lyrics is the image that they elicit – that the darkness looms around us always, as does the light.  To the extent we are able in any given moment, we can choose one or the other – darkness or light.  And there is really no wrong way – no sin.  Just your way.  I guess the simple trick is to let go of the predispositions that exist within us from our history – or at least acknowledge them and give them the back seat now.

    I am trying so hard to let this go and approach each moment as just that – a moment.  Not an event that I’ve seen before.  Not a feeling I’ve felt in similar situations.  Not a tasteless meal I’ve seen served up before at the Kitchen Table.  But a new moment that I can address purely and with current mindfulness.  Hmmmmm. Isn’t that a daunting challenge?  I’m not sure I’m up for it in every instance.  But how nice if I could pull it off even a little bit every now and then.

    In any event, all the mistakes and the joy, now embedded in my path and permanently threaded through my tapestry will stay with me in some way forever.  (See Fabric, my earlier post on weaving the tapestry that becomes your life.) My current hat trick is to let those threads go enough to move forward.  Not to discard them but keep them where they are. Leave them there so I can be here now. I think that the people I have surrounded myself with – and they know who they are – are a good start to pulling this rabbit out of my hat. Still. These words . . . . they are so timely.

    May the light be upon me.  May I feel in my bones.  
    That I am enough. I can make anywhere home.
    My fingers are clenched, my stomach in knots.   
    My heart it is racing, but afraid I am not.  
    Afraid I am not.  
    I am here.  I am here. 

    More of “I am Here”
    — P!NK,  Beautiful Trauma

    Do yourself a favor — Take a Listen.


  • Finding Your Way

    Finding Your Way

    Creating your own story. Weaving your tapestry. Learning to climb. Rising. However you want to say it – and I have certainly said as much in varying ways in these posts – the meaning is clear. Life is a series of choices, some luck, and many mistakes, all of which pave the path of your life.

    This past year has shown me more than ever how the road is often not easy to travel. In fact, in some ways, it is crazy difficult and borders on impossible. There are endless crossroads and hard rights and lefts along the way. Some involve major life decisions, some involve people, some bring love and joy and some easily destroy both. It is so easy to lose sight of the next step when the way is strewn with potholes, boulders and downed trees. As a runner, I like to imagine that I happily leap across and over all these obstacles. But that is so ridiculous it’s almost laughable. It is more like trudging through mud, creeping through a thick forest at some points, with the way ahead completely dark.

    At this juncture, some people will move ahead based solely on faith. Whether it is based in religion or in intellect, these people can courageously plow forward, carving out their path with confidence and certainty that they are doing the right thing, making the right choices, heading in the right direction. But for me, not-so-much. I am full of second-guessing, changing my mind, planning how I will find my way back when I see that I’ve turned left instead of right as I should have. I am chock full of indecision.

    Not always of course. There are those rare times when I know with all my soul that I am doing just the right thing. But on average indecision reins and crossing my fingers as I jump is my natural inclination.

    2018 was most definitely a year of turning left and right and then turning around and heading back to the crossroad. It was full of change, fear, and indecision. As it closed, I felt immense joy that it was over and that I had survived. And while I felt relief, I also felt a profound sense of loss that was completely unexpected.

    I am not a person who is typically surprised by my emotions or by my reaction to something. In fact, I would say generally the opposite is true. I tend to have a certain expectation of myself – conscious or not – when I enter most situations. Sometimes I am able to approach with some level of confidence – probably Karen2 leads that charge. Then there are other times when I am more comfortable sitting in the back, head down, praying not to be seen – and here we have Karen4, hiding behind her hair. These mindsets are really not conscious decisions but are more of an automatic response from the Kitchen Table to the situation.

    So at the end of the year, this sense of loss took me by complete surprise. I had expected some emotion but this was overwhelming. So much so that I had to pull over – literally since I was in my car – because I just couldn’t drive. I was so heartbroken and sad that I just sat and cried my eyes out for a while. And I am most definitely not a crier. In fact, sometimes I almost paralyze my face while trying to squeeze out a tear in appropriate situations. But every now and then I am thrown a curveball and simply am shocked at the intensity of my emotional reaction to something. This was one of those times. And with this emotion naturally came uncertainty. Had I made flawed decisions and, if so, how the Hell many? In the moment it seemed like hundreds.

