Embracing the Irrational

This is just one of many techniques I used in order to heal well and feel well after tearing my cartilage just eleven weeks ago.

Undo, not to, aka my "ignore" list

My ignore list is not about a Facebook feature ... although, today Facebook was on it.

My ignore list is the thing I create when I have a few urgent priorities... and don't want any distractions. Today, I had a short work day due to doctor's appointments and the like. I left my phone in my purse, I had a mini lunch of yogurt and low fat granola. Kept things short and sweet.

On my way to work I compiled what I wouldn't do today for the hours I was in my office: No errands on campus, no break for lunch, no facebook unless it's work related (usually, I take a FB break during lunch and, occasionally a really short one during my 3 o'clock slump/tea break etc). Sometimes I cut personal email too, today, I did.

It's a great way to focus and even relax a bit ... When I left the office, I had that momentary "where's my phone?" lapse, because I couldn't imagine leaving it in my bag for 6 hours.

When you're over committed, give yourself permission to disconnect from a number of things that distract you along the way. It will keep you organized, and especially if "to do" lists make you cringe for any reason, this is another approach to help you out!

Do you have organizational strategies that keep you focused on a tough day? Do you cringe at to-do lists? What's your organizational dilemma, at work or home?

Bargaining (a Tactic for Children, and Children of God)

Oh, that tactical aspect of negotiation. I've heard a lot of it lately.
Maybe it's because I've been taking public transit while I recover (at break neck speeds thanks to my extraordinary physical therapist and support system!). Maybe it's the fact I have a handful of friends who are currently grieving. Perhaps it's just the appropriate time of year, so I'm attuned to it.

Never mind the reason. When, over the course of two days, I overhear three conversations where kids are bargaining with a parent, I know something particularly cosmic is going on. Young boys, in most of these instances, pleading for a dog, or a delayed bed time. Bargaining with a mom, it seems, is not entirely different than the rituals we participate in, bargaining for our own freedoms in the coming year with our ever present parent, God.

These sons' pleas reminded me of the promises we all make, to take care of something or someone outside of ourselves (with the likes of "I'll walk the dog!" and "can my younger brother stay up too?") , the type of promises we have to disavow ourselves of as we are seated at the table of "who shall live and who shall die" this Friday night.

What I most understood from the familiar banter, stereotypical though it seemed, "I will never ask for anything again" and a "please" that held enough extra vowels to fill all the seats on the M104, was that the negotiation between parent and child is one of unique compassion, patience and attentiveness. One mother allowed her child to go through the entire argument without interruption. She let him put all of his explanations out on the table. Another said no to each sentence. Our parent is one who does not always answer right away. One who's answer we don't always agree with or want to hear. Sometimes we find God silent for too long. Long enough to wonder whether God is an absence rather than a divine presence.

May we all come to prayer this holiday season knowing that God is everything or anything we need. God may even be what we don't know we need. Our strength is in knowing how to share ourselves, our motivations, our desires, our dreams. It helps to be aware that God may not answer us right away, or in the way that we'd hoped. Because while God may not have limitations, we all do. Like a child begging to stay up late, I cannot always see the ramifications my desires might have in tomorrow's light. I hope we can each break through walls that need to be broken and identify the patterns that no longer serve us, and most importantly, I hope that we learn to better serve one another in the coming year.

May you be inscribed in the book of life, and may we all help write our own books this year.

What I'm Hiding

It's weird to get ready for the Jewish New Year, a time of soul searching, opening up, letting go, letting in, self-awareness, and reflection realizing that I've been doing myself a disservice in keeping a secret, which has, in turn, made me feel unfulfilled, frustrated and generally, resentful of those closest to me. At least, I hope that I can blame my lack of honesty and not the people.

Why have I been hesitant to disclose? For the most part, I think it's that I don't want to be a burden, because asking others to do things for me doesn't match my personality. I'm a 'do it yourself' kind of girl, independent and self-sufficient, and admitting that doing it myself is impossible is ... well... darn near impossible. So, more often than not, I have been putting on a happy face, and when I can't muster that, a blank expression. I've been ignoring my budget by taking advantage of soap.com and fresh direct. I had no clue that 3 blocks from my apartment was a drugstore clearing everything out for 50% off. And, I've been eating beans straight from the can.

