Can't We Just All Get Along?

I feel like it was way back in the mid-90's that the slogan 'Can't we all just get along' became hot topic for laminated pins and bumper stickers. Sadly though, I am reminded daily that somehow, the message never stuck.

For the past few days I've been thinking about an incident that occurred on an ordinary day in the city. I've been meaning to write about it, but of course became momentarily distracted by work and other obligations. That is until today when a gentleman blurted out, as he nearly ran into me on the sidewalk, "Get the f---- out of my way". Yep, yeah, that's New York City for you. I was jolted back to my memory of the other day and my need to write about it.

I happend to go into a CVS Pharmacy Drugstore. It was 5 o'clock on a Monday night. The usually post work crowd filled the place, which is generally already understaffed for even non-peak hours. I approached the check out and discerned two lines that had formed. One was for self checkout at the various kiosks and the other was for the cashier desk. As I continued to wait, I noticed a woman standing nearby jumped the line (knowingly or perhaps unknowingly) and proceeded to the checkout cashier. Immediately the rightful next customer approached her and in my opinion rather politely, as far as New Yorkers are concerned, pointed out that there was in fact a long line of customers already waiting. The line jumper neither acknowledge the woman nor said "I'm sorry, my mistake". The latter leads me to believe that she knew and simply did not care that there was a line.

To my disappointment the employee that had witnessed this, did nothing to correct the situation or point out to the customer that she skipped ahead of the existing line. To make matters worse and escalate to a place that is neither necessary nor warranted- not to mention easily corrected if the employee had not played 'indifferent', another gentleman jump in and quickly began yelling.  Ironically, he did not yell at the woman who had obviously jumped ahead, but rather to the woman that had spoken up and said something.  He began antagonizing her, spouted 'what makes you so self righteous? There's no sign that says that there's one line'. Like most New Yorkers she chose to not engage or respond to his slurs. She was an older woman and perhaps after years of living in the city you either grow tolerant or simply lose the energy to fights these types of daily battles.  He called her rude and his putrid anger seemed to be even more fueled by her ambivalence.  As I watched, I was astonished that neither the employee or store manager, that stood only a few feet away, would allow such an outburst to occur. I couldn't help myself but to point out to the cashier, stating 'You should really say something here'. She of course gave me a growled look that said 'Don't tell me what to do'. Everyone grew increasingly uncomfortable as his rant continued well beyond needed. Finally, after biting my tongue for long enough... I chimed in. In the most delicate, non emotional way I could, I agreed that yes, while there was not a sign that spelled out 'one line' one line seemed to have formed on an honor system- first come, first serve.  I also pointed out the fact, verbally, that it is up to the employees to instruct customers as to how they are handling the crowds and serving them fairly.  His immediate response was 'one line is how they bring cows to the slaughter' after which he began repeating himself again about there being no sign.  However it did seem as though, the moment I mentioned the 'honor system' he wasn't sure how to respond to that. All he could say loudly was, 'I hear you'. After which point, he himself jumped ahead to that very same cashier, and again in front of everyone already waiting in line, to check out.

I was happy that I spoke up, but also really troubled that the state of our world has grown so impatient, so intolerant, so self-entitled.  I don't recall there being this much anger in LA. Perhaps the sunny weather and tepid climate makes people a little calmer. There are 1.8 million people, according to census bureau, living on the island of Manhattan. That's a lot of friggin' people in a small congested area. Everyday is operated at a breakneck pace, bumping into people, running around, trying to survive in a city that's over populated and overpriced.

I have hope for New York and it's residents. They always say 'be the change you want to see happen'. It's so easy to fall into that routine, where you keep your head down, worry only about yourself and those immediately around you in your life and become indifferent to everything and everyone else. Life is tough, especially during these times. Many are struggling in all forms, so I'm not surprise the temperament has changed a bit. Even, I myself, have days where I find myself utterly impatient with slow moving tourists or waiting a little longer than usual for the train.

