Category Archives: courage

Hygge, The Thirty-Eighth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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There is a distinct feeling of “hygge’” a Danish word for contentment that comes from comfort and an easy friendliness, that perfectly describes the vibe we encountered in Copenhagen.  Last week we had taken advantage of an Icelandair special to visit Copenhagen.  I have always wanted to go to Nordic countries, but they seemed so remote.  This deal with a stopover in Iceland was exactly what I needed to bridge the gap from a dream to a reality.  

Throughout the years I’ve read food and travel blogs about Denmark and Copenhagen.  And Copenhagen did not disappoint.  The food was excellent.  It’s so much fun to visit the outdoor markets, the covered markets, the cafes, the bakeries, and the restaurants.  And, like New York, Copenhagen is a great walking city.  Every chance I had I walked for miles, getting lost, finding myself in unknown neighborhoods or parks where there was always something new I encountered.  

Our very first day in Copenhagen, jetlagged and hungry, we set off for a foodhall.  The closest good one, we were told, was only one stop away on the “S” train.  We dutifully walked the 15 minutes to the train station, bought our four-day pass for public transportation.  The machine preferred European credit cards, so another ten minutes were spent trying to obtain our cards, but we prevailed.  Next, we set off to find the S train, only to see that there were multiple tracks.  We were flummoxed.  

Luckily, a passerby helped us out and though we ended up on the Subway, we eventually found our way to the market.  She was the first of many who embodied the hygge vibe.  She was friendly, considered our request, and offered the best way she knew to get there.  Even though we stopped others who had not known the directions we needed, all were kind, pausing from their morning commute to listen fully to our request.  And, though it was our first hour in the city, there were many interactions that reflected the hygge mentality.  

Right before we left for vacation, I had read a post that was critical of those who share their vacations on social media.  She, the poster, saw it as bragging.  It’s possible my posts can be perceived that way.  Though not my intention, I do understand that traveling is a luxury, and it’s not always accessible to all.  And, yet I love traveling and it’s an aspect of my life that always feels enriching.  However, I did wonder if it was appropriate to share my travels.   

After considering her post, I decided to share my experience.  Travel means a lot to me.  It gives me joy.  Not only do I get a great deal out of traveling, the least of which was learning more about hygge on this trip, but I do bring back what I learn and do my best to apply it to my everyday life.  I’m happy to be home.  There is a hygge in sleeping in my comfortable bed, though I do miss the feather beds on our mattresses in Copenhagen.  I am grateful to apply a new type of ease to my daily activities.  There’s a good reason Denmark is the second happiest country in the world.   I hope to visit Finland at some point, as that was rated number one.  I look forward to seeing what I can learn on that trip.  

Self-Care Tips:  

  • If you listen to or read someone who has a very strong opinion, see if it applies to you.  What they say is reflective of their point of view.  So often we shut down our expressive selves because someone else says it’s not okay.  Do your best to be okay with your choices and live your life fully as you, while not purposely hurting yourself or other. And understand not everyone will be okay with your choices, only you have to be okay with them.  
  • Apply “Hygge” to your life.  Find ways that bring ease and comfort.  It’s simple but not always easy to take the path of least resistance.  
  • Create a savings account for a specific goal or dream.  For instance, I have a separate travel account.  Even if your budget is small, set aside a dollar a week, less if that’s what’s needed.  It can make the goal seem more real.  There are many no fee apps and banks that allow for this type of account.  Or you can use a specific change jar for a goal.  This is great at any age.  

Labor Day Weekend, The Thirty-Fifth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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When I was growing up summer was always book ended by the academic year’s completion in June and a new school year following Labor Day.  In between were hot days at camp, or at home in the backyard under the sprinkler, with regular trips to Hidden Lake or the Haddontown Swim Club for substantial wet reprieve from the beating sun.  

Here we are at this 2023 summer’s finale on this Labor Day weekend.  The air is cooler as if a declaration that summer is at its end.   In my teen and preteen years I would have been working at my father’s shoe store ringing up saddle shoes for the cheerleaders, parochial oxfords for local children attending Catholic schools, and Buster Browns for the public elementary school crowd. 