Now, if you follow my food blog, you know that while I may consume chickpeas straight from a can, that wouldn't happen with anything else. Well, these were black beans. I've eaten cheese straight from a package, cereal dry, and I've stared at beautiful food on the brink in my fridge, and reached for yogurt instead ... in the last week I managed to make myself one meal, and, while delicious, I haven't touched a dirtied dish from that or the two weeks prior.

What I've been reticent to share over the past five weeks is that I've been in agonizing pain. Not just minor injury pain, which is, likely, how people perceive it. Laying down hurts. All the more so, standing hurts. A hot shower is the closest I've come to feeling good - but if that lasts longer than about 7 minutes, it's all fruitless and I'm back in pain. I have the tiniest of injuries causing all this pain, of course, just a little torn cartilage, and I've been sticking my knee brace under leggings and quietly using the chair next to me to keep it elevated.

And I've been hiding it by attempting to be social, where I can have alcohol in excess to disguise the pain, or by taking drugs that make me feel loopy and disconnected from what is going on around me. I've managed to get through my workdays, strained. Sitting up with my leg elevated for nearly 8 hours is completely exhausting ... but what I've most come to understand is that while I resent my body plenty for making me endure this - I really resent that amongst the community and the friends I boast as amongst my dearest and closest, I haven't gotten much of the support I need. All I can do is hope that it is my fault for not expressing my needs clearly. I want to believe this is true despite the fact that a number of friends have reached out, have delivered food, have come over for meals, have been tremendously, wonderfully accommodating. So I do wonder how much it's been me, and how much I must reevaluate my relationships to understand that not all of them are what I thought they were.

But then I realize, I am so profoundly grateful for the people who have been understanding, who have been supportive, who have offered me genuine well wishes, and I acknowledge that the resentment doesn't serve me. But when I'm crying on my 3 block walk home from the subway station, all I can think about is whether it's my own fault I'm not being fully supported through this.

In my heart I know that I will get through this, that I will return to my truest self with a smile, and, I hope, dancing and heels and yoga, too. What I'm unsure of is the relationships that don't emanate support now, especially the ones that don't offer as much as a "get well" sentiment, and whether I will be able or willing to foster those relationships in the future. It feels easy now to conflate the two types of pain, that of the physical and that of the soul, and I wonder whether it will wash away in this season of new beginnings, or serve to open my eyes and clear out wasted energies and fruitless friendships.

No more "Next Year"

The new Jewish month is upon us shortly. Adar rishon, or the first month of Adar, is a leap month, added into the calendar to keep it balanced out. I prepare differently for the month ahead than is typical. In fact, I typically let one month slide into the next with very little acknowledgement. But I will be spending three weeks of the coming month (actually within February and Adar) abroad, in Israel.

First of all, it’s the first time I’ll be in the country since Passover 2006. Every holiday since then, I’ve sung “b’shana haba’ah b’yerushaliyim” next year in Jerusalem. Here it is, returning to the country of prayers and there isn’t a holiday in sight. Not even a new month. How did I manage that?

Thinking about the odds, I looked back at the luach, the hebrew calendar and noticed there was *something* on it. Oh. I’ll be spending “purim katan” in Israel. You’ve never heard of it because it isn’t observed in any substantial way anymore. I mean if you’re searching, we are told not to fast on that day. And we are told not to eulogize, either. I know this because it marks the burial of my bubbe, my maternal grandmother.

Now, when my grieving mother was told this, she was already in avelut, in mourning, for her father who we had lost not six weeks before. That graveside funeral had so many words of love, honor, blessing, both impromptu and organized, that I’m certain they carried our family home and through the week of mourning, shiva. My bubbe hadn’t travelled with us that cool December day, but we recounted the memories to her as we visited her throughout shiva.

I also want to make it clear that my mother was not told this by some forceful rabbi, but by her paternal uncle, who served as our family Rabbi when we were assembling for these kinds of gatherings. He let her know that she could practice however she saw fit. But, if we’re speaking honestly here, my mother was emotionally raw from talking about the dead. She had been exhausted by the long drawn out process of saying goodbye to both of her parents.

My mother welcomed the invitation not to prepare another eulogy. It was another blessing for her. I called my great uncle Itzy, rabbi, and I asked what the halacha was. To check what the rules really were. He said, if a eulogy is given, it has been said if they are words of torah that is OK. I replied, so if i write a d’var torah, if i bring text and teach in her memory, that is OK? It was.

I hadn’t spoken about my grandfather at his funeral service, the voices were so prominent there, and i was still so heartbroken from having seen him in hospice in his final days, where he was but a shell of the man who outpaced me my whole life.

