The first thing I did was shake my head. In many, many other countries women are not allowed to vote or be involved in the election process and for Staci to joke, “I’ll trade an electronic for my right to vote,” was off-putting and immature.

Maybe because I remembered a woman named Mari, (she told me this was the name she picked out when she came to the States.) When I worked for the State of Minnesota, I saw many, many faces of immigrants who came to the US for opportunity and refuge. Mari was from the Middle East. She had a young daughter and sharp typing skills. Her goal was to help her daughter grow up to be “kind and smart.” She told me of the opportunities here that weren’t in the Middle East for her little girl. I remember distinctively going home to Ava and watching her face over dinner. We were so blessed, her and I. Ava had a future of promise, education and non-violence. I was part of an elite political system that assured her that she mattered. This just isn’t so in other countries. Maybe you think I’m over-reacting or that I simply, (as Staci put it, can’t take a joke.)  I can, when the joke is funny. It’s been years since I’ve seen Mari and I wonder how she and the countless others coming here are adapting.

Something I’m sure of, is that I can’t take the blatant disregard for the fact that it’s been only 100 years since women even ‘earned’ the right to vote. I wondered, after sending out my tweet, if I was being blasted on the air. (Because it’s just so funny to put down your listeners, isn’t it?) Clearly online, this was escalating.

This had me thinking.  I would sincerely GIVE STACI MY IPAD2, (no strings attached,) if it could create opportunity for even one woman in the Middle East.  Not because I’m trying to be witty, or funny or anything. It’s because no electronic means more than someone’s rights. So Staci? Create an opportunity. Speak Out. After all, that’s a forgotten privilege, too.

The truth is: Social Media Is Stagnant because we all needed to be BIG fish.

We all wanted to be viral, and then, nothing was viral, because everything was.

We collected labels as though they were Coach purses.  We were all authors and bloggers, national speakers and journalists. It didn’t matter who had the real credibility, because we all wanted a piece of the pie. I verified my credentials myself and then I truly thought, “does it matter?” I had always wanted to write for the Star Tribune, teach National Government and make a difference. And then? I did. And it mattered, to me and my pride. But suddenly, we are all labels. They have taken over our profiles as if we all had something to prove. I decided to change myself tonight and made a promise to slowly change other bios in the future. What am I?

I’m Kate. To me, that’s perfect.

This Christmas and Holiday Season I don’t wish for you a tree with gifts underneath, but a spirit that recognizes the gifts, inside. I wish for you  a strong soul that doesn’t bend in belief, (whatever yours may be,) a powerful mind that is able to think through each dilemma or problem and a thankful, thankful heart. Because even when faced with fear or negativity, there is so much in which we need to give thanks.

Happy Holidays.

After talking to a friend tonight and filling them in on steamy health gossip and telling myself, “one foot in front of the other,” all I could think of was a vacation destination; someplace sunny and gluttoneous wheat-filled trays of non-gluten-free items. I couldn’t help a moment of feeling stupidly sorry for myself and the want to take a deep breath. Me, who never broke a bone was becoming one of those people you watch on, “Mystery Diagnosis,” and secretly wonder if they are making it all up. And in truth, some nights when Ava was asleep and I was alone I imagined that my hair was fine, I wasn’t sick and that I never had to go through cervical cancer. The past 6 months have taught me, perseverance at all costs. I know looking back, if I could handle a full-time client load, plus a full-time job, a child, a home, relationships and the want to change the world, I could do anything.

It started in April.  I went in for a series of treatments for my cervix. I, had put off for months what needed to be done. I looked down when the doctor recommended a hysterectomy.  I toiled and worried, fought my insurance and convinced myself that this too, would make  me stronger. I imagined myself marching again on Capitol Hill this year and demanding change.  Afterall, what I had tried so hard to save would be gone. Surely that was a platform that congress could understand. Planned Parenthood published  my story and I felt stronger than before, but I ignored the advice and I went in for screenings and promised to eat healthier than already healthy. It wasn’t a risk because the threat wasn’t defined to me. I sat across from my parents and cried like a toddler that scraped her knee. I was angrier about what was going to be taken away then what was going to be left. I told myself, if I wanted something badly enough, I could make it happen.

September brought with it more tests and procedures and a doctor visit where I sat and for the first time in my life, the endocrinologist explained that waking up almost every morning and throwing up was not normal. He said, no more gluten, They took my blood, (lots of blood,) and they promised it would be better.  No gluten for 2 months and then we’ll test you again. They were convinced it was Celiac’s disease. All I could think of was breadsticks and delicious, soggy ice cream cones and a stupid dream that wouldn’t go away.

October brought the diagnosis I had been dreading for 3 years. They didn’t have a reason that my hair was falling out. It wasn’t related to the thyroid, but it wasn’t inexplainable. The doctor looked in my eyes and said, “Sometimes, it just happens.” I thought of my hairbows at thirty post I tried on a wig and I pulled my chin up and said,”I’m alright,” because it was just hair.

And it was just a cervix. And it was just wheat. I had never broken a bone and for that, I was strangely thankful.

And then, like magic on a Saturday evening not long ago I looked over at J. sitting on the couch next to me and I said, “I feel about 92 months pregnant.” He laughed and I laughed and we had the normal discussion of, “Can you imagine a baby?” And then, I fell quiet and bitter and almost to prove to myself that maybe this was it, maybe after being told over and over that my chances of having another were so slim it wasn’t worth the birth control or the hope or whatever I feeling, I decided to take a pregnancy test.  And the line was faint and holy and wonderful and scary and magnificent. And all I could think was, “I cannot believe after everything else that my hormones are this screwed up that it’s pretending to give me the one thing I’m not sure I could really handle.”  I called the doctor and the doctor giggled and told me to take a few more. They were lined up like soldiers on the bathroom counter, all 8 of them filled with a blasphemous idea. I called J. in and he ran out for more.

I had long wondered about the day when I lost hope. If I could do it again, things would be different.  I wouldn’t have hid at 25 out of shame or embarrassment to satisfy some patriarchal craving of wanting to make everyone happy. I would have worn tight shirts over my large, protruding and hobbit-like belly. I would have dared to go to the birthing class alone and proud. I would have literally, died to look into someone’s eyes and say, “We did it.” Or maybe even, “Mom, Dad, we have news.”

But you see, this isn’t a sad post, because it’s bittersweet. A little girl sleeps in the other room and my home keeps us warm. Sometimes she sings herself to sleep and I know it’ll only be a matter of months before she slowly loses all the little baby things that I cherish.  J. sits beside me and I wonder what it might be like to not fight so hard to be a single mother anymore, and allow this all to happen. He runs out to the store to pick up malt cups, (with the little, wooden, spoons,) and I sit with my hand over my stomach not knowing what may happen but knowing that for 6 weeks and 4 days, I’ve been pregnant.

They tell me, “We need to watch you closely.” My chance of miscarriage is high and that with the other complications I need to be positive and hopeful, but reserved. They’ve already started me on Zofran, the wonderdrug of hyperemesis women everywhere. (God bless you, Zofran.) Because I’m not sure what might happen, tomorrow could bring a bus accident or a meteor shower that ends us all, and it could bring another horrendous and weird ailment for someone who’s never broken a bone. I’ll tell you that on July 30th, 2012, when this is all over I think this little person may have saved my idea of ‘hope’ in the first place. You may not believe it, because I still can’t. But I know one, single, thing. No matter what comes my way, I’ve pushed on, came up for air and marched through all because I don’t know another way. I don’t know how not to find success when everything else falls down. And frankly, I don’t know how NOT to hope for the best. Even if this is just a shooting star moment, it happened and I’m thankful.