There was anticipation in the air.  We went to Korvettes or Grants to load up on school supplies, including Lego-sized sharpeners for our number 2 pencils.  Figuring out what to wear on the first day was a pressing matter after first grade.  Oh, how I loved my plaid wool skirt, with red fringe and a large gold-plated safety pin as an adornment.  It was worn with a Danskin ribbed turtleneck, and red tights that never stayed up, causing me to waddle home at the end of that first day.  I didn’t care.  I loved that 60s fashion trend.  

Now in my 60s, I appreciate those memories, and miss the clear delineation of seasons as signified by the school year.  Time now is not marked by classes and tests.  The year is of my making.  Though I appreciate the freedom that allows, I do wax nostalgic for the endless summers and the structure of school in session.  

As I let go of this summer and welcome Autumn in all its glory, I hope you, too, can enjoy sweet memories while relishing the transformative Fall season.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • Give yourself a break.  If you have a “should” for this weekend or week, pause to see if it must get done, or whether you can put the “should” on pause and do something restful and/or fun instead.  
  • Learn a new word, and when possible, use it.   I can recommend “WordDaily.com. However, there are a good number of vocabulary apps and sites.  This week featured the word “Disembogue,” meaning a river or stream flowing into the sea or a larger river.  
  • Delete unwanted or unused app or apps from your phone.  Or you can unsubscribe from  mailing-lists you find annoying.  Letting go of the junk emails, and ignored apps can feel like a reset.  

Beneath the Facade, The Thirty-Third Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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Growing up my mother and her mother were sticklers for good manners.  I made a point of saying please and thank you.  I was afraid they would view me as rude, and I didn’t want that moniker.  My grandmother would point out other children who might have been louder than us, or publicly whiny, and she’d use those children as cautionary tails of behavior we were to stringently avoid.  

I appreciate good manners.  Things can be pleasurably orderly when people stick to the rules, when the rules make sense for all.  And I am always grateful for good manners.  Yesterday, when I once again rode Park Avenue for Summer Streets, I made a point of thanking the police and the Department of Transportation volunteers and temp employees for being there.  I was so grateful and happy to share that gratitude.  All but one smiled back, and they were nice exchanges along the beautiful ride.    

I was grateful I started out early so that the roads weren’t crowded.  I was grateful for the cool morning air, a rarity in August.  I had filled my tires so my ride was smooth.  And to those that I thanked I may have seemed nice.  But lurking underneath the gratitude and manners was a highly judgmental, cranky older woman.  For the day I had become an architype.   I was mad that some cyclists were in the right lanes, while some runners were in the left lanes.  There was clear signage.  Had I not been a shaky rider, I could imagine myself raising a fist each and every time I noted an interloper.  I also wasn’t pleased when motor bikes vroomed down the supposedly gas-free streets.  

In hindsight, I think these things scared me.  I’m a tentative cyclist.  I like empty roads without ruts. Smooth riding feels safer to me.  If I give myself grace, I can now see that my righteous anger was a defense of my fears.  And perhaps my fright isn’t specific to my bike ride.  Maybe it’s global warming anxiety.  Or a world in which people act out their fury in arbitrary ways.  Or fear of an unknown future.  Whatever the case I will do my best to ease my fears while living fully.  I’ll continue to have good manners, a multigenerational practice.  And I’ll check myself with care when my anger, judgment, and cantankerous nature peak out.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • When angry, check to see if the strong emotion is protecting a more vulnerable part of you.  If so, see if you can soothe yourself making room and a safe space for your frailer nature.  
  • Challenge yourself in small ways by doing things that feels doable even if you’re a little bit afraid.  It can be as small as a public bicycle ride in a busy city, stating a preference when you’re usually agreeable, or stepping out in a way right for you
  • Try reading or watching a genre that is new or different for you.  I came to appreciate graphic novels, even if it’s not my go to.  See if you might come to understand what others see in another genre.  

