Another year older...and so grateful

A few years ago I thought that I had gone through some tough times and that life would spare me at least for awhile.  But now I know there is no sparing -- there are, in the course of every year, beautiful, joyous times AND really bad, difficult times.

This year was no exception.

The beautiful joyous times were simple days of spending time with my daughter, Zoe, with friends, traveling around the country and a trip to Dublin, all for work.  Riding my bike along the Hudson in the summer and taking long walks in Central Park in every season. 

There was a visit to Emily's house in the country -- bittersweet because of her absence, but still pleasurable.

My play performed at the Beckett Theater this year, with friends from all areas of my life, old friends, new friends, everyone showing up to see it and lend support.  And a cast and crew of the most wonderful people and the challenges that go along with every creative project.

There was the grief of losing my best friend, Lucy, my beloved beagle, who was with me for 13 years and who died at 17 years of age.  I miss her daily and am deeply grateful for having had her for all those years.  She was truly a faithful companion.

I'm grateful that my ex husband and I were able to forgive each other and start up a new... friendship.  I would not have imagined this a few years ago, but forgiveness is a powerful tool -- and cancer seems to completely change the landscape.  He really showed up for a harrowing summer and survived and we are all so grateful. 

2013 ends quietly... I feel that life has forced so many of us to seek comfort in being quiet, by going within. 

One of my favorite pieces of advice I heard recently came from the playwright Tracy Letts: spend at least 30 minutes a day staring at the wall, or looking out the window.  I don't have much of a view, but I think I will start at my wall and give thanks for this past year and gratitude for the coming one.  Just being alive is reason enough to be celebrate. 

Emily Squires' pond in Lake Ariel, Pa.  August 2013.

Three years

One year ago, I signed my divorce papers and it was the beginning of a new life and an entirely new chapter.


In November of 2011 I found dance.  I'd started dancing (as I wrote here) in a couple of flash mobs, but then I decided to sign up for dance classes and ever since then my life has changed in many profound ways.  First of all I found something really joyous that I love to do.  I've met many people who love it too and many really great men.  Men to dance with - not necessarily the love of my life, but men I really enjoy.

My morning practice of reading, writing and meditating has changed a bit.  I've been chanting in the morning, which is very peaceful.

In August, my daughter Zoe moved back to New York after three years of living in San Francisco.

She arrived the first week in August, which is when my first piece appeared on the Huffington Post.


I've now had five pieces published and yesterday Zoe and I did a Huff Post Live on adult children moving home with their parents.  She did find a great apartment with a roommate and they are happily living in their own place now.

http://live.huffingtonpost.com/r/archive

If you're new to this blog and you or anyone you know anyone who's going through a difficult time, go back three years to April 2009 and start reading.  There is a great deal of information about how to get through loss and grief a day at a time. 

And the present feels very exciting!  So stay tuned.  I never expected any of this, so it will be interesting to see what unfolds next.  If you've had any interesting surprises lately, I'd love to hear about them. 

San Francisco favorite frames

I just came back from spending six days with my daughter, Zoe, in San Francisco.  One of my favorite tools from Mama Gena's School of Womanly Arts is to talk about "favorite frames/moments" of an experience, so that's what I will do:


- Arriving in San Francisco airport and trying to find Zoe, while we both talked on our phones and then turned around and saw her and we both cracked up
- The greatest first hug
- Walking around the city with Zoe and talking, talking, about everything and everyone
-Going to the movies (one of our favorite pastimes.  We saw "50/50" - which we both loved)
-Surviving Fleet Week and the Blue Angels as their fighter jets swooped down over the city practically giving us heart attacks - especially when we were in a cab and the driver screamed
-Wandering through the Western Addition and finding Hayes Valley, which felt like an oasis with a big park filled with parents and their kids
-Watching Zoe's delight upon entering Isotope, a terrific comic book store
-Walking into a beautiful charcuterie a few doors down from Isotope and discovering one of Zoe's former co-workers, Nathan, behind the counter
-Going to Alanon meetings in San Francisco and meeting so many lovely people
-Meeting Wayne, a high school friend, who showed me around the Castro (we saw Harvey Milk's old photography store and Delores Park, as well as the Castro Theater)
-Having a fantastic lunch with Eric, the person who hired me to work at the Corcoran Group and a total sweetheart.  He moved out to San Francisco for his partner's new job and is adjusting to moving back home, after enjoying life in NYC
-Visiting It's A Grind with and without Zoe
-Great meals with Zoe at her favorite restaurants and more walking
-The Nook, a great place for reading and drinking coffee
-Hanging out with Zoe's roommates and Ian and Natalia
-Sleeping in the same bed the morning I left because the couch was finally just too uncomfortable
-A long goodbye hug
-Driving to the airport and seeing some beautiful scenery on the way - remembering what I do love about California, nature, the hills, the sky, the ocean