2011 has solidified my sordid love affair with Infographics. The always inspirational, @LarsLeafblad posted an article this evening, entitled, “10 Insanely Awesome Inspirational Manifestos.”   Of a few on the list, this one spoke to me the loudest.  You can visit ExpertEnough for more daily inspiration, how-to’s and simple solutions. I’m a huge fan. GirlmeetsGeek’s tagline used to be, “The difference between passion and passing it on is only two letters. Find yours.” With our eyes open, the world has so much to offer.

We had a good cry. No make-up and a hopeful smile later, I know that if it comes to this, I'll be alright.

She looked at me with conviction the first time I walked by, shopping bags hanging from my arms and my mind pretending to not be unaware of exactly what I’ve been trying to cover. Who has a wig shop in the middle of a mall, honestly? I always thought that a major medical condition like, cervical cancer filled your “woe is me,” dance-card. If say, hyperthyroidism came knocking you could calmly show it your card, and it would skitter off to find someone else that hadn’t gone through something already.  Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way and there are no medical dance cards; especially for someone who never grew taller after my freshman year of High School. I met her eyes during the second pass and stopped to look at what she had to offer. At once, she grabbed my hand and I no longer cared that I was standing in a fake hair kiosk in the middle of the mall, crying out of self-pity. Really, this must be a low-point.

Except, it wasn’t. I tried on a wig, (that once actually pulled down, looked like ME.) I sat and told her my story and in the usual fashion, she shared she too had been diagnosed with Cervical Cancer and had struggled with hair loss. Eventually doctors found that she had a form of Lupus, which ironically I’m undergoing testing for. Everywhere I go, we wear our stories as our badges. Once we meet someone who has experienced the pain or struggle we have, it’s almost like we meet family. I sat a while with her and although I know she was there to sell me a wig, she really just sold me on the idea that if and when I went completely bald, I wouldn’t be any less than who I was.

I noticed the change about three years ago after going in for a complete physical. Right after surgery, I coincidentally started losing my hair; not just losing, but  raining. On the floor, on the counter and in my brush, it was powdering up my bathroom and my life. I took better care of myself, and pretended I no longer noticed. A year later, I was at the dermatologist and consulting with natural doctors. How could this just happen? My iron was a little low, otherwise everything else was normal. There seemed to be new growth and new hope a few months later, but only days ago, I stood in front of the mirror and imagined me, bald.  Earlier this year, I wrote about wearing hairbows for the fear that the time of actually putting clips in my hair, or a headband was passing all together.

It’s an unnerving feeling, one of nakedness when your hair no longer truly covers what lies just beneath.  I recognize the power of my youth, now.  Half my life I wanted to be taller, thinner or have golden locks of brilliant hair. Now all I wanted was the reddish-brown that once covered my head and a body equipped for growing just one more, wonderful baby.  There are things I want to be completely transparent about including my love for the Container Store, well-done covers of Coldplay songs and my penchant for stirring the pot. Seeing through to my scalp while my hair was in a ponytail was never on my list.

It was in quiet confidence when the hairstylist held my hand two weeks ago, that we cut off over a half of a foot of hair in hopes that in a last-stitch feeble effort something would pull through to make the strands grow. We rallied the forces, pep-talked the masses and whatever comes next will testament to vitamins, prayer and a promise to cut off any caffeine. (Watch out, this might get ugly.)

I write about this, because on evenings where the house is quiet and my fingers are restless, it’s all I know. In the future I’ll look back and this will have meant something, it has to. I know that if I can prove to myself that at my weakest I found strength, there is no reason I can’t command what I want out of my life.

The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mode but the true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives the passion that she shows. The beauty of a woman grows with the passing years. 

– Audrey Hepburn

Success isn’t a result of spontaneous combustion.  You must set yourself on fire.  ~Arnold H. Glasow

We came home from a strange night of trick-or-treating. Most houses were dark and quiet and my daughter Ava,  had trouble containing her excitement and disappointment at a sea of unlit houses. Not even on the chart for her age group in height and weight, my peanut surprised us all when instead of deciding to be a princess or mermaid, she exclaimed, “I’m going to be a Doctor-Superhero!” She explained later that instead of being something pretty, she wanted to, “help people.” I couldn’t have been prouder.

As her haul spread out on the floor in front of her, she meticulously started organizing her candy. Within minutes her gifted, mathetmatically-inclined brain found an equasion with her sweets that only she knew. Children do that, don’t they? They find a rhythm and purpose all their own. It’s up to the parents to protect their vision until they are old enough to stand up for it, themselves.

I was driving this morning and listening to a cd I had made ions ago for a friend. A mixture of Stone Temple Pilots, The Replacements and Damien Rice filled my morning commute as I thought about the night before. Ava had said something  that struck me. “Mom! Aren’t I a cool shape?” I replied with a dutiful, “yes!” and we were quiet for a while. Ava is the smallest person in her class; a tiny replica of a beautiful, tornado.  For as little as she is, her presence is much, much, larger.

It dawned on me then, that I liked odd-shaped things and odd people. Those that try to place the odd in a box are often baffled and confused. Those that are different always, always, win. Success comes by simply being ourselves and being willing to live it out loud.

Rock on, little Doctor-Superhero. Rock on.

This evening, I sat across from my favorite person in the entire world. She shared with me a glimpse of her day and I sat back in wonder at how intelligent and fearless she was becoming. During an annual school event where the kindergarten through 5th grade classes paired up to rake community yards to raise funds, she explained all of life in one simple conversation. It came out proudly and I could tell she had been waiting hours to share. The words no more than reached the air when she beamed her brilliant, Ava, smile.

My sweet girl explained to me that no one took the time to jump in the leaf piles when everyone raked so hard to make them. She was astonished that no one else had thought of it.  Her confusion mounted as she tried to coax the others to jump with her and in the moment of it all, she peered off deep into her memory. I could just imagine her, jumping into the air and then landing with such giggles and delight.

Ava has such conviction to experience life at it’s fullest. Her ability to go after what she wants is a rare gift. I asked if she was scared to jump alone. Unafraid of what the other children thought she simply answered, “They were afraid of the bugs. I was just afraid of missing the chance.”

She’s sleeping, as she often does when I come to my keyboard to write. Every night I go into her room and whisper secrets into her ear. Tonight’s was, “remain just as you are, I love you so.” I thought I caught a glimpse of her smile beneath the blankets and stuffed animals. She’s a rare gift, indeed.

“80% of success is just showing up.”  - Woody Allen

I woke up this morning with a huge knot in my stomach. After battling an upper-respiratory Hercules, I felt less like going out of the house and more like turning off my alarm. Traffic was minimal and I strolled in the Minneapolis Convention Center with enough energy to power a rocket-ship and was handed even more fuel in return. Often, I’ll have the distinct privilege to capture incredible moments for my clients and friends. Photography is just one of the areas I’m passionate about.

However, I was worried all the passion in the world couldn’t keep my eyes open and my throat feeling better. The moment I walked into the room and saw Elizabeth and Mickie, everything changed! When someone is genuinely excited to see you, it doesn’t matter if you have a swollen throat and tired eyes, suddenly- you feel alive. I was able to see Elizabeth Petry-Lee, (one of my favorite people,) and Mickie, who kept me smiling for 4 straight hours. As it turns out, I was meant to be at today’s #WVEvent.  The stars aligned and I landed some incredible shots of the day’s event.

The success of GirlmeetsGeek, continues to inspire me. Nine years ago, I was a girl with a dream. Today, I’m a woman on a mission. I’ll continue to write, photograph, speak and empower myself to create bigger and bigger goals.  Showing up is only 80% of success. The other 20% lies in our drive. I’m ready.

Bucket List #12: Capture the essence and strength of someone I truly admire on camera. Check.

 

 

 

You can follow my other photography here: FLICKR

 

At the end of the day, there is nothing like the ROI of being a parent or loving someone else with abandon. That is what it's about.

