The Tony Awards

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Ever since I was in Junior High I was writing acceptance speeches for my Tony Award. It turned out later that I wouldn’t need those speeches since I was a bad actress, but I didn’t know that yet.  So I dreamed.  The first time I remember watching the Tonys, or as they were called then, The American Theater Wing Antoinette Perry Award for Excellence in Theatre, Fiddler on The Roof won. It could have been that my parents turned it on because a Jewish show was up for an award. But, I didn’t care. I loved seeing the show. It was a short award presentation, but I was hooked. In my first year of college The Tony Awards became a full special with performances from each musical. On the 20th Century won musical of the year, with the amazing Madeline Kahn. I was hesitant to see the revival this year, but I enjoyed it thoroughly   I was happy Fun House won this year even though I was awed by An American in Paris. Mostly though I’m happy for the winners no matter what my opinion. It’s their chance to read their rehearsed speeches, surprised and pleased to have won the votes by the members.

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The magic of theater is a pleasure I thoroughly enjoy. It can be a simple show, or it can be a grand production. I’m willing to go with whatever reality is created when the lights go down and I’m transported into another world. My first Broadway show was the original production of Grease in 1972. I had seen visiting shows in Philadelphia, but being on the Great White Way was the best for this preteen. The most recent Broadway show I saw was Airline Highway, a wonderful ensemble piece that closed too early. And, I will continue to attend Off-Broadway and Broadway shows because it makes me happy. I don’t need an acceptance speech to be in the audience, I just clap loudly to communicate my great appreciation of the talent I just witnessed.

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Milestones

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May and June seem to bring important moments in our lives. Just this weekend we traveled to celebrate three graduations, a graduate degree, a bachelor’s, and a high school graduation. My parents celebrated 60 years of marriage. My oldest friend celebrated his daughter’s Bat Mitzvah, and my husband ended his 24 years as an audio-engineer on The Late Show with David Letterman. No matter where he goes next, he won’t be working on David Letterman’s show. These are all major milestones that impact not only the lives of the celebrants, but also of their families, colleagues, and loved ones.

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Milestones are so important as they indicate a moment in time when something in our lives shift. We move beyond where we’ve been. But what does it take to reach our milestones? I believe we all have markers that may or may not be more significant than major life events, but they do get us through the day to day so that we can reach our goals. They are the times we just don’t feel like getting up to go to school. Or, it’s a time we had to push ourselves to get a paper done. It could be we don’t understand something and have to ask for help, though don’t really want to have to get that help. We all challenge ourselves in some way or another. We push past our own limitations to get to a better place. Or we have to get up after falling down, sometimes publicly.

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I believe in these seemingly small moments we extend ourselves, and we grow. They are the steps needed to reach our milestones. And, as we struggle to learn what we have to do to live a satisfying life, we create moments in which we can privately be proud of ourselves. Sometimes I just don’t feel like getting up, yet once I’m in the park jogging, I revel in the greenery and people I encounter. There are days I haven’t a clue what to write, and I go through drafts of dead-end pieces until I find my voice, even if it’s warbly. My parents may have had to disagree hundreds of times, but they stayed together understanding that the conflicts were not the only aspects that defined their marriage. My husband was fortunate to work with musical legends, but he had to go to work each day knowing there was something new to learn since the guests changed daily. And he showed up even though he wasn’t always certain he’d give them what they wanted.

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As we all know going to school isn’t always a picnic. Whether we have to take courses in which we are not secure, or whether we have to see people that aren’t nice to us, showing up and getting through the days can be challenging. Yet, in the end, I know Anne and Jake graduated with awards and honors, having faced their own trials.   I am proud of them for their accomplishments. Yes, they graduated, but they did so much more on their journey to graduation. And I am proud of Larry for all he accomplished personally and professionally. It takes work to reach our lives’ milestones, and we can congratulate ourselves for all we do, large and small to reach the end of each day. Each of these days carries us through, creating and shaping our achievements.

Memorial Day, 2015

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Traditionally today is the day you can safely wear white. The unofficial beginning of summer. Staying in Manhattan is a treat when so many go away. It’s such a simple pleasure. This afternoon I went for a jog on the East River and enjoyed the array of characters I encountered. The row of men fishing. Most had rods and used fish meat as bait. But some had traps and used chicken gizzards. I got thumbs up as I slowly ran by. Appreciating the encouragement I smiled back with my thumbs up for their potential catches. It was a New York moment. I passed a family ready to barbecue, a plastic checkered tablecloth on top of which were a rainbow assortment of 64 ounce sodas, yellow for pineapple, bright orange for Sunkist soda, purple for Fanta grape, and deep red for cherry. The children were playing on the grass while the moms chatted over a card game.