It is moments like those in CVS or today on a busy city street that remind me that we MUST always try to be courteous to one another. Be THOUGHTFUL, PATIENT. KIND. There's a whole Psalm in the bible about that. Love isn't only for husbands or wives or families...it has to be for every single one of us which is not always an easy task. Living in New York, has been an eye opening sociological experiment. I feel as though it's a microcosm of the world, which is both fascinating and scary all at the same time. My goal is to smile at as many people as I can and watch how many odd glances I get back.... Oh, yeah, New Yorkers, avoid eye contact and smiling at them is like walking around in an alien costume. You should try it sometime...it's rather entertaining.

Navigating the Tightrope

If you're anything like me, you have a tightrope. One that stretches between the inner self and the outer presentation. Life is about finding the sweet spot that resides in balance between those two ends. Funny enough the middle is the most unstable place on a tightrope and the risk of falling is that much greater.

So here we are, starting on one side is the inner self. 35 years of living on this Earth, numerous hours spent soul searching over too many $4 lattes, notebooks scribbled with thoughts, memories, creative writings and inspirations. What did I find? Well, I'm still looking I suppose, but I did discover something. More like someplace.  Deep inside there's a rock in the middle of a forest clearing. On it sits a young girl, my mind's eye of myself as a child. There is a melancholy to the air like a stale mustiness. When I was in college, I was led on a guided meditation by an acting coach... this was the first time I discovered this place. I discovered the home of my inner child. I also discovered she has profound sadness in her eyes. The 'Why' is still left to be discovered.

Throughout my career as an actor I've often been told that I look like a 'wounded bird' in my headshots. Never mind the countless time spent coifing my hair or selecting the perfect outfit. Never mind the growing resume attached on back that always reminds me to be proud when I feeling insecure. Never mind any of it... I simply convey, 'help me I have a broken wing' apparently. After my college discovery of this pseudo special place inside me, this rock and the solitary mini-me I'm not at all that surprised. The eyes always speak the truth when the mouth tends to try to lie.

I've always wondered what is was. Where did this gravitas come from? Had it been imprinted on the DNA like a footprint of the bloodline before me? I think back upon my childhood with relative fondness. I was loved unconditionally and rarely did without despite our limited financial means. My childhood was not nearly as difficult as that of perhaps other members of my family. The greatest pain from my past was being bullied by classmates. (Although who isn't at some point) However even at an early age, I was a people pleaser. I often gave my abusers my school supplies in hopes of winning their friendship. They publicly shamed me and I so badly needed them to like and accept me. So perhaps I was always a bit of a 'wounded bird'. The more broken you appear, the greater the chance to get picked on. Darwinism at it's finest in the American School system, Survival of the Fittest. So, you grow up learning to compensate.

Three decades later, I've discovered the other side of my tightrope, the outer self. Confident, earnestly optimistic, people pleaser, looking for the best in everyone and ignoring their faults, no matter how destructive. The gal with the glass half full, as a dear friend recently pointed out.  This version of me became the Centurion. My gatekeeper with a smile. There's that mouth, lying again. She works tirelessly, to make sure everything is always OK. Doesn't help that I work in a profession where you almost always have to be 'ON'. There is very little that is authentic in the Entertainment Industry and we all learn to play along. The irony is, if you play safe too much. If you're seemingly too together, perfect or dare I say happy you're not interesting. So, you start to walk backwards on the tightrope back to the dark side.

Of course if you move too far into the shadows, you lose the spark. You need a little light to catch the twinkle otherwise you just about disappear.  You move back to the center, but where exactly is it? Perspective is so much easier if your across the way looking at the rope between these two places. When you're on it, is like losing all depth perception.

Being in New York, has created growth out of the challenge of surviving here. The city is rough around the edges just like it's inhabitants. There's 1.8 Million people cohabiting in the little island of Manhattan.  That's more rough edges than most people would ever want to deal with. California Sunshine made my joyous outer self come alive and thrive. NewYork is reminding me of the little girl who sits and waits on that rock.  She grows frustrated, even angry. Rage is a color I've desaturated on her behalf. However as of late she is finding a voice and I can almost hear her screaming. Instead of stifling her and burying her in plastic smiles, I might try embracing her. A child who is ignored only gets louder.  I often said I danced along the line between shadow and the light and never was that so true than now.