I have an apology for someone very near to me that needs to be said.  Her big brown eyes couldn’t comprehend the guilt I hold, but something tells me that when she is older, she’ll understand. In between clients and personal brand and networking and life… I’ve said too many times to my daughter, “not now, I need to do this,” or, “give me 10 minutes,” which never equaled just 10 minutes. Somewhere in the midst of professional and parental, hiding inside a princess tent or playing Polly Pockets came in a lousy second to my life online.  And I’m deeply sorry.

I came home tonight, after experiencing one of the most selfless gifts from another person and looked my daughter in the eye to tell her I was sorry but I had ‘more work‘ to do. She sat quietly at dinner as I plugged away on a presentation I offered to give… for what? For branding? To have more people know my name? To become wealthier or smarter or anything but fulfill a little girl’s wish that we watch a movie and ‘snuggle.’ It’s one of the hardest lessons I’ve hard to learn: saying “no.”

I write this now as her little body is cuddled in exactly 5 blankets, (it’s never less,) and her fingers clutch the stuffed animals I pick up thoughtfully when out, or when I can imagine her face twisting into glee knowing she has something else to love. I think most parents face this, single or not, wealthy or not, successful or not. At what price does our success cost to our families? For others, it’s at what price do families cost success. The truth is: The grass not under our feet may always be greener.

I’ve always felt a certain pride knowing I had ‘boundries’ for meetings. I’m not a happy-hour drinker, or an early morning coffee grabber- I’m a graveyard shifter and a midnight oil-burner. Somehow, I’ve managed to connect the dots in my life and bring people along while proudly displaying my best ROI in tow at the grocery store or out to dinner. In the past month, I’ve let myself feel guilty for not being able to fulfill every need, every wish and every want with 100% precision. For someone that talks about being human, I’ve made myself too much of a machine.

I’ve been focusing so much on the art of saying “no,” (because it is an art.) I’ve focused however, not on the word “no” but on making sure I’ve said it to others, when really I needed to say it to myself. In my push to help one more person get back to work, or one more client reach a successful spike in sales, I’ve misconstrued the notion that I could do it all. No one can. Success is about knowing your strengths, living them out loud and reflecting on your weaknesses. Perfectionism, as a parent has high costs. We hold ourself to unreachable standards and instead of sympathizing or offering ourselves a realistic glance into a situation, we often criticize. Perfectionism in business can be equally challenging.

From now on, you may not find me online much during the hours of 5-8 and I’ve decided to turn my phone off promptly before dinner. I need the feeling of rug-imprinted knees from picking up puzzle pieces or tiny, Barbie shoes. You’ll hear the giggles radiating from my living room not because of something on Twitter, but because I’m taking every moment with my daughter again, before she no longer wants to humor her mother inside a small, pink, princess tent.

My struggle to prove I can do it all came to a beautiful head as I sat quietly after cuddling my daughter for an hour and made a difficult decision. I’ve worked hard to bring her and I to this place and now, it’s time to enjoy it. I know you’ll forgive me, because I know you face this too: the unbearable desire to be everything, all at once.  The need to always be ‘on’ or dedicating your life to differentiating yourself in today’s market is hurtingus all. Sometimes, it’s alright to close the computer, turn off the phone and sing silly kindergarten songs until your daughter laughs so hard she clutches her tummy and says, “This is why I love you.”

As we grow older, (or younger,) our factors of success change. Real life doesn’t have a Klout score, or a PeerIndex to tell us that our parental abilities have dipped from Thought Leader to Explorer. What matters is what we think and feel. Real life’s analytics are what separate us as friends, family, lovers and partners.

My big, kindergarten brown-eyed girl, I’d trade you for any metric. I don’t want to wait until you’re old enough to understand all the times I couldn’t. I want you to remember all the times I did. You are my favorite success story, afterall….

(c) girlmeetsgeek

I tried desperately to focus on the presentation due tomorrow or the kitchen table with the junk mail piled to the point of no return, but all I could think of were vessels, unmanned and uncharted. I don’t know what happened with my mind to cause this preoccupation, but I do know that somewhere, it means something.

Sometimes in relationships- business or otherwise, we feel like we’re the vessel ourselves. We are to pick up or drop off and carry precious cargo safely from shore to shore. We could even be sails that puff with the wind and stand firm and allow for speed and agility. Some of us are oars, used only to steer and tossed back in, fulfilling a hard obligation. Responsibility weighs heavily on our shoulders to complete the task or finish the journey. I never found success in those tasks.

It was then I realized that I didn’t want to be the boat, or the sails, or the oar. I want to be the ocean with its currents, power and depth; a culmination of infinite wisdom and grace. I can guide your path and teach you the ability to row or steer, no matter the storm above. I can give you a place to sail, but only if you leave the harbor. And in return, I will allow myself to simply be, to focus on the art of allowing currents to run through me and temperatures to change.

This isn’t your place to stand still. I am here to move you.

"We have our minutes cut/ We lose our feelings but/ That's what the movies show/ This is where stories go/ Stars we don't want to reach/ Scars we don't want to stitch/ Go where we haven't been/ Fly away, time machine." Tatu, "Outer Space"

“Political and cost-cutting measures have resulted in the end of NASA’s manned space program. As a result, we will have to rely on commercial spaceflight companies. I was originally against the idea of having commercial companies lead us in space, but have since realized it’s better to have them … than not have anything at all…”  - Heather Smith

When I was a pre-teen, my parents took me to Kennedy Space Center. I was convinced at that moment what I wanted more than anything else was to be a Systems Analyst for NASA.  We’ve invented robots to clean our laundry, cars that park themselves and computers that can beat humans on Jeopardy. But we can’t sustain a space program so that our children can dream of exploring space. What happened to the United States Space Program is simple: We sold it.

We sold it to corporations who will charge exorbitant amounts of money for people to now go to space on their own dollar. The elitist will see space while the gap between the rich and the poorer widens. Space exploration has become the Ivy League of dreams. Is that the America we signed up for? We privatized space exploration and we’re alright with that? While other countries are innovating and ramping their efforts we are slowly sulking into the corner as we spend our money on other people’s wars.

STEM careers, (especially for women,) are in a horrific state of decline. It’s estimated that although almost half of mathematics bachelors’ degrees are awarded to women, they only attain 27% of doctoral degrees. Moreso, in a country that touts innovation and equality, American students are ranked 22nd for science, and 31st in math. These are just some of the statistics we are seeing.

What will we become? The answer seems to be almost as scary as the initial question. When I was young, I always wore things with American Flags. It was my trademark. Sweater after sweater in the 90′s had the flag emblem or I wore navy and white. My mother bought me an Americana quilt for my room and I used it until after college. Now, everything is black and white. I love pearls and black heels, but my views and clothing have become a symptom of what I now believe. I’d feel silly wearing a flag now, because I’m not quite sure what it stands for.

We are the land of the free and the brave, as long as you have the wallet to support buying yourself the perfect life.  We don’t discriminate on race or sex or creed, as long as you marry someone of the opposite sex. And now, we’ve sold the moon, or our chance at being able to have a tangible vision that someday, we could be a part of it’s greatness.

We never answered the big question of, “What’s out there?” We simply gave up because oil and keeping the 2% of the population making money off the rest of the 98% was far too lucrative and demanding. What I can’t get over is that there was no uproar, no revolution and no demand that we keep the dreams that anyone could go to space free of financial burden and instead sold the future for a very, very, marginal profit.

Ava was snoring soundly as I peeked into her room and looked out the window. The moon didn’t seem to hold it’s promise, anymore. There will be no more astronauts from America, at least- the kind that actually go up to explore space. Can you imagine in ten years from now, looking in the history books and seeing that what was so promising was cut off so early and sold to profit the rich? I keep saying profit, because that word is now equal with, space. It’s no longer futuristic, it’s just “profitable.” If we are okay living in a society that allows Russia to laugh in our direction and say, “This is good, we’ve got this,” then I’m no longer willing to believe in the American Dream, anymore.

