Boston Strong

I have some great memories of Boston. I've had several girls' getaway weekends in my life but my weekend there back in college was one the funnest I've ever had. What happened there shall remain there, but needless to say, it was, ahem, an ADVENTURE.

I also had a weekend there with my husband (then boyfriend) that was awfully nice. The beautiful streets, Copley Square, good restaurants, lots of history...lots to do and see.

I enjoy the grit of the city. It's just as much a part of the area and the people that live there as anything else. Being a New Yorker, I appreciate the tenacity and rough edges that living in the Northeast brings. Spit and polish may be pretty but it's not going to get you through life. In my more philosophical moments I wonder if that's cosmically why that area of our country is so often targeted by others - because we can withstand hard times and come out better in the end.

When I heard about the bombings in Boston my heart broke. Knowing, as I do, the devastation wrought from suddenly losing a loved one...well, it's a hell that I wish on no one. And even the violent loss of a limb inevitably wreaks a whole load of pain and grief that must feel insurmountable to the victim at times. My brother lost most of his hand violently when he was young and I saw what it did to him and my parents as he struggled to heal physically and emotionally.

But, while I was heartbroken for the victims of the bombing and the people of Boston, I wasn't worried. I knew immediately that they would find a way to be okay. They would rise and thrive in spite of this vicious assault on them. These Bostonians are not weaklings. These are people who are strong. So very strong.

Boston strong.

Peace and prayers to you Boston.

Gee, What a Load of Crap (At First Glance Anyway)

I just logged onto this blog to see what it looked like to a new reader and burst out laughing when I took an objective gander at it. There is the header with the title "Laughing Eden" in large font and then the first sentence in my last post is, "I keep crying."

Wow, talk about a bait and switch. With a blog title like that you'd think you were going to be in for some pretty good times on here. And then...NOT SO MUCH. Lately anyway.

When I named this blog I thought about the things that were most important to me or the things that I enjoyed. Family, friends, love, compassion, kindness, baking, art, movies, books, creating, writing; all a very big part of my life. But laughter, well laughter is what has helped me survive all the heartache that life has brought me. I'm so grateful for laughter. So indebted to it. The gift of it is priceless to me. This blog is intended to pay homage to it - a way of thanking it for helping me stay alive in some of my darkest days when all I wanted to do is disappear.

I'm in those dark days again. I will admit that laughter isn't coming easy. That I'm struggling in ways that I have never struggled before. And that I'm scared about it.

I cry way more than I laugh, and when I do laugh, it's usually a mere chuckle that is short lived. My ironic blog title made me laugh harder than I have in a while.

I'm trying though. I'm trying to find joy. Opportunities to laugh come every day and I grab them greedily, desperate to be myself again. To feel something other than sadness. And anger and frustration and discouragement and hopelessness.

Maybe that's a good sign - that I want to feel something other than all of that negativity. I imagine someone who is truly hopeless doesn't even bother trying anymore. I will always try. I have a daughter. She deserves at least that from me.

So I get up every day and shower and put on some make up and take care of my daughter and putter around the house and work and interact with people and try to serve and love and yes, laugh. The beat goes on and I hope to dance to it again one day.

Always Looking For Excuses

I keep crying. I'll be driving down the road and start crying. Or take a walk and cry. Or surf the internet and cry. Or mop the floor and cry. Watch TV and cry. Organize a cabinet and cry. Pet the cat and cry. Listen to music and cry. Cry, cry, cry.

When I'm not crying I have a constant lump in my throat and I know that with just one wrong move,  I'll start crying all over again.

I hate crying. Mostly because I know that it will bring on a sinus headache from hell the next day that no painkiller can touch. But also because it seems weak. And pathetic. And pointless. It doesn't ever solve anything (and with that headache it seems to only make things worse). It doesn't seem to propel me forward in any way or give me any relief. I end up in a big, sad heap of mush wishing that I could just disappear.

I find myself excusing the tears. That song was sad. That movie was a tearjerker. That floor was really dirty. That cat was really shedding.

I do the same thing with my feelings and emotions too. Always trying to explain them away. Always trying to talk myself out of them. Always berating myself for feeling them. Always telling myself that my period must be coming or that I need to get more sleep or eat better or exercise more or BE STRONGER RACHEL.