So I'm back here again on this tightrope, precariously balancing between two ends looking for that 'sweet spot' in hopes of finding gold.

When the Stars begin to Fall: Letting Go of Expectation

A week and a half ago, found me celebrating my 35th birthday. It was odd really. I remember as a child, wondering what life would be like when I was 'that old'.  I was a quite the dreamer in my adolescence. I'm sure a great many of us were/Are... Are we still dreaming? At 35, I suppose you begin to look at the picture that you've painted through the years. You take record of the triumphs, the pitfalls. The blunders and the wins. If only we were all 'winning' as Charlie Sheen would have us believe.

I had the privilege of speaking to a group of youths at the Covenant House here in New York recently. It's a facility that houses and educates disadvantaged and homeless teens. It's unbelievable to realize how many children begin their journey in this world with almost nothing. I say almost, because I could see despite circumstances, they all had the dreamer in their eyes.  My role was to discuss career planning along with a small panel of my peers. We came from a wide range of backgrounds, completely diverse paths with varying kernels of wisdom, or at least a more experienced perspective as we were all in our 30's and 40's.

While I could have gone into great depth about the 'glamorous' life of an actress and photographer,  I decided that what might best serve them is an education in goal setting. While my upbringing wasn't nearly as challenging as many of theirs, I understood what it meant to come from a family with limited means. I was raised by a single Mother barely getting by. Fortunately, what we could not afford monetarily, I was at least blessed to have been given in love and unconditional support no matter how hair-brained my goals were. As mentioned I was a big dreamer and big dreams, cost big money that we didn't have.  So, I learned to be resourceful. I wanted to be the first in my family to attend college. Of course I picked a private University 3,000 miles away in sunny California but hard work, focus, tenacity and a lot of faith in God, made me a USC Alum.  That experience taught me to be self motivated and perhaps that has always been my greatest strength.

Looking back, I am acutely aware that I chose a profession that is not only inherently difficult but is filled with more rejection than acceptance. Despite an imbalance of 'No's' ,  I've survived over 10 years in the crazy business of Entertainment. The best part, the part that I am most proud of, is my ability to still be absolutely positive and encouraging when I looked into the eyes of the teens I was speaking to.  They have every reason in the world, to chase the highest star and deserve to be given the wings of support to do so.

As I write this, I find myself slightly tearing. Not because I'm so proud of myself or have an overinflated idea that I am this ever giving charitable person.  At 35 years old, I realized that I started out reaching for one star and got lost in a sea of them. As you set your course while still in youth, you could never really see just how far up they were, or how long it was going to take to come even close enough to see the twinkle.

I found a great quote the other day, on a magnet no less, by an unknown author. "Life isn't about finding yourself, it's about creating yourself".  I wonder if indeed I created myself, enough. I've had so many wonderful stories in my collection of experiences. I've achieved opportunities in my profession, I have made great friends. I have been on TV, published in Magazines as a writer and a photographer. I have designed albums for so many talented clients I lovingly call friends.  All these amazing accomplishments, that made the teens I was speaking to 'ooh'  and 'ahh'. They were so much more proud of me than I was of myself.  I came there to teach them about striving to reach their dreams and they were teaching me how to see my own differently.

When you're drifting in the sky, it's hard to maintain perspective.  You start focusing in all directions and for someone like myself, sometimes simultaneously. I operate like a baby with a shiny object. While it's made my life nothing short of stimulating, it forces a different vantage point of 'success'.  My goal at 18 was to be like Julia Roberts. I wanted to be a famous actress, walk red carpets and give my Oscar acceptance speech. Most of life, that seemed the plan. I did everything I could imagine to try and achieve that.  With each passing year, and passing opportunity, things inevitably start to fall off. For all intents and purposes, and by definition of my original goal, I failed.