The American Dream isn’t tied to making money. It’s tied to making opportunities. There’s a significant difference between the two. One holds power, and one allows equal power. We’ve chosen money for far too long and now we’ll have to sleep in our dreamless beds to make up for our selfish decisions. Intelligence and capacity to learn are becoming less important qualities as money rises. We praise Jersey Shore while never watching the news. It’s funny how everything has come full circle. The American Dream is dead.

Watch history in the making. This is the Flickr Feed from the last shuttle launch: http://www.flickr.com/photos/28634332@N05/sets/72157627070789367/show/

"She said she loved me infinity the state of Hawaii. I'm a lucky mom."

I’m a big believer that if we bring WHO we are to the table, we are more genuine, brilliant and human than hiding any of our weaknesses or strengths.  The chat continued and all of a sudden I looked to the person next to me and said, “Oh no… my quote… has be re-attributed.”  Neil Gaiman is a word-genuis,  so until I saw columns and columns of the quote being tweeted, (not retweeted,)  I didn’t worry.  Then, I scrolled down. Over 200+ tweets. As an author, my words are like my children. I know Neil would understand. So I sent out a brief message.

Oh Noes….

Someone caught that I originally had said the quote.  She was familiar and when I opened her profile on Twitter I gasped.  Hayley Williams: Superstar Extraordinaire.  had apologized for attributing the original quote. Seriously.  And then she told me she was going to dinner.  I invited her to Minneapolis, (because we rock.) And then? I started talking about the NY Marriage debate.

Oh My God….

And it was a moment, like running into your ex-boyfriend while wearing sweatpants and smeared mascara; I didn’t know what to say.  Not wanting to make a big deal about it,  I thought about not saying anything at all, but I did.  So that’s the time one of my favorite rockstars tweeted me and when I was floored by Neil Gaiman’s brilliance on Twitter.

Update: I am proud to say that today, my website was a #NeilWebFail and I’m utterly honored.  Two fantastic and brilliant people chatted with me in one week. I’m going to be on a high for years!

The courage to serve them with reliance / Face my mistakes without defiance / Show them I’m worthy / And while I show them  / I’ll show me / So, let them bring on all their problems / I’ll do better than my best / I have confidence they’ll put me to the test / But I’ll make them see I have confidence in me…   -Sound of Music

I walked out into the sunshine after taking a call from my condo office that a package had arrived. I knew what it was. I knew exactly why I didn’t get it. I had called the office to refuse it, but no one answered. I was absolutely stuck walking home carrying something I wasn’t sure if I’d ever open it. I put the box on my kitchen table as I tried to reach the recipient one, more, time. His phone was off. This was a goodbye of sorts. Inside lay a pair of gorgeous, pearl, earrings. It matched a necklace and ring that he had given me on Mother’s Day. They were exquisite, flawless and I kept them on the table until I could decide how to proceed.

People leave. Friends die. Companies close. Health fails. This, is life. In those moments where I walked to pick up the package, I marveled at my ability to walk at all.  Emotional weight is a perception only to ourselves. No one can guess what we carry, but we, ourselves know the toll of what’s on our shoulders. One foot in front of the other there and then back, I managed a small success.  That was the crux of it: if we don’t celebrate our small successes, we’ll be over run and complicated by life’s failures. Maybe no one cared that I managed to get home without crying, but I did. The big successes don’t define as well as the small successes. How we wake up in the morning, how we treat others and our mindset is what will create better situations. How we decide in the moments of the greatest weight what our path will be, determines who we truly are.

I laid out the earrings and sat down for bit in front of the television. Almost in seconds, rain started to pour my windows and the earlier sunshine seemed like it never happened at all. I turned on Channel 4 to see about the weather and Oprah, (who I only remember watching with my mother after school,) was on talking about The Sound Of Music.  Julie Andrews had lost her voice years before after throat surgery and I listened to her articulate an answer to her own loss and how she found hope:

“The wonder is and it’s true: when God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window. I began to write and started the Julie Andrews Collection with my daughter. Then my daughter said, “Mom! You just found a different way of using your voice.”

Nothing is certain, this I know.  Michael Kraabel shared the quote with me when we filmed, Driven Together, the Ezra and Ira Story, “Each day we wake up on the right side of the dirt, is a good day.”  That’s one of the most brilliant quotes I’ve ever heard. I am alive, I am walking and although the weight of the past month bears down, I am strong.

My gift giver is on a flight somewhere.  I’m not sure where, actually.  I’m not sure he knows, either.  As angry as I want to be, the earrings are beautiful and I know they came from a kind and thankful place.  It’s the small successes and tonight as I attend the premier of our movie, I’m going to wear mine.

But I look at you, warm in your dream while your mobile dances above… And I think to myself, it’s a beautiful night and I know everything is gonna be alright….

-Joshua Radin

The thing about having children is, you go your entire pregnancy wanting the child out of you and then you spend their whole life wanting them back safely, inside.  I agonized for about a week over the fact that my daughter is going on vacation tomorrow.  She is going without me.

My parents wanted a grandparent/grandchild trip and to put it lightly, my daughter is extremely fond of her grandparents.  Maybe it’s because my parents, (who have eyes like eagles, the patience of two Mother Theresas and the fun-o-meter of candy for dinner mixed with ice cream for dessert,) but the fact that I won’t be there should something go horribly, horribly wrong is taking it’s toll.  I packed her identification card, medical card and 6 phone numbers to call should something happen.  I bagged each pair of sweet, five year old socks with each outfit and clipped the hairclips to collars.  If there was a way to plan each moment she was without me, I did that and then some.

I sat her down tonight as her legs danged over the couch and her head rested on my left shoulder.  A couple minutes came and went, we didn’t say much- we just felt each other near.  She’s getting too big for my lap when I’m reading while still being entirely too small to be halfway around the nation. Somehow, I know her head will always fit in the space where I used to whisper in her ear that she would take on the world, cure diseases and hopefully, not break too many hearts.  The space between us then, was immeasurably small.

Those of you who have been following GMG from the Livejournal days know this is the song I played before I went to be induced and to have a 7lbs 10oz’s of utter greatness.  I had my pick of songs but I wanted one song to go with the moment and for some reason, this is exactly the one I believed was most fitting. When we become a parent, (no matter the circumstances,) at first we wonder how we are going to make it through. When you are a parent, you wonder how you can LET GO.

I found the old post tonight and was surprised at how scared I really was when I went into the hospital.  Ironically, it matches my fear tonight that things will change radically and I’ll lose everything I know.  Two songs, two very different women.  One, beautiful, beautiful, little girl.

My goodbye of sorts to the single life I’ve known.
Spent most the day in a haze, really unable to comprehend exactly what is about to happen. I pack my bags once again- adding the nessesities I almost forgot. Double check for the ninth-hundred time… yes- I have my insurance card/camera/cds/strength/lonliness/regrets I have it all.

I feel the roundness of my stomach, as the shirt falls on my shoulders and I pull downwards. I pull on the pants under my waist- and for a moment, I sit with my hand on my stomach- where will it go now? Will I unexpectly touch where she used to sleep? What if her ‘safe haven,’ just wasn’t save enough?

The words to ‘Holiday in Spain’ float through my head as I sit and remember the ‘past life.’ I leave my wings behind me now. They are placed on a table for her arrival. I’ve used them and flown nowhere. I have no great feats or adventures for my daughter to tell stories of. I have enough use in my wings so that she can borrow them until she grows her own- I won’t be needing these things anymore… it’s a bit tragic, a bit sad- but maybe she’ll give my wings their justice.