Here's the truth though. The truth that I don't want to deal with. The truth that I don't want to be true. The truth that brings me to my knees...

My heart is broken.

It is utterly, miserably, irrevocably broken. Just...broken. Shattered. I am someone who is heartbroken.

And I don't want to be heartbroken. I want to be whole. In one piece. Strong. Above it.

I'm not.

I am heartbroken. For some of the obvious reasons that anyone who knows anything about me, knows about. (The deaths or impending deaths of many loved ones will break your heart - OBVIOUSLY.) But also for reasons that I can't discuss here. Or anywhere. That are locked inside of me and that I am alone with. Not because I want to be, but because that's my only choice. There are some things that cannot be out in the open and the isolation of them makes me feel completely hopeless and adrift.

So, I cry. And try to make excuses for all of the crying - to myself mostly. And I try to take that next breath and that next step, and hope that each time I do it, it will bring me closer to putting one piece of my heart back together at a time. I don't have a lot of confidence though. I don't think it's possible. But I'll keep breathing and walking and trying.

It's the only option there is.

Sunday Blessings

I'm grateful.

1. The beautiful weather for the last few days.
2. Elmo.
3. My long legs that carry me through life.
4. When Harry Met Sally.
5. Nail polish.

The Problem With Radio Silence When You're Me

As part of my radio silence decision, I deactivated my Facebook account. I've also cleaned up my e-mail account by unsubscribing to most of the sites that send me so much junk mail every day. (I'm so sick of people trying to sell me stuff.)

I figure that this is a good time to take a step back from things, streamline my life a bit and spend some time thinking and hopefully figuring a few things out. My husband is out of town indefinitely for more storm work so I have a lot of time to myself.

I was just talking with one of my best friends, T. We've known each other since sixth grade and our primary activity together is laughing. I treasure her for that. Also for her kindness and compassion.

At some point in the conversation she asked me if there had been any fallout from deactivating my Facebook account.

Uhhhhmmmmm...

Now that you mention it, NO, there hasn't been any fallout. AT ALL. In fact, I don't think anyone has even noticed that I'm missing. That's the problem with being a 5'9" invisible woman. No one notices when you're there, and no one notices when you're gone. You think you're making some dramatic statement when in fact no one is even listening.

No wonder I'm depressed. I've got a lot to figure out. Who are these people in my life? These so called "friends" - whether in the ridiculous world of Facebook, or in my (equally ridiculous) real life. Why do I continue to engage with people that really don't seem to give a shit whether I engage with them or not - EVER??

On the other hand, what did I expect? I mean, really. What did I expect? That people would fall all over themselves missing me and then beg me to come back into their lives? History has taught me better than that and I really need to start paying attention to those lessons.

People, in general, are rather self-involved. And I include myself in that group of people. It was rather self-involved of me to think that I would disappear and that it would have any real effect on anyone. Everyone has their own lives and whether or not I'm on Facebook anymore, or whether or not I am texting/e-mailing/calling/IM-ing/Skyping/tweeting anymore is really of very little concern to anyone.

Geez, it's overwhelming.

What I've concluded in the last few days is that if I'm going to take a step back for a bit to figure some things out, then for heaven's sake RACHEL, go figure some things out! Stop worrying about if anyone is noticing you figuring things out - JUST GO DO IT. The story here shouldn't be about who noticed you disappearing for a while to figure things out. It should be about WHAT DID YOU FIGURE OUT??

And always, always remember: radio silence doesn't work if no one was listening in the first place. The key is to figure out how to say something worth listening to.

Radio Silence

I was watching some mindless show the other day with an interview between a pseudo-celebrity entertainment journalist and a pseudo-celebrity reality star. (Actually, the pseudo-celebrity entertainment journalist is also a pseudo-celebrity reality star herself. Oh, Hollywood...what a tangled web...) They were discussing the reality star's earlier courtship break-up with her now husband and what a tough time that was in their relationship. The journalist said to the reality star, "Did you go 'radio silence' on him?"

I honestly don't remember what the reality star's reply was, but I couldn't stop thinking about the idea of "radio silence." Of just...disappearing.

I need to disappear.

I want to disappear.