At 35, I am not Julia Roberts, I have not really walked red carpets as the star and I've never been cut off by music during my acceptance speech.   At 35, I have been on TV, I have been published, I have helped encourage and facilitate other people's dream, I am a wife, a friend. I have laughed as much as I've cried. I still struggle inwardly with those pre-conceived ideas of what I thought my life as an Actor would evolve into by this time. I peaked without ever knowing, such that success has been forced to changed along the way. The stars in heaven moved on me a bit. Some floated away, and others thankfully found me.

In the end, I hope I'm creating a version of myself that I will grow to be proud of.  When letting go of expectation, you breathe a little easier. Doesn't mean, that I don't still look up and wish and wonder 'what if?' When I look beyond my own self imposed disappointment, I see that my heart is filled with so much more than I ever imagined. It is a life that's different than I set out for, but more grounded and fulfilling than any trash in a Gossip magazine. On a number of occasions, I had met Brittany Murphy through mutual friends. I will always remember how sincerely sweet and genuine she was.  A girl who had gotten sucked into the vacuum of Hollywood. It created a void inside her, that she always seemed desperate to fill.  When she passed, it was not just sad, it was tragic. She wanted the very same things that I did and she perused it with everything she had in her being until it was all gone.  The business, as it's referred to is a very slippery slope, where most of the players are forever trying to reach the top and usually struggling against sliding to the bottom. I have to remind myself of this often. At 18 years old, you never think of that reality. You're too busy being mesmerized by the glitz.  The 'what if's' I dwell on could have had very dark possibilities. In the end I must trust the road I was led to and be grateful. 

To the dreamer in all of us,
The sky is a very big place, and stars are continuously forming.
May we never be discouraged at any age.

The Face of the Holy Spirit Around Us.

Today is Ash Wednesday. Perhaps you've begun to notice passerby's with what seems to be black markings above their brow. I would imagine in this modern day, most would quickly recognize the pattern and the source. In New York, there was a slight delay funny enough. The morning was like any other. People hustling by, filling the coffee shops and trains. As the morning turned into afternoon, I found more and more proudly displaying their signs of faith. The courage of the first to receive ashes, instilling confidence within the flock.  The hours passed and the number grew exponentially.  Religion for many, I suppose, can carry a shameful stigma and awkward fear of being misinterpreted.  At least in this Metropolitan city.  How often is religion used to divide and define us? Stereotypes of extremists used to represent the whole, inevitably misconstruing the message.  As a result, sadly our world grows more and more politically correct, taking "God" out of our vernacular.  I've grown to be in favor of possibly offending, than take the risk of 'hiding' my beliefs.

Although even for someone like myself, so rooted in own sense of religion, I've struggled with finding my faith between the grid of concrete these past two years.  Perhaps it is the energy of city, the relentless pace that challenges ones serenity.  Quiet moments rarely come, if at all.  There's a constant flow of foot traffic, honking of cabs enforcing their right of way, cell phone interruptions and the general determination to survive another day in this pressure cooker.  It is in those brief times, when I remember to look up, that I take in the clouds, the heavens, God.  Peeking through the slivers of blue sky amongst the concrete giants, I feel the hand reaching.  There is forever a tendency toward disconnect, that is so easy to fall prey to here. The summer brings leisurely days in Central Park, which finely tunes that chord between here and above.  However the winter, I'm afraid, reminds me just how easily it can be severed if you aren't paying attention.

It was reaffirming to watch the comings and goings of my neighborhood church.  Amongst a sea of people, you forget just how many share in your faith.  In a time of hardships and economic despair, it is comforting to see so many believers lifting their eyes.  Most days, I would never know, until speaking with them about God.  And how often does that happen?  In a city of millions there is an unfortunate byproduct of feeling oddly alone.  As I sat in church, praying for those in my life, I felt the power of people uniting.  I felt the calling of their hearts, whether old or new believers.  I felt their needs, as much as my own.