She gains my independance, and my wings- I loose him, or the lasting piece of him that stayed for 9 months as he never called . It’s a trade I’m willing to make. I keep telling myself- it’s BLOOD Katie- nothing more than red cells and white cells- fighters and healers-it’s just another thing that comes when we are hurt- it seeps… it stings… but it’s nothing that matters in the long run. She’s taken all of him within herself. When she comes- I am seperated. I am myself again… and I am whole.

I am going to sleep in a bed I don’t own. I put my clothes in my grandmother’s dresser, and I pack my mother’s luggage to sit by the door. I will drive my car to be induced tomorrow morning, and I will have my headphones and cds- and I will sit in Labor and Delivery until I think it’s actually worth calling people about. I will be alone, just her and myself- I promise myself I won’t do comparisons to those around me- the happy parents… the proud grandparents- the nervous fathers. I will sit, and I will listen to the music that I’ve planned out for 9 months in my head.

So this is your mother, Ava. She has borrowed even the luggage for when you come. She borrowed a fool’s pride, and the resentment that goes along with being a single mother. But she’s here and she’s ready

For anyone who’s struggled to find peace and hope amongst fear: This one is for you.

It’s one of those times that I,
Can’t seem to find the words or thoughts,
these hazy eyes, the perfect partner to my weary mind,
and its not been a matter of days
in fact its felt like an age since i last sat down or,
saw a town that wasn’t linked by shores.

And fatigues soon ignored,
as your feet hit the board, or as the beat hits the floor,
these are the moments that we live for,
the ones who constantly try, to appease our nine to fives
they are the ones that justify, all the things that we forsake.

You are not your job, and you are not the clothes you wear,
you are the words that leave your mouth so speak up, speak up loud,
for none of us want to sit,
in evaluations taking notes for hours,
we’re all sick and tired of waiting, lets set sail.

And fatigues soon ignored,
as your feet hit the board, or the beat hits the floor,
these are the moments that we live for,
the ones who constantly try, to appease our nine to fives
they are the ones that justify, all the things that we forsake.

Why do we look to the tide when,
we find that our minds are getting stale,
why does it bag me this place on the waves,
and are we looking for meaning, from demeaning,
the soul destroying task,
we do all the time on the shore.

And as i picture you on the television,
talking all the seller hook past all the people walking,
its about then that I realise that your the same as me,
So call me Ishmael, we are all striving for,
the thing that makes this grind worth surviving baby,
I won’t wait long for one little moment,
where our dream’s to feel alive.

-Get Cape Wear Cape Fly: Call me Ishmael

“Bottom line is, even if you see them coming, you’re not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So, what are we, helpless? Puppets? Nah. The big moments are gonna come, you can’t help that. It’s what you do afterwards that count. That’s when you find out who you are.” – Joss Whedon

You can see the forward here: http://yougottobekidding.wordpress.com/2011/04/21/miss-airport-calendar-2011/

If that wasn’t already disrespectful enough, it ended with this, almost as if to say, “We can one-up whatever you’re feeling.”

It’s not often I am so worked up by an email, but this one came from a friend of mine whose father saw his wife battle with cancer. I actually forwarded it onto my dad, cc’ing the original person who sent it to me.  I included, “You think this is funny? Tell my father. He’s seen both his wife and daughter battle cancer and insurance. Let’s see what he has to say.”

It’s one thing to objectify women and it’s another to take that objectification to another level and try to make light of the fact that MOST women can’t afford cancer care.  Maybe it’s because I see women everyday who are harmed by this type of mentality- the idea that, ‘we’re just joking.’  Whoever made this forward should be ashamed.  Think it’s funny? Spend a visit with me when I go into the doctor and know that NONE of my cancer visits are covered, because big Insurance considers it a pre-existing condition.  When you have to choose between your health and food on the table, then you won’t find it so, ‘hilarious.’  Think it’s still funny? I’m happy to get you my recent pap results. You might think twice before forwarding this on.

Another gorgeous photo from Kretyen (http://www.flickr.com/photos/kretyen/) (Flickr Creative Commons)

Are you ever struck with such awe with what someone has written?  Or stood speechless as you watched a brilliant sunset disappear beyond the horizon?  Maybe your body is filled with energy during the first few chords of your favorite song.  I call that feeling, emotional currency. It’s what we emotionally spend in something that we fall in love with.  As a writer, I often come across other words that people have typed and I am in awe of the feelings and wisdom they’ve conveyed.  A tweet tonight, caught my attention and I went to a post from @JackB, a powerful and emotionally-driven writer.

I was honored when he allowed me to link to his post and I wanted to share a bit of his words, with you.  As you know, this Saturday is slated by some to be the end of the world.  I had words brewing in my fingertips to speak about my daughter and my love of little things-  the feeling of the nose tingles after I sneeze, the way cold air smells and Ava’s unruly curls.  I had nearly 3 paragraphs typed as a love letter to the world and my daughter.  I stopped suddenly to read Jack’s post and my words… were incomparable.

The world could very well end tomorrow, or at noon on an idle Saturday, but the wisdom Jack has left is priceless.  I printed out his post to read to my five year old when she returned from her visit at Grandma and Papas.  I hope you can do the same and realize the future is never given freely, we have to work for it.  Although I don’t believe that anything will happen Saturday, it doesn’t mean I won’t wonder how someone could make us all a little on edge over one, silly, prediction.  My advice, Live Well.  Jack’s advice, is below.  It’s long, but it’s worth every, breath-taking second.

Dear Children,

It is May 19, 2011. Ten days ago we celebrated my 42nd birthday. It was not my favorite birthday, not by a long shot. Truth is for a host of reasons I consider it to be among the worst birthdays I have had. I thought about listing the reasons here so that in the years that come it will be clear as to why I feel this way but I don’t really think it is necessary.

One of the most important skills that you can develop as you grow is learning how to distinguish what is important and what isn’t. I won’t be the first person nor the last to tell you that one of the great contradictions of life is that moments of wonder and amazement are sometimes bookended by the direct opposite. You have already seen that sometimes the little things can turn your day upside down. The question is how those little things impact you.

You have far more power over your lives than you realize. When you are kid it doesn’t always feel that way. There is always someone telling you what to do and how to do it. Some of those things seem ridiculous but you have to do them anyway. Look, I am not a huge fan of making the bed either. I get it, we are just going to get back in and mess up the sheets so why make it. Well, aside from the aesthetics I would say that you do it because it really isn’t worth fighting over. This ties into my comment above about learning how to distinguish what is important and what isn’t.

It is not always easy. We are fighters by birth and by choice. I understand that fire in the belly because I have it too. When things don’t go the way that we want them to we fight to change it. Sometimes that is a really good quality and sometimes it is the thing that will make you miserable.  I have bloodied my knuckles on more one brick wall. You have heard my friends kid around about how I opened a steel can with my hands. It is a true story. I tore that can open with a combination of brute strength and thought.

But what I want for you is to reverse that. Use thought and then brute strength. Take a deep breath, review, evaluate and then proceed.  There will be plenty of times when it makes more sense to act and not react to situations. But there are times when the opposite is true. There are moments where you need to be present. Moments I want you to live and revel in. Don’t hold back, give yourself to it and take it in.

Don’t let fear stop you from going after what you want. I have failed many times and will probably fail some more. Failure sucks. It hurts and sometimes I hate it. But failure doesn’t have to be about bitterness. It is a useful education because how you respond to failure impacts everything you do. It is an education that I hope you learn from. Failure is a teacher. In specific situations it provides a lesson on how not to do something but on a broader level it provides you with examples of how you get back up after you have fallen.

Don’t mistake the importance of being able to look at the past and how you figured out how to stand again. It may sound counterintuitive but past moments of doubt and pain sometimes provide the strength to get through the current ones. They remind you that you didn’t lie down and die. And believe me, some people do. Some people never figure out how to deal with getting punched in the mouth- but you will and you have.

