Pleasure Notes

I’ve just spent a week in Boston to help out my newly pregnant, severely nauseous, and head-cold-suffering sister-in-law keep tabs on my adorable, brilliant and exuberant 2-1/2 year old niece while my brother was out of town. It has been one of the most delightful, simple and exhausting weeks of my life.

Having spent my entire adulthood living hundreds, if not thousands, of miles away from my family, the days and nights when I am with them hold particular significance. Getting to watch the little girl who slays my heart every single day from morning til night for numerous days in succession is a rare privilege. Slipping into leisurely and spontaneous conversations with my sister-in-law over piles of clean laundry is just as special. Watching the ground-shaking joy that lit up my niece’s face and enveloped all of us when my brother arrived home last night is a memory I will treasure.

My heart expands. My throat tightens. It is love.

I’ve always been fiercely independent, perhaps too much so. Only recently have I realized been struck dumb by the awareness of how very much I miss the unique community that family provides. The tight, protective hug I receive from my brother. The giggle shared with my sister-in-law. The cuddles and stern instructions given to me by my niece. I want these things in my life more than once every year or so.

I miss my family. Terribly. Now I must act on that awareness.

What is your view of family – the one you grew up with rather than the one with whom you share a home? Is your engagement with your family what you wish it to be? How would you change it? And what about it do you value?

by Kristina B/flickr

I’m just dropping in briefly to address a question I’ve been asked only about a hundred times in the past month or so… No, I did not trash my blogroll of fabulous blogs and websites that I wholeheartedly support. I simply moved it from the sidebar to a page of its own. So, if you’re curious, check out my Pleasure Spots – entirely dedicated to active sites I can’t live without. Oh, and yes, I update it fairly frequently because there are so many amazing people with whom to fall in love!

Any other questions?

xo

What was the best laugh you had in 2009? What was the biggest belly laugh of the year?

To be honest, this year wasn’t exactly chock full of belly laughs. But life has a funny way of reminding me that this journey is a full spectrum of experiences. Pain has an equal and opposite counterpart – joy. There is no Yin without the Yang. Laughter never strays too far from tears. And somehow, I’ve been lucky enough to have people in my life who make me laugh.

I belong to a book club. I’ve mentioned it before. The club consists of a phenomenal group of smart, witty, empathetic, conscientious, beautiful women. And every year, in December, we participate in a White Elephant gift exchange. For five years, now, we have tried to one-up each other by bringing the most ridiculous, outrageous, trite, horrific, embarrassing, and plain ole ugly-ass gifts to pawn off on each other.

This year, I laughed more in that one evening than perhaps the sum of moments in the entire rest of the year.

Thank you, ladies. I feel blessed to have girlfriends such as you.

Now, what made you snort with glee in 2009?

Who is the most impactful new person you met in 2009? She came into your life and turned it upside down. He went out of his way to provide incredible customer service. Who is your unsung hero of the year?

I’ve met lots of amazing new people this year, many of them fellow bloggers. But the person who turned my life upside down in 2009 was… ME. Egotistical, right? Perhaps. But also true. And humbling. So, no songs of heroism. Just gasps of “oh shit.”

As you know, 2009 has rocked me off my moorings. And straight to the moon. It’s been a year of grief, anger, insecurity, and fear. The principle side benefit of this (and, yes, I am acknowledging a blessing in the midst of chaos) is coming up against my self. I’ve discovered I don’t really know me very well. How’s that for a mind fuck at 40?

Sign me up as a mid-life crisis cliche, thank you very much.

Turns out, many of my beliefs about myself – what I want, what I like, what I value, what I need – have been catapulted into the ether. I’ve been stripped naked by the realization that the stories I hold to be true about myself, while at least co-authored by me and somewhat engaging, weren’t written with me in mind. They were written for you (and by “you,” I mean global you, not YOU, you).

My head has been a constant boxing ring for most of my life – judgement duking it out with enthusiasm, ambition with contentment, spot-light seeker with shy hermit. I’ve known those players for a while. The grand champion, however, threw left hooks from the shadows. Until now.