No matter how grounded each of us may be, to our beliefs of that which exists above, I think it's a beautiful thing that so many boldly proclaim their love of God today.  I am a Christian through and through.  While I am taught that only through Jesus are we saved, I truly believe in my heart that God speaks to each of us in our own language.  He loves us completely and will lead us, if we are open to follow.  I believe with all my heart in Jesus, his teachings, his suffering and from that, our forgiveness of sins.  It is the path I was led to, many many years ago.  I also believe that only in death, perhaps, will we ever know the answers to all the questions we may have in this world.

In this life we are given our challenges, our joys, our humility, our intellect, our yearning for knowledge, our curiosity and our inner spirit that will forever open our eyes if we allow it.

Growing Pains of Friendship Circles

There was a time in my 20's, when I would say without question, that I had hundreds of 'friends'. Perhaps it was the leisurely lifestyle of Los Angeles or perhaps it was a byproduct of an adolescence spent mostly alone.  I never saw myself as fitting in while growing up, although I laugh now as I'm not entirely sure if any of us ever recall fitting in during our awkward teens. Either way, it wasn't until I left the nest (and the state) to attend college that I believe my circle began to grow. Dorm living does that for you I suppose. A house full of 18 year olds, away from home for the first time in their lives, learning how to be responsible functional adults together.  Not sure how responsible fake id's, late night pre-exam parties and my new found obsession with boys was, but I was definitely discovering the necessity of a well rounded support network. For the first time in my life, it seemed as though we were all on the same playing field. There was no division between the Prom King and the Mathletics Geek. We were all 18, clueless and in need of knowing that we weren't alone. By the time I graduated I had an insatiable desire to keep my circle growing. What I failed to begin realizing was that we would all continue to keep growing further and away .  A guy once told me in the form of a breakup speech that 'People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime'. While I had trouble appreciating the eloquence in the midst of getting dumped, I later understood how true those words really were.

From the beginning, I looked at everyone as my best friend. I loved knowing that there were so many lives connected to my own. I loved the idea, that I the unpopular kid that spent most of my childhood trying to win over my peers without success, now had an arsenal of amazing people in my corner. In return, I hoped that offered them the same. If human nature is generally universal, I think the basic construct of relationships can in essence be inherently slightly selfish. We desire connection because it makes us feel loved, gives us an opportunity to feel as though we make a difference and hopefully in the end, well thought of.  Trouble with that is sometimes the 'take' out weighs the 'give'. Over time, you begin realizing that sometimes you're the one making the effort. Instead of constantly initiating the calls, I began pulling back to see if anyone would notice. It was a cycle that seemed to repeat itself every couple months. Although rarely was the shift Earth shattering, since the friendships seemed to be a steady rotation of the coming and going. In the end we always reconnected and it was like old times again.  All along the way though I think circumstance clouds one's perception. It's like having bad boyfriends... if you date enough you forget what a good one is like. The same can be said about friendships. The quantity outshines the quality and discernment becomes incredibly dull.

It wasn't until life changed dramatically on me with a move and marriage, that my eyes grew sharper. Thousands of miles between here and there can really pose an issue in the effort department. In an age of technological hyper speed advancement, the phone seems a rather archaic vessel of communication. Facebook has replaced the occasional email conversation and Twitter is the new text. Passive interaction with a comprehensive spectrum of visual information. We can look up anyone and know exactly what they're doing at any given moment. We have vested interest in their lives but ironically they may never know that we actually spent a portion of our day thinking of them, unless we offer the conciliatory, 'Hey how are you?" wall greeting which almost always results in the "I'm great, you?"... A public display of vague interactions that lacks any sense of real human connection. An Internet full of exchanged pleasantries... in the end leaving you feeling even more isolated. I'm somehow reminded of that After School Special style of story where Jimmy moves away with his mom, longingly waving and watching out the back window as they make their way down the neighborhood street.

I suppose the test of friendship begins right in that moment. You discover those that will make the effort and those that perhaps may not. There lies the difference between a season and a lifetime. I surely had many 'Reasons', those fleeting acquaintances that seemed to fade the very next day. I had many, many 'Seasons'. The ones that witnessed so much of my evolutionary journey and allowed me to be part of theirs. Then there are the Lifetimes, the laughs we simply will never forget, the time that flies without our knowledge, the milestones we witness, the connective string that knows no distance. Those are the dwellers of my heart.