Never forget that your father loves you fiercely. We will fight about things. Sometimes my fear for you may manifest itself in ways that seem ridiculous- deal with it. I’ll do my best to be rational and supportive but sometimes I’ll miss the boat. One day you’ll understand that better.

So let’s step back into the present moment again. My goal is to try and write these letters every year. Time will tell if that actually happens or not. But I can almost guarantee that I will write them as I do now, unscripted and based solely upon the thoughts I have while I am writing.

My life has been filled with more turmoil than I would like. It has been going on for a while now and I see that some of the storms that I have been sailing through are still here.  I don’t know exactly what that means other than life is going to get interesting and some big changes are coming. All I can tell you is that I am fighting hard to keep that tiller pointed towards the horizon. Daylight will come and the seas will calm because they always do. It is just a question of when. So know that if I seem preoccupied it is because I am. But that is because I am trying to do things for you.

I don’t write that to make you feel guilty or to assuage guilt of my own. Most of the crap that I am dealing with is outside of my control and something that many others are dealing with. It is not personal, but I still have to face it.  That is just part of the fun. Ok, I have babbled on long enough. Time to end this with nothing more than I love you.

(Graciously shared from: @TheJackB and his writing on http://www.thejackb.com/.)

 

“Just remember, the same as a spectacular Vogue magazine, remember that no matter how close you follow the jumps: Continued on page whatever. No matter how careful you are, there’s going to be the sense you missed something, the collapsed feeling under your skin that you didn’t experience it all. There’s that fallen heart feeling that you rushed right through the moments where you should’ve been paying attention. Well, get used to that feeling. That’s how your whole life will feel some day. This is all practice. None of this matters. We’re just warming up.” -  Chuck Pahahnuik

I’ve spent most the last year trying to overcome my debilitating addiction to Angry Birds.  At bedtime nightly, as the covers raised to my chin, my cell phone found itself permanently glued to my hand and without notice, I was flinging innocent, feathered, creatures around the small, bright, screen.  Once an animal lover, I became one with my wanton lust to use these majestic fowl to knock over rocks and buildings.  It became out of hand when suddenly a few months ago the unthinkable happened. I beat angry birds.

I had never mastered ANY game, (unless you counted Oregon Trail in the sixth grade.)  My excitement was short lived when I googled “I beat angry birds,” and I entered a dark chapter of my life.  Apparently. there are extra levels if you don’t rush through the game as fast as you can.  As I looked back, I realized: I would have to go back and get three stars on EVERY level in order to unlock the special achievements.  My win seemed even less majestic when I googled further and found out grade schoolers had beat the game months earlier.  And then, wouldn’t you know that a 14-year old, programmed an even COOLER game that has taken the Iphone market by storm.  Feeling slightly less awesome, and only with a sliver of pride left, I reflected.

When handed a burned cd, I’m the woman who scans through all the songs first to revel and wonder what the person was thinking when they made the disk.  At a buffet? I love walking around the entire table first to plan my attack. I’ll routinely drive by 3-4 garage sales to mentally put them in order before I conquer.  But Angry Birds? Was pure gaming lust.  I was ravenous to mindlessly fling and break entire walls without having to plan more than what bird to use on which vertical structure.  Perhaps it was a release from the daily grind or an affirmation that something small could really do that much damage, but my gaming personality is distinctly different than my daily decisions.

How many of you have a different work outlook than home outlook, or vice versa.  Do you have an “Angry Birds,” of your own? I think it’s my differences that make me who I am, with individual and sometimes bizarre tastes.  Life is too short to plan everything. Sometimes, you just gotta fling.

It was dinnertime.  The baked ham was sitting on top of the oven as I scooped the potatoes onto Ava’s dish.  While meditating over whether or not I was missing out on something someone else had, my daughter demanded more of what was on my plate.  I contemplated hoarding my stockpile of food for a moment until I looked at her face and she whispered, “please.”  Each time I grabbed a potato, one fell off my fork.  I tried and tried to get one big scoop so I didn’t have to go back a few times.  I was unsuccessful and it showed in my face.  My daughter looked at me and she said something of quiet, five-year-old, brilliance: “Mom, take your time.”

I am, mostly.  There are moments, however when I long for what’s one someone else’s plate.  And why wouldn’t I? I’m human to my core and when I see something mouthwatering and decadent, I struggle in not racing to take a bite. Staying focused to my own goals is the best thing I can do for myself and the reminder to stop filling my fork at once and start enjoying each mouthful is something I’m revisiting everyday.  Sometimes, I’m in such a hurry to get the next bite, I forget to savor what I have.

Here’s to allowing something to settle into our mouths, with it’s full and robust flavor.  Here’s to making moments last longer than humanely possible in a world where everyone is trained to be faster than the speed of light.  Here’s to learning to achieve what I want,  but not at the timeline of anyone but myself.

Bon Appetit.

(@MassDistraction, this one’s for you.)  Your ability to SHINE and create such an incredible future for your kiddo inspires me daily.

“A great brand taps into emotions. Emotions drive most, if not all, of our decisions. A brand reaches out with a powerful connecting experience. It’s an emotional connecting point that transcends the product.”
-  Scott Bedbury/Nike, Starbucks

Introduction

“Personal branding is the process whereby people and their careers are marked as brands.^[1] It has been noted that while previous self-help management techniques were about self-improvement, the personal branding concept suggests instead that success comes from self-packaging.^[1] Further defined as the creation of an asset that pertains to a particular person or individual; this includes but is not limited to the body, clothing, appearance and knowledge contained within, leading to an indelible impression that is uniquely distinguishable.^[2] The term is thought to have been first used and discussed in a 1997 article by Tom Peters.^{[3]“  (Source)}

What exactly is, “personal branding?”  Anyone online has seen the term mentioned numerous times, with each time it’s true meaning becoming more and more diluted.  Wikipedia has it clearly defined, leaving no room for speculation.  For a while now, I’ve had a sneaking suspicion there was more than meets the eye.  Recently a conversation caught my attention on Twitter.

“Branding adds spirit and a soul to what would otherwise be a robotic, automated, generic price-value proposition.  If branding is ultimately about the creation of human meaning, it follows logically that it is the humans who must ultimately provide it.”
-  David Aaker

Sometimes, things are hard to put into a number.  We use descriptive phrases to help others grasp emotions we feel.  ”I am ‘over the moon.’ with joy!”  or,  ”I’m broken,” are two ways of conveying very, different, thoughts.  But what happens with those that can’t be quantified: the look of hope in someone’s eyes, a nod of agreement or a simple action of laying my palm into Ava’s small, but mighty hand. There are moments that cannot be multiplied enough to uncover the exact words of just how much we feel.

Earlier this week, I taped a few quotes for a radio station.  While we were mindlessly chatting in-between, the host asked me, “Where is GirlmeetsGeek going to go?”  My thoughts went then to the quantifiable thing I could say for I could choose anything.  The moon was too close, (as it often is when I tell my daughter how much I love her to there.)  Infinity was too vast.  I replied simply and knew at the exact moment: I had quantified what I wanted.  Because although money is important, I don’t rule my life by how much is in my bank account.  And radio interviews are fantastic, but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter if I’m on the front cover or best time slot.

I quantified my future by saying, “I’m going straight to the heart.”  Because, to me- that’s the farthest distance between two people. I want, what is most meaningful.  Don’t you?

This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness. – Dalai Lama

This one, is truly: FOR YOU, (click there!) I’m humbled, thankful and so truly, astonished.  (There’s also a little somethin’ somethin’ for you at the bottom.)

.     .     .     .     .     .