Fathers Day, The Twenty-Fourth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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Happy Father’s Day.  When I say that it conjures up so much for me and for so many others, I expect you included.  Many of us have had varied relationships with our fathers nothing like Father Knows Best, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, Blackish, or even Home Improvement.  If only we could tune in for 30 minutes a week and enjoy the comical moments that focus on the highlights of the best parts of them, with a little silly thrown in.  

My dad was king when it came to bad dad jokes.  I would groan, embarrassed I had a dad who would even say “Don’t bother. Everything looks good this way,” every time I offered to clean his overly-smudged spectacles.  Larry, though fastidious with his eyewear, has taken on the torch of bad dad jokes.  Usually they’re groaners, but once in a while they make us laugh.  Maybe he’s not comedy ready, but the few good ones could be included in a non-existent situation comedy.  

Whatever our experience is with our dads, good, difficult, sad, troubled, no one is one dimensional.  I will always appreciate my father for working in his shoe store at age twelve and thirteen, my second job following babysitting.  I learned how to work the cash register, count backwards to give proper change, and people watch.  I could see when finances were tight, and the family was spending money they didn’t have to get back-to-school shoes for their children.  We always made sure they got a small toy to go with their purchase.  Of course, Buster Brown customers, the families who could afford new shoes for Autumn, in addition to maryjanes for special occasions, would get a molded replica of Tige, Buster Brown’s dog, or some other brand trinket.  

I recognized the lonely ladies who had difficult feet to fit who came in to find their next slip-ons, even though they would go home with nothing.  My dad worked as hard for them as any of his customers, even as he knew he needed to make his sales to keep his business afloat.  

I learned about hard work, and I learned about the unfairness of life while helping him out at the store.  I also learned how to clean a rug with an overused, old vacuum cleaner.  All valuable life lessons.  

Sometimes our dads inspire us to reparent ourselves.  Their best might not have been best for us.  So we muddle on learning from our mistakes, and theirs, so we can learn to care for ourselves better, as well as others others, if possible.  

Larry is a loving father.  He made sure that Alex benefitted from his music connections to see special shows and concerts.  He learned to love gently and learned acceptance as our son transitioned to a young trans man.  

Parenthood can be a lesson for all of us no matter who our fathers are or were, or even in their total absence.  Parenting is an ongoing process of love, patience, humility, joy, fear, sadness, awe, grief, and so much more.  But isn’t that true of all of life?  

Self-Care Tips:

  • Make a list of what you’ve learned from your father, good, bad or otherwise.  See how that imperfect relationship has shaped you. See if you are able to be grateful for something he/they brought to your life. 
  • Being caring to yourself today.  Reparent yourself in a way that embodies the parent you need at this time.  
  • Laugh.  It can be something dumb like a dad joke, but enjoy a moment of levity today.  

Split, The Twenty-Third Week in the Second Year of the New Abnormal

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It was a mere coincidence that we happen to be in Split, Croatia the same day the New York Times travel section featured 36 hours in Split.  It’s about the same amount of time we’ll be in Split, which is a beautiful port city on the coast of the Adriatic Sea.    

I would hear what a stunning country Croatia was. Anyone I knew who traveled there would expound in its beauty and charm. But having so many places we wanted to travel it never made it to the top of our list.  Then I had read that Intrepid Travel, a small group tour company, had been named the number one tour guide by a few outlets like Afar, Travel Awards, and more.  It was then I looked at their itineraries, and the Croatian trip of the Dalmatian Coast fit the bill for time, cost, and interest. 

So here we are with a view of the Adriatic Sea, enjoying the ruins of the last Roman Emperor’s castle from the 4th century, Diocletian.  Yeah, I had never heard of him either. That’s what’s so great about travel, we learn so much while enjoying another culture.  

 What did surprise us is how delicious the food is.  We think of Italy when we think of pizza, and yet, in Split pizza is everywhere.  Almost like New York City, except it’s a walled town with no high buildings. So not like New York at all.  And the fresh seafood is exquisite.  

It does feel as if we’ve been transported to another time.  Before reaching the city center there is a centuries old farmer’s market where farmers come in the morning to sell their wares, from handmade cheeses to deep red cherries. They tend their farms in the afternoons, only to return the following morning.   From there we enter the city gates.  I can walk inside the gothic city walls for hours, getting lost through the labyrinth of narrow alleyways.  When I find my way outside the city walls, the fresh sea air is invigorating.    