As a 35 year old married woman, I wonder sometimes if that was it. Did I meet all the 'lifetimes' I was going to meet? I knew this was coming, as I observed those in my group that married before I. Married life switches up priorities, it reallocates time. You find yourself in a new type of circle: 'Married Couple' and  'Married with Kids', the later we have not been introduced to yet but I have no doubt that's coming around the bend.  At every phase, there seems to be adjustments. For someone like me, that is quite comfortable with routine, I am reluctant to shaving off any more. Alas, there is an undercurrent of instinct that is seemingly becoming more and more acute and selective. I'm not jumping nearly as eager as the puppy I once was. In a city of millions, a bustling metropolis such a New York, I probably crossed paths with hundreds on any giving day. It's taken a couple of years to feel the roots growing beneath me and you take for granted how easy it was to meet new people as an 18 year old in their first year of college. Slowly but surely the social network is webbing outward but just how big do I really need it be these days? Am I ready to let go of that lonely little girl inside me? Am I ready to hold out for the Lifetimes and spend the rest of the time cultivating them?

Who knew a city so overpopulated could feel so incredibly lonely? But is it really, or is it my unfair bias? The needs of my younger self seem to like making the comparison but the new adult growing inside me, is feeling the pains of finally shedding expectation. When did someone else's love become so much more important than my own self-love? When did the number of friends in our personal world matter...Oh, yes when Friendster, Myspace and Facebook started counting them for us! At the end of my days, after I received all the life lessons, I hope I made a difference. Most importantly I hope I gave as much as I got.

Can Christians Remember to Love like Jesus?

After walking home from completing some errands I decided to pop into the church next door to my home. There is something about sitting in the quiet of a still church and praying that reminds me to stay connected to my faith. This morning something a little more unusual happened.

I had settled myself towards the back pew and began praying when I started to hear the sounds of rather loud chatter. At first it was indistinguishable but my thoughts immediately went to judgment.  In my own inner monologue, I said to myself, "I can't believe people are talking so loudly in church...It's like a library", there's certain etiquette one maintains and an expectation of behavior in a place of worship. Eventually the talking got louder as the two gentleman began to approach behind me. It was at this point that I was able to put the hints of conversation together. I realized that the small group I had passed on my way in, were actually patients visiting from a rehab facility. Perhaps this was a requirement of their treatment or a transition out of the facility. I wasn't quite sure, but I began to listen all the while feeling shameful in some ways. Not only was I've eavesdropping, which is rude, but I also began having guilt about being so judgmental at first. These men struggled daily with their inner demons. Drugs and alcohol had become their salvation and now they were being brought into the fold of real saving grace. It was apparent that they struggled with this course of treatment, perhaps were even slightly resistant. They spoke of a female counselor whom they loved, as much as they may have loathed. She seemed to be successful in opening them up. Poetically enough they remained open as they continued to talk amongst their peers rather noticeably, within the walls of this otherwise peaceful cathedral.

Their conversation, though brief, inspired a realization that Jesus' love knows no bounds. Unlike humans who, at times, bombard, command and then persecute, God found a simple gentle way of showing his love. This group of men, had indeed been brought there not by choice, but the experience ignited their spirits. They began talking about faith, about the Christians that they knew that had strong faiths. They talked about their shortcomings with drugs and alcohol and the needs to improve their lives.  While they may not have had the prescribed etiquette of church behavior, they had received the message ever so subtlety. I watched as others from the group walked around the various stations of the cross and other holy artifacts. One never knows the inward voices on the human heart, except for God, but they seemed to be awed by the beauty and peacefulness.  What I witnessed before me, was God's unconditional love being bestowed on these gentleman that I was so quick to judge when first hearing their voices. While some of us may choose to pray in silent meditation, it is possible that just by fellowship with others in a place of worship, prayers were being made in between the words. It was a good lesson to remind me that God has a place in his heart for all of us and so shall we offer the same.