This fighter doesn’t have a name, unless you give it mine. It’s sole goal is SAFETY. But like a tiger cub left alone in a cave too long, it fights with its back to the wall and attacks anything that comes near, including the hand reaching out to comfort it or draw it into the light. And it has been working with bad intel.

The definition of safety this fighter has been using is wrong. And I didn’t even know it.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a neurologist. In highschool and college, my goal was to someday become a CEO of a multi-national corporation. Ambitious? Yes. True to my heart? No. I was striving for power, control, acceptance (external, of course). Career. Relationship. Body. I thought, if I have a big enough title, a dynamic enough man, a sexy enough body, enough money, enough wit, enough fill-in-the-blank… I’ll be enough.

Delusional.

And, intellectually, I’ve known for years how crazy that idea is. But I’ve still been hacking my way down that trail, swinging my machete willy-nilly.

There is no grace to living in conflict with your soul.

This year, I met my soul. And she is PISSED OFF. She has yanked me out of the boxing ring, thrown me in the ocean, and is the midst of a rant to end all rants. Something about being ignored and neglected. She’s talking so fast, I can barely keep up. I’m going to be spending 2010 getting to know her better. I have a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

How about you? Who rocked your world this year?

What was my best trip in 2009?

Is it possible for a trip to be the best and the worst at once? It seems so.

I went to Ireland this year, you see. I have red hair, and a wee bit o’ Gaelic blood, and I’ve always wanted to go. And so I put my wish out there. On a sigh. Or, actually, in the middle of a rant among girlfriends. I said, “I’m about to turn 40, my life sucks, I haven’t traveled in years – cause unless it requires a passport, it doesn’t count, and I really wish I could go to Ireland!”

I say things like that on a fairly regular basis.

But on this one day in March, a very dear friend in the midst of all these fabulous girlfriends, actually paid attention. With an impulsive “I’ll go with you” and a wave of her wand – or, actually, a few thousand hotel points – she made it happen.

Before I could take a breath, but just in time for me to dismiss her impulsiveness, she’d bought her airline ticket.

And so, I bought mine.

And we went.

Eight days. Driving back roads as much as possible. Laughing and singing and drinking our way through Kilkenny, Waterford, Cork, Kerry and Shannon before returning to the amazing city of Dublin for a final few days of pub crawling and rugby viewing.

It was green. Very, very green.

The beer was good. Very, very good.

The people were friendly. Very, very– well, not that friendly, but really nice.

And I felt like I was able to breathe again, after months of suffocation.

I was born to travel. I love doing it more than doing almost anything else you can imagine. I hold strongly the belief that if more people picked up a passport rather than a gun, we would obtain peace. I spent my 20s living out of a suitcase. And when too much time has passed between one trip and the next, I miss the freedom, challenge and adventure of travel like an amputee misses her limb.

This trip was stupendous. Even when my friend tripped over a curb our last day and sprained her ankle, thereby putting the kabosh on our much anticipated literary pub crawl. We simply shrugged off the change in plans, as one becomes adept at doing while traveling, and lounged in the hotel room debating the highlights of the proceeding week.

Neither of us had any way of knowing that seven days later, she would be dead of complications stemming from that damned sprained ankle.

I am left with beautiful pictures. Bittersweet memories. An unshakable passion for travel. And complete confusion. I still wade through a shitload of emotions with the weight of molasses. I struggle to reconcile the joy of the trip with the devastation of its aftermath, to retain the hope I rediscovered for myself in the midst of despairing grief for… everything.

There are seven stages of grief, I’ve been told. I thought they would come in a brief, orderly fashion, like months of the year. I was wrong.

And now, I just really wish I could go to some forgotten island in Greece and let the sun and the sand and the sea dissolve all the pain that comes with life. But then again, if I’ve learned one thing this year, it is definitely… be careful what you wish for.

If you’re still reading this, you may be wondering where the hell the positive, pleasurable spin is in all this. After all, this was supposed to be one of the BEST moments of 2009, right? Here’s what I can give you or, perhaps more importantly, give myself…

I spent eight intense, incredibly memorable, very personal days with an amazing woman who gave me more gifts with her friendship than I will likely have time to pay forward.

I journeyed through a greater spectrum of the human experience as a result of this trip than ever before.

And I’ve now been to Ireland.

I can recommend it.