And, when I tire of continuing my walk the length of the marina, I can sit watching the many tourists with a lovely cup of cappuccino.  Split has proven to be a wonderful start to a memorable Balkan vacation.   

Self-Care Tips:

  • Look up a Croatian recipe.  It will be something new that will only enhance your culinary repertoire.
  • People watch.  It used to be a wonderful past time before smart phones.  But it’s a lost art worth revisiting.  
  •   Get a short history lesson by going to Tic Tok or YouTube.  Pick a subject or location and learn a new fact or two from the comfort of your home.   

Train Delay, The Twenty-First Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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The Q train came to a halting stop.  An announcement immediately came on asking “Who pulled the emergency cord?”  At the end of our car, a good citizen thinking there was a request to pull the cord, got up from her seat, pulled the cord, even as the train stood idle.  She sat back down returning to her book.  A hardcover, old school, though she looked barely 25.  

I was slightly annoyed to have my short trip home delayed.  We were in-between the Union Square and 34thStreet stops.  The tunnel between the stops is a mile of tracks and darkness.  The lights were on in the train.  As I looked around I saw eyes meeting strangers’ eyes, a rare occurrence in the subway.  Seated neighbors started to talk.  I remained quiet, looking to see if anyone was panicking.  Surprisingly, everyone was in a good mood and remained calm.  Perhaps that had more to do with it being 9:30 pm on a Friday night, the start of a three-day weekend.  

A seasoned older gentleman, well, probably no older than me, was reassuring a group of tourists that he had been through this before and we’d get through this.  Others mentioned this had never happened to them before.  Personally, I couldn’t remember a time the emergency brake was pulled on a train.  I’d been delayed in my 42 years traveling underground, but this was new for me.  

I looked to see that my phone battery was full, settling in to read downloaded articles.  I barely finished the first short read when an announcement proclaimed we would be starting shortly.  I assumed the vague phrase meant something different to the crew than to us passengers.  However, within three minutes, around fifteen minutes in total, we were again on our way. 

It was a meaningful quarter hour.  Strangers supported one another.  Everyone remained composed, and we all clapped when the train moved forward.  Rather than ruining a terrific evening, it elevated my night, giving me hope.  Witnessing this sliver of kindness and respect reassured me in a city that is known by many as dangerous and cold.  Given the opportunity my subway car-mates chose kindheartedness.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • Offer assistance.  Sometimes we see someone struggling, and if we open a door, help them cross the street, or give of ourselves in way that is not a hardship, we feel uplifted.  We get when we give.  
  • Practice calming habits, whether it’s a breathing exercise or tensing & relieving muscles, having a tool in a potentially stressful situation will be invaluable when that tension-filled time comes.  
  • When in a public place, people watch.  See if you can observe an act of kindness or a moment of care.  You, too, may find it reassuring.  

Micro Adjustments, The Twentieth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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I just heard about micro adjustments. I’d never heard the phrase or the concept before. It was introduced as a mindfulness practice to adjust our perspective from getting lost in our thoughts, or external circumstances, to coming back to the present moment. It connotes adjusting our consciousness from distraction to mindful awareness.  This may not be a new concept, but it’s new to me.  

I love the idea of micro adjustments.  They are slight but meaningful.  I plan on implementing micro adjustments when listening, or writing, or simply when walking and viewing the city.  When I catch myself drifting away lost in a thought loop I can micro adjust to enjoy the moment again.  

I tried it this rainy morning while baking banana bread.  I was half-way through the recipe when I started looking through the cabinets wondering how many spices and various ingredients I was never going to use.  Too many, that’s how many.  So, I started to get the foot ladder to make room on the top shelves.  Then I caught myself sidetracked, again.  I stepped down from the ladder, turned around, and then continued mixing the dry ingredients into the wet batter.  