As I sat, thankful of the reminder of what faith really entails, I had another opportunity offered as I left. The men now all gathered near the front door with their guide, seemed to be unsure of how to feel about themselves in such a place as this. They seemed to have that uncomfortable body language, not knowing whether to stand or run. I think we are always our own worst enemy and judge, no matter what our demons may be. As I walked past them, I smiled knowing and believing that we all belonged there. One of them in particular responded with his own gentle smile. We connected not by backgrounds, but by acceptance. It was the most human I have felt in quite some time. It's amazing how life gives you these moments to be a better person, if you pay attention. I think being Christian is about understanding your faith and striving to be the example and not the demand.

Post Valentines Report: Men are making a romantic comeback!

I used to hate Valentines day, mainly for the reason that I usually had a 'stand in' boyfriend at any given moment. Most found the frivolities of hallmark holidays way too cliche and more importantly way too legit in defining a relationship, a relationship. ie "If we spend holidays together it means we're really a couple"... said the guy after months of dating. Hence, Valentines Day was on the top of the list of no-no's. Perhaps it was an LA thing. The land of Peter Pans happily making their way girl to girl without any real commitment. Oh hell, maybe it was just me that they weren't that into. They wrote a whole book and film adaptation on that right? Either way, it made experiencing V-Day in NY so much better than before. Not only was the city bustling with men of all demographics carrying bouquets in hand but I too was the blushing recipient of said arrangements.  There was something wonderful and inspiring to see so many briskly walking through Manhattan with flowers in hand. Whether it was a single long stem rose from the local botega, or a Wall street exec proudly grasping his giant blood red two dozen, all the men seemed to walk a little differently. Like a peacock flaunting their feathers you got a real sense that these men weren't pressured into the hallmark festivities, they weren't beholding to their spouses or their lovers, they participated willingly and with a look of absolute joy. 

This raised an observation...I saw far fewer women with such bouquets in hand, or red heart shaped adorned boxes or candies and it made me wonder if the genders had switched somewhere in our social evolution. I suppose the romance of Valentines does fall most commonly into the male lap but should that necessarily be the case? Even I, a newly married woman, found it surprisingly difficult to figure out the best way to show my husband my own Valentines love. Ultimately I settled on taking him out for a steak dinner. What man doesn't like a good steak and a glass of Chateaunuef Du Pape? Although being married presents any even funnier predicament... we're married, which means we share the money... So I guess we took ourselves out to dinner. lol. Nonetheless it was deliciously decadent and romantic although the feeling still remained...What does Valentine's day mean for women? Is it a day where we feel entitled to sit back and test men or at the very least give them the lion's share of the effort? I would hope not... but I have to say I spent the day observing others. The men looked elated and the women looked either angry or expectant. I'd have to say the men this year get an "A" in my book, for today when I went to Whole Foods for my morning coffee, all the roses were gone! All that was left, were sad wilted and random remnants. Go guys! What a comeback! Now we have to get these gals in gear!

Strength: A lesson learned when the wrinkles begin to form

I suppose it's apropos that my first stab at blogging deals with the concept of 'Strength', mainly being that of the inward emotional type. Such a bold revelation that happened just as suddenly as this first post. I spent the first year of marriage learning more about myself and my relation to others than I did in the 34 years thus far. I relocated from Los Angeles, a city that welcomed me at the naive age of 18 and cradled my upbringing for 15 years. In that decade and a half I thought I was living the life of an 'adult'. I had an apartment, a car payment, credit cards and social calendars. What I lacked was experience. A checking account doesn't make you a woman or a man, a car note is far from real responsibility and breakup number 2 with rocker boyfriend of the week doesn't sufficiently add up to the challenges one encounters in the face of bonafide turmoil. Granted, it all helps shape who we are, but I was mistaken to think that I had somehow peaked in my awareness. My 'wordly-ness' was just another delusion of Tinseltown. A backdrop for what was to come.

