I am restless. Squirrely. I pace around the empty house with time on my hands and contemplate what substantial project I can undertake to fill the minutes: reorganize our abysmal office, start on taxes, dig into some research I’ve been putting off. But I can’t sit still long enough to focus. Or become interested. So I watch an episode of something on Netflix. I poke at the daily crossword. I...
I’ve been thinking a lot about my twenties. In particular, the drama. All those insatiable and untamable emotions hovering just beneath my skin, instantly accessible at the slightest provocation. Emotions that fueled over-the-top meltdowns filled with gut-wrenching pain and minute-long rants strung together with ingenious expletives. The meltdowns, in turn, producing crying so intense that my abs hurt for the next three days and I was forced to wear sunglasses...
The first time that I ever lied about my age was a couple of years ago. Up until that point–excluding my underage attempts to get into R-rated movies and be served alcoholic beverages– I’d been truthful about my years. The indiscretion in question happened when at my writing group. By the way, I love my writing group. I’ve been in this one, the Tuesday nighters, for about five years. The...
You know that scene in the movie about an insecure middle age guy who thinks he still has the chops of a 20-year old and tries to prove his virility by taking on some physical challenge that, completely inappropriate for his years and fitness level, lands him in the hospital? There are tons of them, but the first one that jumps to mind is that scene in Daddy’s Home where...
Fifteen years ago, give or take, I took a series of Awareness classes. I’m not sure if I remember, or can even properly explain what they were about beyond the obvious title, but I’m guessing the objective was to learn how to live in the moment (rather than fixating on the past or future) in order to achieve true awareness of one’s feelings, patterns, and the endless looping stories that...
Hallelujah, the tree is down and I am done with Christmas. Thanks to a particularly dry Noble Fir-turned-to-kindling, my family gave me their reluctant approval to kick it to the curb a full week early, so that by 10 a.m. on Boxing Day it was in the bin, the ornaments packed away, and the needles vacuumed up. Don’t get me wrong, I love the holidays: the decorating, the giving, the...
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...
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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