    So, what did I do while banging my head on the steering wheel trying to pull it together? I phoned a close friend and went to her shoulder. After a while, I had rebounded and knew that, of course, there were no flawed decisions – just hard ones. Decisions that I had floated through – or so I thought – only to find out that I had been actually slogging through mud, grime and, likely, slowly drying cement. The time had come to recognize all that and mourn the lefts and rights along the path that I had decided against. Something that I thought I had done but was obviously completely mistaken.

    This event made me realize that as much as I want to believe that I am finding my way with the greatest of ease, the reality is that there is a lot to mourn as I go. Avoiding it is possible of course but not advisable. Not for me anyway. And with this realization came gratitude.

    I have written many times about finding your people – your tribe – and how those people are lifesavers. They hold us up when we can barely stand. They tell us that we will be OK even when we might not. They listen. They cradle us as we cry. And when we fall, they grab a hand and pull us to our feet. That is what happened that night. Someone pulled me up, hosed me down, wiped me off and assured me that I was going to be just fine.

    As I have endlessly ruminated about this, I have thought about how hard it is to find your way. How we easily imagine that we are doing just fine and dealing with all of life’s curveballs as they speed by. Not needing help or self-introspection. Most importantly, I thought once again about how there are so many souls that help us even if we don’t know they are there. For me, there are far too many that have jumped on my path to help me along to thank, but I know they know who they are. Then there are others who I am certain have no idea that they have been instrumental in leading me here. Wherever here is . . . .

    The tribe I have written about before is obvious and represents those who I cannot survive without. But there are other lifesavers that deserve mention here.

    My children. It’s funny to mention them in this context. After all, I am supposed to be helping them find their way. But I realize that they are doing exactly that for me. They have saved me in countless ways. Always indicating in their own individual ways that I am heading in the right direction. I pray that I do the same for them.

    My parents. Even though they are both gone now, I feel them as I move along. I know that whatever they have instilled in me – and some of it hasn’t been so pretty – has buffered and sustained me. In these moments I miss them more than ever.

    My sanctuaries. Some gratitude is not for people but for things, emotions or events. Like running and cycling. I’ve written ad nauseum about these precious parts of my life so I won’t belabor the point but I will say that I can’t imagine moving forward without them. So much rising comes from these sanctuaries.

    My career. Anyone who knows me knows that I have been a lawyer for about 30 years. However, I have also run a non-profit, worked at Fidelity Investments (this is an endless source of humor for those who know my budgeting abilities . . .), worked in retail, become a real estate agent and, most importantly, am a mom. That is a lot to swallow. All these different attempts to figure out where I belong in the world, where my contribution shold be. And I am eternally gratefully for each one because without any one of them I wouldn’t be where I am. Which is somewhere along the path that is becoming my life.

    And that leads me back to the beginning and finding your way. I understand that the journey is riddled with complications, traps, potholes, choices, successes, failures, love and disappointment to name a few. As hard as I have found it to be, I am realizing – truthfully, very slowly – that it is all part of the journey, all necessary, and all with purpose. All of this is a work in progress. We weave it all – the good and the bad, the triumphs and the failures, the pretty and the ugly, the miscalculations and the preciseness – into a masterpiece. Our very own masterpiece. So, the next time I feel like I just can’t figure out which way to go or I just can’t see the road ahead I will try to remember that I’m creating a masterpiece, a masterpiece that is all me and wherever it winds up will be just where I belong.

  • Intimacy

    Intimacy

    Intimacy.  Intimacy is my word for the day.   Not THAT kind of intimacy.  Get your mind out of the gutter……

    To me, Intimacy is a pretty word.  Some words are lovely simply because of the way they look and sound.  This is one of them for me.  Plus, it’s also kind of fun to say.  As I speak it, it seems that the letters slowly roll around before spilling out.  Sometimes when I think of a word I imagine what it would look like if someone were to draw it as a picture.  I guess this makes me a visual learner.  I see intimacy as a forehead kiss,   especially on one of my babies’ foreheads.  #jacobnelldylan

    It’s no surprise that the typical meaning we ascribe to intimacy is within the context of partner relationships.  This is what most of us typically think of when we talk about intimacy.  But lately, I’ve been thinking about a much more important meaning of this simple and overused word.