It was a more challenging trip this time, since last year I went with my friend Karen and Christian was also there.  But this time I really made the effort to get to know the city better, to meet people and to spend more time on my own, as well as with Zoe.  It was fantastic.  It was a delight.  I miss Zoe but I am so proud of the life she's made there.  When I moved out to Los Angeles in my early 20's I felt so lonely.  Zoe seems to have adjusted well and created a wonderful community.

It was hard being away from New York while Occupy Wall Street continues to grow and San Francisco's efforts to find a place to camp have been prevented by the mayor, but it was a wonderful visit and I look forward to seeing Zoe again soon. And now I can go back to marching and it feels great to be home.

Suffering is optional

"Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional" - a Buddhist principle.  It hit me because this morning, my daughter Zoe is arriving from San Francisco and I am both completely thrilled and also a bit anxious.  

The last time we were together, she was packing up all her belongings and leaving to drive cross country with her father.  The sadness of that day is still with me, even though I was happy for them to have that fantastic experience together, which really helped to create a strong bond.  

And now, nearly seven months later, both of us have had huge changes in our lives to deal with, quite a bit of pain and definitely some suffering. But Zoe seems to be thriving in San Francisco, and I am thriving here in NYC, living my completely new life.  I know that for both of us there is still sadness at the loss of our little family, but there's also going to be lots of happiness when she arrives - especially when Lucy and Lola see their beloved Zoe. 

Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional, joy comes in small moments that happen when we expect it - and even more frequently, I think, when it is unexpected.  

I was looking back over some old posts I had written and I came up with this quote from Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart" --  

  "The essence of life is that it's challenging. Sometimes it's sweet, and sometimes it's bitter. Sometimes your body tenses, and sometimes it relaxes or opens. Sometimes you have a headache, and sometimes you feel 100 percent healthy. From an awakened perspective, trying to tie up all the loose ends and finally get it together is death, because it involves rejecting a lot of your basic experience. There is something aggressive about this approach to life, trying to flatten out all the rough spots and imperfections into a nice smooth ride.... To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. .... To live is to be willing to die over and over again." 

I may die a little with the pleasure of seeing my daughter this morning!  I can't wait!  (And her plane is two hours late.)  

Today is the day my daughter was born 22 years ago...

...and I am so proud of her.  She's a person I admire and love. I respect her talents and her kindness.  I love her enthusiasm for life and for art, her loyalty to her friends, her intelligence and curiosity.  I enjoy being with her whenever we are together.  A walk in the park is a huge adventure to us.  We always have something to talk about and we have many things in common and many differences.  

She is coming to stay with me next week and I am so excited to see her.  This is the longest amount of time we've been apart and she has created a fantastic life for herself in San Francisco.  I look forward to visiting her there and meeting her roommates and seeing her apartment.  Lucy and Lola, our beagles, will be out of their minds when she walks in the door.

I remember that day she was born - at 11:11 am - and the first time I saw her.  She only weighed 6 lbs. 4 ounces and she looked a bit scrawny and had a very pointed cone head.  I'm so happy that I will see her next week and be able to give her a big hug. 

 

Out of the muck

Update:  I am feeling much much better, even though it's February 3 - and I hate this month and I'm getting a little tired of winter (even though it's been quite easy here.)  And I had to spend $2,000 today on that same tooth that had root canal a few weeks ago, now I have a post and a new crown to pay for.  