GirlTalk Radio with Marlo:  http://girltalkwithmarlo.com/cervical-cancer-battles-sea-of-pink

Greg Glatz’s CJOB Show: All our podcasts are available on Itunes for free.  Here’s the most recent: http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/greg-glatz-show/id413242861

Women In Business Radio Show:  http://womeninbusinessradio.com/your-authentic-voice-katemadonna-hindes-women-in-business-in-radio/

I also took on a column with my friends over at JobHuntChat: http://www.jobhuntchat.com/2011/03/bringing-you-to-the-table-how-the-simple-act-of-being-yourself-can-win-you-the-job/

.     .     .     .     .     .

(Pioneer Press Article: http://www.twincities.com/alllistings/ci_17638466?source=rss)

(SPARK website: http://www.twincitiesspark.com/2011/03/girlmeetsgeek/)

Your blog has been around for about three years. How has it evolved since you first started blogging?

I’ve actually been blogging close to 15 years. My first years, was through a platform at AOL. Then it moved over to LiveJournal and I had a following with a few other friends. Livejournal gave me the ability to really explore writing the personal and internal emotions that helped me to transform to who I am today. After deliberation, about 3 and a half years ago, I decided to move parts of the journal over, and startwww.girlmeetsgeek.com. It started out as a journal to why I wasn’t married and ended as an internal look into myself, business and passion. I think GirlmeetsGeek is the culmination of who I was, what I was passionate about and how I was living it out loud.

What is your biggest challenge when it comes to creating new content? How do you overcome it?

I don’t write, unless I feel something in my fingertips telling me to. I find, that when I let my passion take control, my writing is far better than if I allow myself to blankly type words. I never blog about my daily life, only about moments that matter most. I don’t want to ‘water down’ my writing with mediocrity and I’m too busy to worry about blogging daily. I have other posts I can pull from if my focus is on business, or I have too many deadlines that week. What keeps my writing, ‘fresh’ and ‘unique,’ is the emotion behind it. I always taken on submissions, (I believe GirlmeetsGeek should be a place of words, not just MY words,) so other writers are always welcome. I have always found that good writers are open to the influences around them. I’m a news junkie and I write a lot of my pieces on Social Justice and giving voice to the oppressed. GirlmeetsGeek has become an emotional platform for the forgotten, the passionate and the unvocalized.

People blog for different reasons. What is the most rewarding aspect of maintaining the Girl Meets Geek blog?

I write, because it’s in my blood. I don’t believe in the word, “Blog.” I’m a writer. I’m not a ‘blogger.” I think by using the terms, ‘blog,’ or ‘blogger,’ we limit ourselves. I’m convinced if you cut me open, letters and punctuation would flow from my veins. You could say I blog, because I feel best when my thoughts form into words, hit my keyboard screen and I can read them back and think, “YES.” GirlmeetsGeek is for me, only- it always has been. You’ll notice, there’s no ads on my site and I’m not involved in any communities. I wanted to establish something different for GirlmeetsGeek. I wanted the words, the emotion and the quality to speak for itself, but only because I wanted to put authentic words out there. At the end of the day, the site is for my daughter and I. I want her to see a woman who overcame tremendous odds to grow as a human being and create the world she wanted.

What is one thing you hope your readers learn/understand from reading it?

I hope whomever visits, realizes that we all have greatness in them. I started writing stories when I was in the First Grade. I knew from a young age, that words were my currency to the world. We all have gifts, and they only resonate with others if we put passion and purpose behind those gifts. David Brauer from MinnPost once told me, “Dream Responsibly.” I’ve taken that to heart. GirlmeetsGeek is my Responsible Dream. Our lives are only measured by what we DO with them, not what we WANT out of them. I hope GirlmeetsGeek inspires others to take action and create the future they want.

Every word is so heartfully meant.  Natalie Merchant sang it best….

I was sitting behind him in Journalism class.  At 14 years old and him at 15, we were as lost as two misfits could be.  I had 90′s rolled, curled, bangs and delusions of grandeur.  He had a genuine smile and some of the best retorts I’ve ever heard to what other classmates said to us in jest. I was a high school loser and he, had a car.

He offered me rides some mornings.  For my 15th birthday, I received a spiked dog collar and NIN’s, “The Downward Spiral.“  He, influenced my musical tastes and opened my heart to the words behind the pain.  I never really looked into what that album was about, until tonight when the discography made me understand that we had come full-circle.

“The idea behind the album is of someone who sheds everything around them to a potential nothingness, but through career, religion, relationship, belief and so on. It’s less muscle-flexing, though when I started it I didn’t know what I wanted it to sound like. Thematically I wanted to explore the idea of somebody who systematically throws or uncovers every layer of what he’s surrounded with, comfort-wise, from personal relationships to religion to questioning the whole situation. Someone dissecting his own ability to relate to other people or to have anything to believe in…With ‘The Downward Spiral’ I tried to make a record that had full range, rather than a real guitar-based record or a real synth-based record.  I tried to make it something that opened the palate for NIN, so we don’t get pigeon-holed. It was a conscious effort to focus more on texture and space, rather than bludgeoning you over the head for an hour with a guitar.”  (http://www.ninwiki.com/The_Downward_Spiral_%28halo%29)

Hurt was on that CD.  Closer, too.  The lyrics that gave a voice to pain and self-loathing in the 1990′s made me feel even more aware how unique I wasn’t.  I credit him as a muse: the first man who dared understand me enough to see beyond a cheerleader exterior into something deeper- I was struggling to find myself.  He stood by me in high school when I dumped him 8 hours before the Sadie Hawkins dance.  He stood by me in college when I kissed him instead of my college boyfriend at the time.  We laughed together when our kisses turned into a fumbling mess that made us realize in my early twenties I lost the romantic love interest and gained an incredible brother.  We sat together at a mutual friend’s mother’s funeral and I looked over at him.  He knew.  I never had to speak any words with him.  He just knew. He wasn’t the one that, ‘got away,’ he was the one that grew as I grew and evolved into something greater. He became my daughter’s godfather and I dreamed of the day our children would play together.  I had seen him change, from an awkward 15 year old to a tragically misled 18 year old who wore a spiked jacket and steel-toe boots. Then he was an Abercrombie-obsessed 23 year old who stunned me with his brilliance and wit. At 30 now, I grow more proud everyday.  15 years of Joe.

He married someone a few years ago.  Someone I struggled to love from the beginning.  I could feel it from the first moment she laid eyes on Ava and I.  Suddenly, we were a threat. I remember their wedding distinctly because I wasn’t allowed to be in the wedding party or have any part of her bridal shower.  He chose a college friend to read a passage on the altar.   I sat quietly in my chair, clapped when I was told to clap and eventually my date and I left early.  7 months into the pregnancy with their first child, I received a chilling phone call that my child, “looked too much like him.“  She wondered then, if it was a conspiracy.  “Why are you so close?”  She was angry, and I was humiliated into begging her to realize this wasn’t the case.  I found out later that her jealousy grew deeper than I had originally thought.  She couldn’t get over the fact we had dated.  He had to make a choice.

I saw him change then.  When I had to make one of the most difficult decisions in my life with Cervical Cancer, I was condemned.  He said, “I cannot be friends with you, it’s too hard to watch you go through this.”  I begged him on the phone in the parking lot of a Bruegger’s Bagels on my lunch hour to reconsider.  I wasn’t of their thread, anymore.  Years passed and we tried to mend some of the pain.  I took pictures of their incredibly beautiful and special children when they came into the world.  Those pictures stare down at me from the same shelf as my parents and my own child.  I loved his wife because he loved his wife.  I hugged her longer than him, I never sat by him and I struggled to help her understand how much of an afterthought I was.  Children’s parties came and went.  Seasons changed and a few days ago, I sent an email.  I missed our weekly calls while we were driving and his insight into breakups and life’s greatest challenges.  It had been at least a month since our last call and the ball dropped when I looked at the clock at 3:23pm.  He couldn’t be friends with me, any longer.