It felt so good to go back to my original activity.  I completed the mixing, the pouring into the pan, and the clean-up before returning to the cabinets.  It’s a quotidian moment, home tasks, easily diverted, then going back to start over again.  I’m easily distracted. Having a phrase that quantifies that instant when the shift takes place bringing me back to the present is terrific.  Micro adjustments are my new favorite contextual idiom.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • The next time you find yourself readjusting to the present moment, remember you just performed a micro adjustment. Acknowledge yourself. 
  • Name something you know you do well.  Smile, and take a moment to appreciate your gift.
  • Look in your cabinets, refrigerator or pantry and get rid of anything beyond expired, or anything you have that you privately know you’ll never use.  Then enjoy the space created.

Mother’s Day Ambivalence, The Noneteenth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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I, like many, have mixed feelings about Mother’s Day.  

As a daughter I knew that I loved my mom, and I also yearned for her acceptance, spending far too much of my babysitting money to bask in the momentary approval of an expensive Mother’s Day gift.  I’d set up Arlene’s Kitchen, honoring our mom.  It was a made-up restaurant in our home with hand-written menus for the family.  Nervous about what I might cook, I’d prep all the possibilities from eggs, any type of French toast or bagels & lox.  As down home as those brunches were, they were followed by the certainty that my clean-up techniques would be met with inevitable disapproval.  No one could make a countertop shine like my mom.  

Then when I became an older mother to a young child I wanted recognition.  Even as I doubted my own parenting skills, I wanted my family to tell me I was great.  Not that it would have landed with accepting ears, but my insecurities yearned for others to tell me I was up to snuff since I wasn’t able to give that to myself.  For many years the let-down from those absent acknowledgements felt like a void that remained empty.

There is no such thing as perfect parenting.  We all make mistakes because we all have our own personal limitations.  Mothers receive the lion’s share of blame while also receiving less than deserved praise.  Parenting is a humbling job filled with unexpected challenges, unwanted criticisms, surprising joys, and a myriad of emotional responses.  

Many skip this made-up holiday altogether.  Whether you’re not a parent by circumstance or choice, others feel free to comment.  Or, if you are  a parent, it can feel like pressure to make the day count, even when you’re too tired to celebrate.  

Perhaps we can learn the invaluable practice of parenting or reparenting ourselves.  Be caring and generous of heart on Mother’s Day as in every day.  We deserve to give ourselves grace.  Being patient with ourselves is invaluable.  Let us celebrate the ways we try to make our and others’ world better.  Simple acts of kindness are gifts that honor our best selves any day.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • Acknowledge Yourself.  What is something about you or something you’ve done for which you are proud?  Naming it yourself provides a moment of self-empowerment.
  • What is something you’ve learned from a parent or a mentor figure?  How has it informed your life?  It helps to be in touch with that gratitude for yourself and for your relationships.
  • Stretch your skill to embrace ambivalence.  Think about the mix of feelings you may have for the roles in your life, as well as for the parenting you received. 

Tattle Tales, The Fourteenth Week of the Second Year in the New Abnormal

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I grew up with three siblings.  If you grew up with siblings, as I did, you are familiar with the age-old enterprise of tattling.  My younger sister, Susan, now Chova Sara, was the tattletale.  She was the one that thought it important to report to my parents, usually our mom, whatever misadventures we were enacting.  When I was six to her four, she ran to our mom to say I wasn’t letting her play with my Barbies.  This was true, but only because she cut their hair and drew on them with crayons.  Nonetheless, I had to release more dolls to her based on “fairness.”  This made no sense to me, but she got what she wanted, and it spurred her on for years.  

When I was fifteen she couldn’t get downstairs fast enough when she rifled through my drawers and found my almost full pack of Eve cigarettes.  I was no smoker, but I did purchase a 75 cent pack to try and smoke at high school socials.  I, a frizzy haired, acne prone teen with a penchant for musicals, wanted to seem cool.  I imagined cigarettes was the entry point.  I coughed more than I inhaled, thus ending a two-week foray into the impossible road to being a cool, cigarette-smoking kid.  But I kept the pack just in case I could offer an Eve to one of the true cool kids. 