I don’t remember what teaching I brought in my grandmother’s memory. I have it in a journal somewhere - but whatever text I used, whomever I quoted or celebrated, when I ended with my bubbe’s advice, the words she’d said to me when we parted for as long as I can remember, she’d rest her cane somewhere so she had both hands free and say “Sheridan, be sure to grow this way (she’d widen her arms vertically) and not this way (horizontally)!” Since she continued saying this long after I turned 12 and stopped growing, I can only assume she meant towards the heavens, with Godly and goodly intentions, to strive for higher heights and not be dormant and unmoved. May we understand her blessing to me as a hope for all of us, to grow in the right ways.

As we returned to the limo, thawing out from the icy winter morning, my mother said to me, “I didn’t know she used to say that to you.” I had given her a new memory. Shared with her a private moment, let my mother see that sometimes my bubbe wasn’t a hardened heart, but had a sense of humor and bemusement.

Our relationships with the people we love the most are also always the most difficult. It is easy to turn off or turn away. And when the rabbis say “don’t eulogize” the were hoping to lessen the pain, to not ruin the joy. But in celebrating the people we love, we can create more joy.

I wonder if we should explore what our tradition should say about ‘minor’ holidays today, and how they impact our relationship with traditional Jewish protocol. I wonder if it doesn’t harden the heart to spend years claiming, ‘next year in Jerusalem’ only to find yourself there on a quiet sabbath. But then I realize, Jerusalem is like my grandmother, always sending you off with a smile, a sweet treat, the call to return. Don’t wait until next year. Celebrate the people and places you love right now.

Bring on the Warmth

I’m grateful for warmth!

This past Sunday night, I decided to hike over the 4 avenues to a friend’s apartment sometime after 9pm. The offer was extended with love, but I very hesitantly agreed to the walk, because it was quite cold and quiet around the NYC neighborhood in which I live. Layering up, I grabbed my red sweatshirt off the top of my hamper. First of all, it’s from the clothing swap we did in the fall. In ‘getting’ this great sweatshirt, I ‘gave up’ shoes and clothing galore, the majority of which went to a great local charity called Housing Works. Second of all, I’d put it there not because it was dirty, as much as because I didn’t want to hang it up. So it was a pleasant surprise when this red hoodie was wonderfully warm, thanks to the radiator it had been resting near. And, on my cross town trek, I thought about the other things that had made me warm throughout the day: Brunch with Aimee at the Mud Stop where the mint tea and mimosas included for my $13 fistful were deliciously warming. As was the conversation, and the welcome face she had when I lost my sense of direction and showed up 20 minutes late!
Then, I reflected on volunteer day for Limmud NY as all the final details come together for a conference I’ve been working on for countless hours. Full of wonderfully talented, enthusiastic, and dedicated people, many of them first time volunteers, and witnessing everything being put in order - magnificent! (Though, for talent's sake, you can see mine isn't in art - my Check in sign was mediocre at best!)
Back in reality, I’d already made it two avenues, and was still pretty warm. Ok, I’m a California girl. Maybe I was losing a bit of feeling in my extremities, but bearable. I realized it was likely a result of “warm soup belly” which I enjoyed at my favorite Union Square haunt along with more wonderful conversation with a friend who had also attended volunteer day. Finally, it occurred to me, I couldn’t believe I was even thinking about being cold, when we’d run across so many “pantsless” subway riders that evening in union square. The smile across my face returns now, and just erupted then, thinking about “those crazy kids” and folks who act like kids ... who participated in the near-naked public displays thanks ImprovEverywhere - you’ve got gumption, which is especially impressive on such a freezing day. Of course there was also getting a chance to finally check my weekend mail when I got home. (Hey, I've been off accomplishing it all, I've been quite busy!) In my mailbox, I found the most extraordinary thank you card from a most extraordinary friend. I'm coming to believe that one person's gratitude only helps cultivate gratitude in others. Appreciation is never underrated.

When I arrived at my destination, and we caught up about the last few weeks, work, writing, volunteering, planning details of my upcoming vacation, it occurred to me how lucky I am that it just takes a few steps from my apartment to an amazingly wonderful city filled with good friends, good food, and so many fun opportunities. I have cultivated a family of friends who remind me quite often what I have to be grateful for. But mostly, on that walk home, it was the red sweatshirt.