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There were families riding bikes together, and other joggers, all passing me by. I didn’t care, there was a light breeze, and I was enjoying the river on one side and the thin crowds from East Harlem, upper Manhattan and the upper eastside on the promenade. I didn’t see a lot of white, but I did see people of all ages wearing vibrant colors, as if they were manufactured from the same color lots as the sodas. One guy was schlepping a cart filled with picnic booty from Cosco. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt . That’s something I don’t see often anymore. My pale blush t-shirt was wet from sweat, like a sugary pink lemonade powder as it moistens to become a beverage.

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My struggle to write a piece for this week belies the pleasure I enjoyed while out. So I’ll end this here, high on the memory, low on creativity. Sometimes the limits of expression confound me. But I’m laughing about it, thanks to the day.

Why Don’t I Like Her?

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Ms. Garcia was fussy. She was tense and persnickety. She was one day old when I met her and addicted to meth. Understandably, she was not easily soothed.

Some of my best teachers were infants. There was a time years ago when I held babies at St. Luke’s Hospital in the nursery. It was a wonderful program initially created for newborns who were at risk for AIDS. But as crack grew to epidemic proportions, the program expanded to include drug-addicted infants. Most of the nurses were wonderful, but their work load was full, so they enlisted volunteers to help with the holding and feeding, giving the babies human touch when their families were unable to be there.

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What I found fascinating about the infants was that instinctively they felt more comfortable in some arms rather than others. While Ms. Garcia would allow me to feed her, Mr. Brown did better in the arms of Cindy, one of the pediatric nurses. We all had our favorites. Because so many of the infants were taken from their mothers following the birth, they were referred to as Mr. and Ms. So & so since few had been named.

One important lesson the babies taught me is that we are drawn to some people and not others. Prior to that, I worked so hard to have others like me. I was not a popular kid. The more I tried to fit in, the further down the social ladder I fell. It never occurred to me to check in with myself to see if I liked them. So from the time I was in elementary school I measured my self-worth by the acceptance of others. Not a winning strategy.

The babies taught me to trust my instincts. To listen to the feelings I have when around others. We all come up with reasons why we don’t like one person, or why we like another. But what I saw in the hospital nursery was that the reasons came later to us. We like whom we like. We see it most in dating. I dated a lot in my twenties. I met a lot of people who were very nice, but I still wasn’t interested in them. When I asked, I would say, “he was boring,” or, “we didn’t have the same interests.” But the truth was, it just wasn’t right. Not because of our interests, that was incidental to my initial experience with the date.

As a psychotherapist this lesson has been invaluable. Since I see psychotherapy as a path back to trusting oneself, the relationship matters. When asked for recommendations, I suggest meeting with a few therapists so a potential client has a chance of getting a good feeling about their prospective therapist. This might be the first step in learning to trust themselves.

I learned to trust myself after working with the infants, observing how and with whom they bonded.   I am grateful to the Misters and Ms.’s for this important lesson. The babies I held are in their twenties now. And I’m hopeful that they are returning to their natural state of being, in touch with their instincts. After all they gave freely and unknowingly, they deserve that, and so much more.

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Mother’s Day, 2015

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“We are all married to the same man.”

Judy Mannarino, Talented Artist, www.judymannarino.net

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Mother’s Day is a day fraught with mixed emotions. We’re parents, but we’re not mothers. We wish to be mothers but we’re not. We’re mothers, but we wished we weren’t. We love our children, but we get frustrated sometimes. Our mothers are no longer here. Our mothers are here, but we’re not sure how we feel about that. We’re indebted, we’re sad, we’re expectant, we’re disappointed. We’re ambivalent.

This morning I woke up, took my shower and came into the living room/dining area when I saw a card and gift. For the first few years of motherhood, Larry, my husband, wasn’t aware that Mother’s Day meant something to me. I could say I taught him, but it would be more accurate to say I shamed him into buying cards and gifts for this very Hallmark holiday.

Today he bought me a perfect gift, a pair of high-end earbuds from Future Sonics. As a walker, good earphones make all the difference. My only issue was that he had already given me the exact same gift this past Hanukkah. I loved them then. I was neither generous of heart nor gracious when I opened the gift. I wish I could say I had a sense of humor about it. I did not. I was petty.

It’s been difficult these past few months, and I wanted an easy day. I felt hurt, and I shared that fact. I know I’m so fortunate to have a husband who wrapped a gift and made an effort, yet I felt deprived, sad, in some unexplained way. I went for a long walk. I bought some earrings as compensation. And, yet, yet, when I came home I wanted attention. Larry was preoccupied, and I again felt as if he hadn’t apologized for the gift, nor gone out of his way to make this day special for me.