The words were quiet, like the opening of “Hurt.”  They were almost a whispered confession.  I didn’t know how to plead or beg anymore and instead I said, “If your marriage needs this, if your children need this then you need this.”  He said that was the most mature thing he’s ever heard me say.  Somehow, those words hurt more than any goodbye and the realization was this:  I had fought cancer, spoken on Capitol Hill, raised a stunningly-gorgeous 5 year old and somehow, me telling HIM that he needed to focus on himself was the most mature moment of my existence in his life.   It struck me then as it struck me now, he didn’t know me at all or perhaps I just want to think that.  It’s easier to walk away from someone you care so much about when you can hold onto your pain like a sword.

We are going to try a ‘separation.’  So she can rebuild her confidence and trust, without my presence in their lives.  They have a house to sell and two, magnificent daughters to raise.  I was reminder of tension and angst.  I was to be, forgotten. I don’t quite know how to explain to Ava that her godfather had to walk away.

I tell you this, because there are moments that positive spin alludes me.  I can’t craft this into a story of enlightenment or success.  But I can tell you, I have loved someone so deeply and so true that I would give my own happiness for his own success.  I told him to tell his wife that my love meant more to her because I struggled and won to see beyond the actions and loved what she gave to him.  I lost. I tell you this, because sometimes the moments of greatest hurt, we keep inside and we allow them to jade us and make us something we are not.  I heard Trent Reznor got married a while back.  Through his pain he found love.  Sometimes, you have a shut a door on the past to allow the future to engulf you with possibility.  But it, hurts.

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
goes away in the end…

– NIN, (Hurt)

There are analogies for each situation of our lives.  We put up or shut up, we sit or stand, or we give all or nothing.  While each one of these has the Universe’s truth inside, there is room for one more.

Our finest moments define us by two things: Do we leave our shoes, or take them with us?

I once read a fantastic short story by Brett Pederson that explained as a woman left an abusive and controlling relationship and rode in the cab to her new life, the only thing she took out of the cab upon leaving was her running shoes.  The rest remained.  Her mindset was fixated on the fact that all she needed to survive was the determination to finally run towards what she deserved.  While she could have let go and started fresh, her running shoes were her closest companion.  Her desire to take the rubber-soled representations of freedom over books and photos always spoke loudly to me.  In some career changes, you take the very things that made you the most resilient, with you.

Tonight, I was fixated on a story in the late Elizabeth Edward’s book, “Resilience.”  She speaks early on in her autobiography of “Maytaggers,” or those that had spent their entire working lives at the nearby Maytag plant.  When it closed and the community was in a debilitating shock those that left the plant for the last day, also left their workboots.  Neatly lined-up, they were silhouetted against a dark, lonely, bench.  Never to be worn again, someone must have scooped the shoes up before demolition and wondered, “Who were the people who once filled these shoes?”  In some career changes, the important part is letting go.

Sometimes, the past is a friend to us and others, it’s merely a pollutant and distraction to what we’re working so hard for.  We have very few moments in life where we are able to carve out a new path.  Take your shoes or leave them: the choice is yours.

Those that know me from my later days in college, know that I found my courage, or ‘walking shoes,’ in the form of this song.  It’s been with me for years.

“well nobody took your pride away
i said,” thats something people say.”
Back down the bully to the back of the bus,
cause its time for them to be scared of us
till you’re yelling how we’re living cause you got the ball
and then you rock on, baby, rock on, you rock on.”  - 3eb Wounded

When I was young, I used to think silence was reverence.  I’ve come to understand that our voices acknowledging another mean so, very, much, more.  On a random search tonight, this video came up.  As Hansard, Rice and Merchant go up the microphone, their giggles erupt through the air.  By the second verse, people have abandoned the silence and have started singing along.  Sometimes, music can be a prayer, a confession or a celebration. I think this video is the latter, to the world’s most beautiful song.  In a moment of greatness, sometimes it’s too much to stay silent.  Cohen’s infamous lyrics which have been forgotten about since the various covers seem to sum it all up so, so, well.

There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah

-Leonard Cohen

Just. Sing. Out.

We spent a few moments paused in the middle of the Holiday excitement downtown when my daughter looked up and asked if I had a penny for the fountain.  Not the type of person to be superstitious, but also not the type to dash my daughter’s hope that a penny could grant what she wanted, I willingly complied.

My little girl closes her eyes when she wishes.  It’s a silent prayer that you can see from the furrows in her forehead and tightly clenched fists that she is taking wishing, incredibly seriously.  The prayer ends not with an, “amen,” but with a very hard blow from two, rosebud, lips.  Mental wishes are always dandelions to her and as she blew at the end, it signified that the mental seeds would carry her desire far away to be fulfilled.

I watched her blow as her face lit up suddenly.  I asked her what I always asked her, “What did you wish for?”  She replied like she always replied, “I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”  I usually shrugged off her response, but this time I saw the longing in her eyes.  I asked her again,  but she only stomped her foot and pouted.  How could I make this wish come true without knowing exactly what it was?

We had done it all wrong.  All of us.  All the storybooks and the fables.  All the passed down anecdotes and lessons.  A wish isn’t meant to be kept to yourself.  Magic doesn’t exist in the traditional sense of the word.  Wishes are meant to be shared, acknowledged and worked towards.  I explained to Ava softly, “Please tell me, so I can help you make it come true.”  And I will, when I can fix this horribly, annoying, habit of being allergic to what she wished for: a baby bunny.

If you have a wish, you should share it.  You should proclaim it as yours and not hide behind magic or superstition to make it happen.  Social Media gives you a platform to speak on your wishes and help determine the fate of others’ wishes.  If we were doing all this correctly, imagine how many less pennies would be in fountains and how much more could be given towards those that truly need it.

We don’t throw pennies in fountains anymore, but we now share our wishes openly.  My daughter still had that sparkle in her eye becuase she knows, if it’s in my power, I’ll make it come true, or teach her to create her own magic.

We are all the guardians of each other’s wishes.  When oh when, will re realize that it’s not our secrets that make us powerful, but our community and connections?

I sat for a a few moments this morning, overlooking the wrath of strewn about wrapping paper and gift tags.  My thoughts traveled to the darker corners of my mind as I tried to pinpoint the gifts of the past year.  These past 12 months were a testament to adversity, and refusing to be a part of the status quo.  I met incredible individuals, people whose passion sparked intense discussions and wonderful insights.  I’ve cried over coffee and laughed over breakfast.  This past year has been one of the best years of my life.  But this year has also been the most difficult.  It was a year of trying to fit in, be noticed, achieve- and only when I let go did I realize how far I could travel.

I told a friend this morning, as we were remarking about business and success. I decided we would have to be kites; strongly tethered to the ground below, but with the ability to fly above the noise, competition and angst of those scrambling underneath.  Her heart is one of the purest I’ve ever known.  There’s no pretense, or negativity involved.  I’m blessed to learn from her and recognize how I can be better.  Being a kite, is harder than it looks.  But it dawned on me suddenly as soon as I typed the words to her, that the most successful people in the world, stopped being caught up in the negativity of those around them, and started instead, focusing on their own success.  They were kites.

I scan around the room at the mishmash of colored paper and the dust on the tables.  Today, I planned to spend a few hours cleaning the house but for the last 20 minutes, I’ve been affixed on watching my preschooler explore and grow more excited about what was inside the packages, than the gorgeous outside.  You could say my greatest gift has been watching, and learning from what those around me have offered.  I have been blessed.

Her little face tilts towards the red couch where I’m sitting, “there’s nothing more than I love you, Mommy.”  You’re right, Ava.  There’s nothing more.

Merry Christmas.