French Christmas

Coming back to life

About a month ago, I went home to Michigan. I went home to bear witness at a friend's wedding, I went home to bear witness to my grandfather's passing. And in doing so--in watching one of my favorite people open a new chapter in her life, and in watching the troublesome but poignant patriarch of our family finish his--I ended up bearing witness to something in myself. 

This thing had been growing in me for some time. It expressed itself quietly at first, in piercing headaches, back pain, searing heartburn. Seeing that I was ignoring all the subtle red flags, my subconscious conjured up a vicious nightmare that woke me up just before dawn. A nightmare that painted a picture of my life if I stayed on the safe road. The empty life I would have if I kept denying the part of myself that gave me reason to get up in the morning.

When I started this blog over a year ago, I wanted to have a creative outlet that was purely mine. I wanted a place to write what I wanted to write about, that wasn't slanted for PR purposes, or edited down to make someone else happy. And in doing so, I got that and so much more. It seemed I opened the floodgates. The ideas I have, the things I want to say . . . well. There are so many of them, all screaming and banging and yelling for my attention. Yelling to be set free.

The problem is time. I don't seem to have enough hours in a day to fulfill all my responsibilities, including this most important responsibility to myself. At home I had a very rude awakening as to just what might happen if I keep putting other things first. This thirst in me, it just won't be ignored or reasoned with anymore. 

So in these past 30 days, I have been consumed by this dream, by how to bring it into this world. It will not be easy, as these are not easy times. But, as Toni Morrison said in Beloved, it's always painful when something comes back from the dead.

Hello, old friend

Ah, dear blog. I'm sure you're feeling angry, confused, and neglected. We used to be so close, and then what? I go to Michigan and refuse to answer your calls and emails and facebook posts for almost two weeks. Please believe me when I say it's not you, it's me. It's just been a strange few weeks, and I'm trying to figure some things out. Things I promise to tell you about when I wrap my head around them. Things I promise I'll say when I know how to make the words sound right.

Until then, it's good to see you again. :)

On the road again

Tomorrow we are leaving for Michigan. I can't help but think all this traveling has some greater cosmic meaning . . . do you ever get that sense? That certain things in your life are happening in such a way and pattern that it can't be just random circumstances, and that if your life were a book or a film, the people on the outside watching would add all these events up to a commentary or theme on life, which college students would someday study and analyze in class?

Or maybe my life's just not that deep. Or maybe I would just like to think it is. ;)

Irony

When I was little, I couldn't wait to grow up because I thought it meant I would be free. Free to do whatever, wherever, with whoever whenever I wanted.

Now that I'm nearing 30, I realize that being an adult isn't all about freedom, it's all about commitment. Commitment to family and friends and work and goals and dreams, all while balancing the most important commitment: the one you make to yourself.

Bizarrely excited

Holy crap it's cold outside. Not like cute-striped-scarf-wearing, maybe-i-could-get-hot-chocolate-on-my-way-to-work cold, I mean jump-in-bed-with-the-electric-blanket-and-wool-socks cold. Usually this time of year I get all depressed, because I know the darkness is coming, the snow, the general cooped-up-in-the-housedness that is winter. But this year I'm actually excited, because the sooner New Year's gets here, the better. I just want this year to be over.

So come on, 2010. Bring it.

Fiercely, madly, deeply

Have you ever noticed the moments when you love someone? Someone you see each and every day , and you know that you love them because it's part of what you do, like eating or sleeping or breathing, but in certain moments that love hits you like a firetruck?

Today Aaron and I got espresso at the coffee shop across the street. While we were waiting for our order, he was smelling their whole bean samples, his eyes lighting up like a little kid's with each one, which he would then hand over to me and say, "ooo . . . smell this!"  It encompassed so many of the things I love about him--his enthusiasm for life, his curiosity about the world, and that he shares this all with me.

My brain took a snapshot of that moment and will hold on to it for a long, long time.

Photo via Istock

Other things that happened last week when I wasn't paying attention

 

This morning I was walking to the el, enjoying my chocolate mint cliff bar, when I looked up and saw this strange V-Shaped object in the sky, and thought to myself, "Gee self, what's that?" And then I realized it was Canadian geese flying south towards somewhere lovely and warm, like Cabo or Jamaica, and THEN I realized that oh yeah, the official start of fall was last week.

Photo via Istock

Happy belated birthday

Oh blog, how could I forget that you turned one year old last week? How could I, when no matter how cranky I am or how uninspired or exhausted, you're always there for me? When you're the one creative outlet that is utterly and truly mine?

I know sorry isn't enough, dear blog, but let me make it up to you somehow. It has been one amazing year, and when I think back to my first post, I feel like you helped me achieve exactly what I wanted. For that, I am truly blessed.

Photo via Istock

At church yesterday

I kept thinking about how bad I want to find a sense of peace, and wondering how or where I lost it somewhere along the way.

The Human Things

One week ago, I was at a wedding reception in New York, trying my first real Polish sausage. I mean, straight up, authentic, from the Polish deli run by real Polish people Polish sausage. The people who brought said sausage, along with a whole bunch of other amazing Polish delicacies, were also Polish. As was the bride, who was so beautiful that day it broke my heart.

So by now I'm sure you're wondering why I'm so hung up on this whole Polish thing. It just so happens that I'm half Polish, and found out that same Sunday morning that my grandfather, from whom I get my Polish genes, had passed away. My crazy, larger-than-life, sometimes inappropriate but always well-intentioned grandfather, who was built like a bull and had a head full of shocking-white hair, was gone.

As a family, we never made too much out of our heritage. My grandparent's didn't speak to us in their native tongue, they didn't cook us any traditional dishes when we visited. My Dad took us to some amazing Polish restaurants when I was a kid, where I had pierogies so good they'd make you pee your pants, and he made a point to teach us anything he knew, but that was about it.

So there I was, some 20 odd years later, finding comfort in food I had never tasted, but somehow had in my DNA. In that backyard I was surrounded by people I had just met, but who offered comfort like family would. And while an old man left this world, two people were starting and celebrating a new life together.

These are the things about life that never cease to amaze me, the juxtapositions, the human things.