I don't want the life I'm living. No matter how much I try to keep my head in the game and stay on top of my life, my thoughts have become consumed with running away. I keep trying to shove these thoughts away because I have too many people counting on me right now, but they creep back in almost nonstop.

And it makes me feel guilty to think this way - about my marriage, about my daughter, about the rest of my family and friends. How hurtful would that be for me to just pick up and leave?

But it's all I want to do.

I want to live in a tiny house and create. That's all I want. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want anyone in my life.

I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous. And over the top. And over dramatic. And selfish. And mean.

And I could psychoanalyze the shit out of all of this because I'm really good at psychoanalyzing the shit out of things: I know that I've been hurt by the deaths of so many people I love and the rejection of so many others that are living. I know that part of my wanting to disappear is a way of protecting myself against more loss and rejection. I know that I'm facing a time of huge transition (empty nest, marital shifts, more losses from that bitch that is cancer, a probably move, huge career decisions). I know that it's mentally unhealthy to want to shun other human beings in your life. I know that I need to hold on. I know that I just need to get up each morning and put one foot in front of the other and breathe in and out and GET ON WITH IT. I know this. I know all of this. But knowing all of this doesn't make it possible to do. Doesn't make the unending, paralyzing, gut-wrenching, grip-my-heart-and-tear-it-out-of-my-chest pain, go away. The weight of that pain is getting heavier and heavier - and I'm buckling.

I want relief. I need relief. I want freedom. Freedom from the grip of pain that has owned my heart and mind for so long and is only getting worse. The pain is stealing more and more of me and it's threatening to consume me completely. The fight I've fought against it for nearly thirty years is a losing battle it seems and my knees are giving out. Feels like it's time to surrender. To escape. To go silent. To just go.

Radio silence.

Notsomuchste

Emma cracks me up. She doesn't usually have much to say, but when she finally does say something it's usually funny or clever or interesting or wise. I admire that about her. She doesn't have a need a fill the air with too many words like so many people do. She's content in her silence and confident enough to not babble away unnecessarily.

Emma and I often go to yoga class together. (If you knew me at all that last sentence would have made you laugh. I'm not athletic or flexible or physically strong. I am a bit of a spaz and am never quite sure how to coordinate these long limbs of mine.) We've been going fairly regularly as a way to get out of the house, do something physical and spend some time together - but mostly to escape from our broken hearts for an hour.

The teacher is just what you'd think a yoga instructor would be. She fits all the stereotypes you might have about someone who spends a great deal of her time trying to "find her center" and "achieve inner peace" while she "connects with her true self." Petite, fit, soft-spoken, meditative, very little make-up, bare feet.

I struggle with the movements and poses because of my bum hip, twice-broken foot and old age. But I get out there and I give it a go, which I'm proud of. Emma is much better at all of it since she is young and a dancer.

At the end of class the teacher always says, in a very soft-spoken manner, "Honor others. Honor yourselves. Honor your teacher. Namaste." And it always makes us giggle. It just seems SOOO new age-ish and I'm afraid we're too sarcastic and cynical to take it all that seriously.

The other night, we were in class and the lights were dimmed and the room was quiet as we followed the teacher's instructions...Warrior's Pose, Tree pose, and then Downward Dog. I struggle with Downward Dog because my arms are not strong and my hip always wants to give out. Oh, and I struggle with vertigo too, so having my head down lower than my torso always creates dizziness. It takes a lot of focus for me and I work hard at it. Towards the end of class, we were in our Downward Dog pose while we all listened to some very bizarre, obscure, new age musical number with a lute playing and I believe what was the slow beat of a bongo in the background. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Emma loud-whispers to me, "Mom!" I didn't answer - I was too busy focusing on my arms not giving out as my face turned beet red and sweat formed on my upper lip with the effort. So she said again, in an even louder-whisper, "MOM!" Annoyed, I loud-whispered back, "WHAT?!" Then she said, "This is my favorite song."

Hahahahahahaha!!! I collapsed into a Laying Down Dog Flat On My Mat pose in a fit of giggles. Soon to follow were glares from my fellow yoga-mates and the teacher, oh the teacher did not look pleased at all. Emma just shook her head at me as if she were just an innocent bystander and all like, "It wasn't THAT funny, Mom."

LOVE her!