I am a sucker for a dance floor. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t allowed to go to dances when I was young and I’m now trying to make up for it, or because dancing feels like the only appropriate response to hearing a great song, or because when you dance nobody cares who you are, or what the booty that you’re shaking looks like. Indifferent to one’s God, politics, economic...
I pushed myself out the door this morning for a much, much-needed run –to shake off the cobwebs, flip the bird to my winter cellulite, and shift my dark and brooding mood. Because, man-oh-man, my thoughts have been bleak lately –to the point where my friend told me she needed to read my last blog installation at just the right time of day (i.e. not before work and clients when...
I can’t seem to sleep lately. When I finally crawl into bed after shutting down the house, flossing my teeth, and setting two alarms (one for 5:20 the other for 5:30, somehow convinced that the 10-minute respite softens the blow), my brain turns on, indifferent to the 18-hour day we just clocked. Head in pillow, duvet tucked around my neck, I stare into the black thinking about death. Death. Inevitable,...
I work out at a barre studio in the SFV of LA. If you’re a valley local, you’ve probably been there at least once, maybe after purchasing a Groupon, or on January 1st having just resolved to get in shape. My friend, Kirsten, took me for the first time 13 years ago when the studio was still relatively new and filled with young women (many of them dancers), plus a smattering...
I love my first cup of coffee in the morning. I love it like I love my children—deeply and completely. Brewed in a French press, I drink it black, 190 degrees, from a white porcelain mug that I’ve had forever. I drink it in the dark, or the pre-dawn shadows, or at daybreak (depending on the time of year) quietly sipping my sacred java while contemplating the day ahead, grateful...
I was driving to work the other day and caught myself wondering, What is the point of it all? It had rained overnight, and my white SUV, recently bathed after months of neglect, was now covered in a slick layer of urban grime. The morning exit hadn’t gone well –each of us grumpy about running late, about the arrival of Halloween and undelivered costumes, about logistics and who deserved the...
So, I’m 51. As of yesterday, in fact. I had written an unrelated, non-birthday post for this week (a meandering that started with the word infidelity), but it all went out the window when my dear friend, Jill, sent me a celebratory text yesterday morning that ended with the imperative Wish Big! I welled up for a few seconds, taking in those two tiny words that held such beautiful, unencumbered...
I grew up in a Pentecostal home. Thinking back, religion was, by far, the dominant theme of my childhood. We went to church constantly –Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings, mid-week sometimes if my homework load wasn’t too heavy. In the summertime, my mother would take my younger brother and me to tent meetings. They were hot and sweaty, and had a predictable rhythm to them: a slow-burn start with hymns and...
Last weekend my friend celebrated her 50th birthday. After some back-and-forth planning, four of us headed to Olympic Spa in Los Angeles for an afternoon of cleansing and renewal. Naturally, I was excited for the respite and a chance to hang out with this remarkable trio of women, but I was also feeling rather anxious –it had been a long time since I was full-on naked. For the record, I...
Lately, I’ve noticed that life has become rather predictable. I start my day with the same routine: wake at 5:30, make coffee, unload the dishwasher, feed the dog, assemble lunches (despite quitting this job each and every day), yell at my kids for ignoring their alarms, pull out breakfast options, make a smoothie, yell at my kids for yelling at each other, race to dress (no shower), shoo everyone into...
There’s so much noise around turning 50. Does one deny being a half-century old? Embrace the achievement? Fight like the devil to turn back the clock? Without question, this age instigates a new chapter with bigger stakes and a growing sense of urgency. Given our youth-obsessed culture and my own compulsion to stay young, I wondered how honestly I could write about this milestone. Fifty on Fifty is my experiment.
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