    Last summer someone said something to me that made me stop and think about my own ability to be intimate with people.  Again, no gutter.  I don’t mean that obvious kind of intimacy but instead, the kind that means that you allow yourself to open up to people who are important to you.  People you love.  And that includes family, friends and, of course, partners.  I am talking about the ease with which we let people in to see our faults, our fears, our weaknesses.  Because as much as we might want to believe that we don’t have any, we most certainly do.  I most certainly do.  And these pieces of us are probably the most important, the most powerful ones to share.  The happiness, joy, laughability are all the easy part.  It is the scary stuff, the things that keep you up at night and scare you in the dark, that are hard, if not impossible, to share.  Why is that?

    I think that is easy to answer.  I think because that stuff is what makes people run the other way.  These are the pieces of you that will cause someone to say “Umm.  Yea.  I think that might be a bit too much for me to take.  I’m just looking for someone fun to hang out with.  I can’t be your therapist and don’t want to be your conscience.  That’s far too complicated for me.”  But it is these complex pieces of us that are the hard part of any relationship.  And it is when someone sees them and yet chooses to stick around . . . . well, that is when you know that the person really does see who you are and still wants to be there.

    For example, a friend recently saw me shrink away from someone who was trying hard to be kind and supportive.  After that person left she said something like ” You need to get your shit together and recognize that it’s ok to let people support you – it’s ok to let them in.”  At first, I thought “WTF I don’t have a problem with letting people in.”  And then I thought, “Holy shit.  She’s right.  I just pushed that kindness away.”  It seemed too dangerous to let that person see me in a vulnerable state.  A state that might indicate that I am not oh so self-sufficient.  #debklein

    I have always thought of myself as a “wear your heart on your sleeve” kind of person.  And by the way that is not always a pretty site.  In fact, it can be pretty ugly at times.  Ask anyone who has seen my #restingbitchface or my #wide-eyedpanicface.  I do still believe that people can get a glimpse of what is going on in my heart and mind pretty easily.  Maybe it’s all in the eyes whether it’s a classic Butz eye-roll or a staring off into space.  What’s funny about this is that, although my heart is usually visible to people, my ability to let people in, to expose who I am on the inside – the good, the bad, and the ugly – remains challenging.  It seems far too scary and too close to asking for help or, God forbid, let someone see that you need help.  This is the intimacy I am talking about.

    I have many friends – or I should say I know many people.  Some are true friends and some are on the fringes.  One thing I know is that they all have seen me at my worst, most weak and scared days.  I also know that the people who cannot seem to deal with anything but the fun, pleasant, self-deprecating Karen are also the ones who aren’t really there to stay.  They might try to be true and honest but the visibility of how this truth scares them can be heart-wrenching and saddening to my idea of friendship.  It takes a while to recognize this and the recognition can be painful.  But once you see it, it is a freedom you won’t soon forget.

    As I get older I see how so very important it is to have trusted people in which to confide your worst fears.  It’s the joy that is easy to share and be a part of.  But the pain and the self-doubt, that is risky for many people.   You would think that allowing others to see this side of you would bring them closer.  But what I have found, especially recently, is that when intimacy exposes fear or doubt, well, that can cause people to run as far away as fast as possible.  Sharing this part of you can be threatening and can drive away even the most trusted friend.  So, typically I avoid this exposure.  In fact, it’s fair to say the Karen sitting my kitchen table who is always aiming for a laugh is the guard to this exposure.

    I’ve been trying to figure out why this is and my conclusion so far is that the fear and pain that people see in me alerts them to the same emotion that might exist within them.  And that is scary and something that many people don’t want to face.

    The upshot of this is that at this age and breadth of my life experience, I am ready to let people see the hard stuff and am prepared to let the cards fall where they may.  That is where connections are made and that is where we grow and feel pure and full of gratitude.  It can be scary but, I think, so worth it.

    There is a Justin Timberlake song that seems to reference what I am trying to say. Listen to it and maybe you’ll agree.