I met marriage head on with a cross country move, leaving behind everything I had and was in the West Coast. I packed my bags and took the leap laughing all the way. Of all things, the wedding was the easiest to tackle. It was the new city that stumped me, it was hitting reset on the career that near debilitated me. It was the first 'real' moment of adulthood that proved to me that every heartbreak in LA was just a training ground. Two months into our marriage, we had discovered that we successfully had gotten pregnant, never guessing that it could be so easy. So we thought. Just as soon as we received the news, a week later the smile turned to concern when our doctor could not locate the fetus in the embryonic sac. It was suggested we wait another week and test again. At week 7, there existed only a growing empty sac. We learned this horrible trick of nature had a name- Blighted Ovum. At this time our first physician casually suggested that we abort the pregnancy. Despite his expertise I had found evidence that miracles in the situation can and did occur. My husband and I decided to put our faith in God and hold out for his word. If it was not meant to be than a miscarriage would be imminent. We waited 12 weeks for that sign. Days before an appointment with a new OB/GYN I began to have symptoms of a potential miscarriage. Our new physician immediately sent us in for ultrasound that same afternoon.

Over the 12 weeks, I suppose we had some time to grieve, we had time to hope , we had time to accept all possible outcomes... at least that's what we had thought. In a darkened room with my husband's hand in mine, we watched the monitor as the lab technician painstakingly attempted to locate a fetus or even a heartbeat. I remember glancing at her face trying to gauge her reactions. Their training goes beyond the science as it was impossible to read her expression, but I knew she was desperately trying to locate some sign, ANY sign of life. I turned once again to the monitor catching a glimpse of my husbands eyes that could not help but water...12 weeks, countless prayers and many tears...there still remained simply an empty sac. Our child had stopped developing many weeks before and there was nothing to do but accept this fate.  After the procedure was complete a very kind eyed attending physician came into the exam room and looked at us both without speaking. Though he was not at liberty to discuss the findings without first contacting our primary doctor, we knew just by his silence our worst case scenario had begun to happen.

Within minutes of leaving the hospital I began to fully miscarry. Three hours at home alongside my husband we had lost what was left of any evidence of our pregnancy. So many weeks patiently waiting and the book had closed suddenly and without much pain. It simply drifted away from us. It took time to heal both physically and emotionally and perhaps there will always be a part of me that remains a bit scarred. In  the following months we looked forward to being able to begin trying again. We accepted our outcome and thought ourselves courageous for waiting as long as we did for God to step in and show us the road. Months would go by, and the spoils of getting pregnant so quickly the first time made trying again so difficult. Month after month were mini heartbreaks. You go into it trying to not 'try' but who's really good at that anyway? It defies human nature especially the nature of two people that came so close, only to begin hoping again. We are at 9 months of trying and exactly a year from when we first got pregnant. A Year? A year has gone by and somehow we're still here, trying, hoping and trusting that indeed there is a road. A first year of marriage being met with such a challenge as this. Amazingly and with much gratitude, I have never felt more strongly about a partner. Neither of us imagined a honeymoon phase such as this. I never knew what real loss was until now. I never knew about life problems that went beyond the occasional breakup or lack of funds. It was finding love at the surrender of a life I had on another coast, it was losing a child without ever getting to meet them, it was testing a fledgling marriage with the hope that we can survive everything. All along there being no guarantees of anything.

I have no doubt the road ahead will be difficult. There is so much uncertainty in trying to conceive, there is fear in my climbing age, mounting costs of Doctors visits, treatments and whatever other things lay before us. There is also the reality that God, does have a purpose and a plan and while our agenda to have children is natural and beautiful it may not unfold the way we had hoped. This is the strength of character I never knew until now. I see her more and more in the mirror along with a couple extra wrinkles here and there. If I quiet the head I believe I hear a very steady beating of the heart. A centered self that only comes when you have left youth behind. In the midst of disappointment and challenge I'm finding myself growing beyond my own expectations. I find my marriage building with stronger blocks and know that this foundation though absolutely saddening will not destroy that which is wonderful if we persevere. At the end of night, is a breaking dawn that cast shadows away. It will illuminate the road ahead and warm the chill.