He says that whatever he does isn’t good enough. And, I say that he doesn’t really go out of his way to think about what would be meaningful to me. It’s a lose/lose for both of us. One would think we could disengage from this cycle, but we don’t. I measure his love by his gifts, and he measures my love by my approval or disapproval.

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By tonight can I see that I use him as a way not to face my own limitations. I had a beautiful day. I walked the city. And, I love New York.   I came home, and he had helped with an email issue. He did the laundry. I am working on my inclination to lean towards deprivation rather than abundance. While working on this, I will say, today I was abundantly small-minded. Maybe, just maybe, soon I will be able to say I am abundantly grateful. Until then, I will employ patience, first with myself, and then with Larry, and, Emma, our daughter.

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Anger Management

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Shortly after a lovely run in the park, and a chat in the colorful garden on this beautiful Sunday, I was crossing the street when a red mini SUV made a fast right, cutting me off. I slowed my walk so as not to be hit. I yelled into her open window, my right arm up,

“HEY!”

She gave me the finger and yelled, “Fuck You.”

I was pissed. Then I saw that she went onto my block. I silently wished her no parking space. A private revenge for scaring me, then blaming me for getting upset. As I arrived at my apartment building, I saw her car parked at a hydrant. Angry, I walked over to the vehicle. She was unloading stuff, presumably from Cosco. I walked up to her took off my sunglasses and said, “I want you to see who you almost ran over.”

“You’re nuts. I had plenty of room. Go away.”

“I don’t think so.”

It felt good to just stand there. Here was a woman who had scared me, and I felt calm, yet energized.

“You’re hassling me. Go away or I’ll call the police.”

“Please do, I’m happy to let them know that you almost ran me over.”

“Just leave. You’re hassling me.”

“No, I’m not. I’m on public property, not touching you, not threatening you, just standing.”

She took her phone out, and started taking pictures of me. Perhaps my picture might be somewhere on social media. Probably with a tag line of crazy woman hassling strangers. Let me know if you see it. I took out my phone and took a picture, too. I wasn’t sure what was motivating me, but I felt righteous. And, I was still angry. She had endangered both of our lives, and yet took no responsibility. I then crossed the street and went home. All the while she’s taking my picture.

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For me this was something of an accomplishment. I spoke up for myself, I did not act out, well, maybe a little, and then I moved on. Although I was angry, I was not compelled to match her anger and denial.

For a long period of time I denied my own anger. I remember in my twenties I was in the extraordinary Kate McGregor Stewart’s acting class. We were asked to offer something to a partner. I don’t remember his name but he wished for me a shelf of plates that I could crash letting go of my anger. I cried. I was enraged, but swallowed my feelings, hating that he thought I was angry. Being a new-ager, I thought anger was negative, and I only wanted to feel positivity. It’s taken me thirty years to accept anger as one of many emotions. Ire does not negate being optimistic, it’s just another aspect of our make-up.

So, today felt good. I could be angry, and I didn’t need to deny it. Nor did I need to dramatize it. It was a moment in time. I get to write about it, and next week I’ll write about something else, unless, of course, I’m angry again.

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Walking the Dog — A Grounded-Spirituality Post

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I had given myself a self-imposed deadline to write this post by tonight. But I was making no headway. I tried to start a couple of times, but they went nowhere.  Lame ideas with no way out. And, it was a busy day, testing my thin veil of discipline. Finally I sat down to write in earnest, well, I was hoping for that when Lucy, our dog, indicated that she had to go out. So, I got up hesitantly, got her leash, put on my jacket, checking for bags and treats, and we headed down the stairs to a lovely Spring evening. I was walking down the block when we ran into a friend with her adorable dogs. I rarely get to see friends given my schedule, so this impromptu meeting, was an unexpected gift. We walked the dogs for a short time while catching up.

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When they left, Lucy and I went into the park. There are guards and a patrol officer at our entrance, so I felt safe. Lucy took her time, sniffing to find just the right place to roll around. After that she was happy to take her time to do what we came out to do. All the while she’s happy to be outside, enjoying the sounds and smells of the park. Observing her had me realize that it’s the simple things that carry us through. Earlier I worked so hard to think of just the right blog post. Lucy’s ease of being reminded me that simply being out with her was pleasure enough. She reminds me to take my time, and enjoy the moment. She teaches me patience. I always want to walk quickly to the next thing, while Lucy is happy to be wherever she is. So, taking her lead, I’m acknowledging that this is where I am at the moment. I’m putting this on my blog because I told myself I’d write something. It’s not perfect. But, thanks to Lucy I at least have this much.