But - on the other hand, I'm watching Jon Stewart now and I love John Oliver.  And I went to yoga on Monday and after the class I told the teacher how old I am and he said "Wow, you look amazing!  You're going to kick ass in a couple of weeks.."  or something like that.  Which is so un-yoga of him and a terrible thing to tell me, since I am so competitive.  But I have to say that I really did kind of enjoy the class, even though it was so hard.  And I'm running now on the treadmill too, which I love. Thirty minutes at a pretty good pace, it's amazing how much more I can feel the endorphins, even writing about it gets me excited.  

So personally, I am feeling good.  But I have to find work and get a good income. It's been a hell of a year, but I'm starting to see that all the hard work I've done is paying off.  I'd like to volunteer somewhere that will utilize all that I've learned at Friends In Deed. I feel like I've been studying grief and coping for the last year, as I've sat in meetings.  And I've met so many wonderful people. 

I know that the Haitian people are still struggling and it's going to take a very long time until life gets better there.  And we still have no health care bill, the economy is still not great and many people are still out of work. There was a warning tonight on the evening news about heightened concerns about a terrorist attack in this country.  


I'm looking at the glass and it's half full and half empty.  But maybe slightly more full...because my daughter is coming to visit me next month and I couldn't be happier! 

Still in the muck

But really so much better.  I still have days when my feelings come up and I wonder how long it will go on, but those days are fewer and farther between, as they say.  Today I had a Reiki session and the practitioner asked me what was going on in my life (this was at Friends In Deed) and as I told her, I had a good cry and she said, "Wow, that's a lot to handle all at once."  And she said some other stuff that I can't remember, but at the time felt good.  I don't know why, but I am really happy that I have these feelings of sadness and that I can actually feel alive after so many years of feeling numb and never crying.  I used to be amazed when someone said, "Oh, I cried all night."  Or "I couldn't stop crying."  I just didn't get it.  Now I get it.  Now I have much more compassion and empathy.  

I just got a text message that my daughter, who works at "It's A Grind" in Nob Hill, San Francisco.  She invented a vanilla-hazelnut latte and everyone likes it. I'm so proud! 

One down three to go

I don't have time to write much, but the reading of "Scrambled Eggs" at the Berkshire Playwrights Lab was a big hit. The cast was brilliant, the lead was amazing, Amy Von Nostrand coudn't have been better. She was everything I hope for in an actor playing the role. We got huge laughs, we see the ending needs work, I think I have a better idea how to fix it and also places I want to re-write. Matt Penn was a fantastic director, the theater was so beautiful, we had a large crowd (around 200), I laughed (and I never laugh at my own writing.)

Tonight is the first night of the solo show and I am very nervous/excited. I will write more tonight or tomorrow. Zoe's in town and I haven't seen her yet, I can't wait to give her a big hug. I missed her so much.

The daughter goes to camp...Sharon Olds

Tomorrow is Zoe's 21st birthday. She's in San Francisco for the week to celebrate with her friends. I was reading some poetry and I found this poem, which seemed so fitting:

The Daughter Goes to Camp

In the taxi alone, home from the airport,
I could not believe you were gone. My palm kept
creeping over the smooth plastic
to find your strong meaty little hand and
squeeze it, find your narrow thigh in the
noble ribbing of the corduroy,
straight and regular as anything in nature, to
find the slack cool cheek of a
child in the heat of a summer morning -
nothing, nothing, waves of bawling
hitting me in hot flashes like some
change of life, some boiling wave
rising in me toward your body, toward
where it should have been on the seat, your
brow curved like a cereal bowl, your
eyes dark with massed crystals like the
magnified scales of a butterfly's wing, the
delicate feelers of your limp hair,
floods of blood rising in my face as I
tried to reassemble the hot
gritty molecules in the car, to
make you appear like a holograph
on the back seat, pull you out of nothing
as I once did -- but you were really gone,
the cab glossy as a slit caul out of
which you had slipped, the air glittering
electric with escape as it does in the room at birth.

Sharon Olds