Our mom, a former smoker, who coughed if she even thought there was smoke around her, was furious. I was grounded.  My explanation had holes.  Not only did I own a forbidden pack of cigarettes, but I was going to share an unhealthy habit with someone else.  While our mom lambasted me, I got a glimpse of Susan’s righteous smirk.  I imagine that same smirk on each of the mouths of all the tattlers online.  We have morphed into a culture of telling on others. 

When did we learn that telling on others was a better strategy than speaking in a respectful manner to said perpetrator?  We gain so much from having thoughtful dialog.  We may disagree, and in many instances, we may not come to a resolution, but there is a chance to connect rather than divide if we speak to one another rather than tell on each other.  

I believe when we feel we lack personal power we resort to public ranting or gossiping.  We dump our righteous opinions on the masses where we hope to receive positive reinforcement for negativity.  However, real confidence comes from being courageous enough to speak up without shaming someone else. In this way there’s a possibility you both might learn and grow.  Perhaps we can build our self-worth not by being righteous, which only strokes our egos, but by privately harnessing our emotional responses and caring for ourselves as we process those emotions. By looking inward instead of pointing fingers, we thoughtfully take steps towards positive change.   

Self-Care Tips:

  • Muster the courage to speak with someone with whom you disagree.  Let them know you want to understand their thoughts and actions.  Be open and think about what they tell you.  Monitor your emotional response.  And share your perspective, not to convince, but because you both matter.  
  • Stop! If you are about to rant with someone(s) who is/are not your friends, take a beat, write in a journal, but withhold from adding to the public negativity forum.  
  • Hold your own hand as if you’re holding hands with yourself.  Notice what that feels like.  Do you feel your own warmth?  Allow you to be there for yourself with this small gesture.  

Fails, The Twelfth Week of the Second Year in the new Abnormal

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I just heard that The Museum of Failure in Brooklyn opened last week (https://museumoffailure.com).  It’s primarily a collection of product fails through the last 5 decades or so.  I’m happy to be celebrating failure.  Their slogan is “Innovation Needs Failure!”  I’m not so sure I can say I’ve been innovative, unless one considers resourcefulness as an innovation, but I can say with absolute certainty that I, too, have a history of failures.

Though certainly not my first or last, but within vivid memory, is my failed first driving test. I remain an anxious driver. Lucky for me and other vehicles on the road, I live in Manhattan, have not owned a car since my late teens, and rarely drive.  At the time, I was 17, did not want to take the bus to high school anymore, and was horrified that I failed.  I didn’t want to drive so much as reap the benefits of being a driver, but I could not face my friends and classmates admitting to this personal and social failure.  

It’s taken me long time to own my failures. When I was younger, I was horrified to share any failures. Either I was afraid I’d get in trouble, or I was afraid I’d be judged poorly.  Though I experienced both, it was my own self-judgement that was harsher than anything I endured by others.  Luckily, the long line of mistakes I’ve made in this life have allowed me the opportunity to soften my judgement, and simply see mistakes as part of the human experience. 

Hopefully over the years I’ve learned from my mistakes.  Sadly, some mistakes hurt others by over sharing, or needing to fulfill some personal need rather than understanding that it would harm some else.  I lost friends given my poor judgement.  But I’ve also had friends who had a forgiving heart and understood I was lost or misguided, forgiving me, and allowing me to do better.  It is those friends, therapists, and family members who fostered change and growth.  I will always be grateful to them.  And I am now grateful to those who walked away because they didn’t want to be hurt again.  They taught me to do better and be better and to treat myself with care rather than look to others to validate me, especially when vulnerable. 

I look forward to making the trip to the Museum of Failure.  There’s something comforting in knowing it’s out there.  

Self-Care Tips:

  • When you’ve failed at something, write in a journal how it feels, and, when possible, what you learned that will help you in the future.  Try as best you can to be gentle with yourself, appreciating that the failure is part of the journey.  
  • When speaking on the phone purposely smile.  There is research to suggest that smiling lightens one’s speaking tone allowing for a more positive interaction.  
  • Throughout the day repeat the phrase, aloud or internally, “I am Enough.”  Experiencing ourselves as enough releases the pressure to be more, better, or different.