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A Theatrical Moment

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I was so happy. Sitting in the mezzanine of the historical Palace Theater, one of what I believe are only four theaters sitting directly on Broadway. It was a perfect combination of Gershwin music played by a full orchestra and sublime dancing and choreography. As much as I love the theater, it’s been a long time since I was transported in the way An American in Paris carried me away to pure joy.

Utter happiness and joy are powerful experiences that can get us through harder times. I value those transcendent moments. But I’ve chased them for so long, not appreciating lovely moments since they weren’t absolutely amazing. For instance, watching a sunset, or listening to Emma, my daughter, tell me about her day. There is a simple enjoyment at those times that I’ve dismissed on occasion since they didn’t provide an emotional high.

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One thing I did notice from the other night was that I was not expecting it. It came spontaneously. I’ve had the good fortune of attending a lot of theater lately, but watching the choreography, with the rich music and masterful sets, brought me to an unexpected place. I’ve read the reviews. Some agree with me, others not. We all find joy in unique places.   In my experience living fully gives us more opportunity for joy. But it also means we feel deep pain, among other unappealing sensations. I was fortunate the other night. It was a gift. I appreciate the fleeting experience, because though I can’t literally save it, it’s now a part of me.

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Napping; A Ground-Spirituality Post

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DSC_0001I admit it, I take naps. They are a small delight given my crowded schedule. I used to think that naps were a luxury I couldn’t afford. I had to get on with life, seizing every moment. Days were filled with activities, proving how busy I was. Somehow being busy justified my existence. Or, rather, I defended against the notion that I was lazy. It all started when my Grandmom Becky called me lazy when I was a teen. To her it was a nasty trait, with filth as a close second. She spent hours mopping her white tiled, kitchen floor. When finished she’d scrub any perceived grout from her bathtub. If she wasn’t cleaning she was exercising, staying fit well into her late 90s. Although I could never keep up with her undiagnosed OCD, her unbridled criticism had a long-term impact. I learned to have a lot going on. Now I’m undoing that training.

I started with planned naps. I would schedule a nap as a therapeutic response to exhaustion. Naps were utilitarian. No longer. Now I am happy to take a nap, planned or otherwise. I long for a Mediterranean lifestyle of yore, one in which siestas were a way of life. I like getting up early, and I enjoy working or going out at night. In-between a nap creates a civilized break, a refreshing reprieve ending one part of my day before the start of another.

Our overly crammed lives have taken us away from the natural pleasure of a short slumber. Like eating when we’re hungry and stopping when full, napping is a way to honor our body’s exhaustion level and take care of ourselves. The fullness of our lives don’t lend themselves to regular napping. But I’m happy to learn from infants. When they’ve had enough they’re down for the count. Napping might not have the spiritual cache of mindfulness or mediation, but turning off our minds has a positive impact. It’s like reading a good novel rather than an important self-help book. At this point, I read a few pages of fiction before I nod off, telephone on silent.

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Tidying My Life; A Ground-Spirituality Post

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Unknown-1I’m reading The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. It’s a unique philosophy of organizing. My biggest take-away so far is to ask the question of each item in my apartment, like clothing or books, “Does this item bring joy?” It’s a great question, and it got me thinking. Could I do this in the rest of my life? I ponderedt this today as I was choosing what to eat. It was nice to appreciate what I had and enjoy it in this way. Then I thought, what about my social life? Shouldn’t I be hanging out with those who bring joy to my life? I do for the most part, but there are still times when I don’t take joy into consideration. Or, more accurately, I purposely don’t ask myself that question because the answer is clear. Nonetheless, I just called a friend merely to put a smile on my face. And it worked.

Of course, I’ll be considering other aspects of life, for instance, my workouts. If it doesn’t bring joy I’ll try something new. I miss swimming, maybe that will be a nice change. Beside working out, there’s my reading list, or what I view online. And I’ll think of other areas to address as they come up.

Fortunately, work already gives me joy. Every day I look forward to seeing my clients. But as I look around my office, perhaps it could use a bit more tidying.   Less important than the work itself, but still supportive of the pursuit of joy.

My biggest question, though, is do I work on tidying up my critical thoughts, or will tidying up the rest of my life lead to less criticism? I guess I’ll try it from both ends and see where it takes me. If there’s less joy one way, I’ll go in the other direction. In the meantime, I’ll finish reading the book, and start with my shirts, as recommended.

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