Stuck

I’m stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman.

I’m wavering between openness and being guarded, not quite sure how to be. To my good fortune, someone I value made the reason for my struggle terribly clear. It wasn’t a break your spirit declaration but a seemingly simple, simultaneously brilliant assessment that made my brain explode in a rush of light and clarity sort of way. “You are an adult.  You still behave respectfully like a child.”

She thought she had offended me but little did she know a flood gate of relief opened in my soul. I urged her to continue. “You’re not a child but it’s difficult to adjust when you’ve always been respectful.”  

When I was younger, more naive, I had a narrower view of the world.  I remember thinking someone can’t possibly love their parents if they move away from them. And then I moved away. I realize now how silly a sweeping judgment that was and that we can’t speak for a circumstance until we live it. That’s just one of many universal truths I had adhered to. While deeply flawed, my naïveté did lend itself to a greater degree of certainty though. Maybe ignorant bliss. Or unfaltering trust. In my adulthood I’m constantly questioning.

I’m stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman.

I thought more about what my confidante told me, her genius the antidote to my anxiety and indecision. Here’s how. Everything we learned to do without question as children shifts in adulthood. The demands and pressures of our culture require the transformation. But if you miss the transition and neglect to reassess what you learned growing up, you’ll end up ill-equipped for real life, wondering how you got this adult thing quite so wrong.

As children, we are forthcoming with love. We indiscriminately dole out smiles and affection. We trust without inhibition. Somewhere down the line, this practice needs adjusting; I missed the memo. Why can’t we develop relationships so freely, and how do we course correct when we still long for that connection?

Be honest and transparent they said. Come adulthood, don’t reveal all your cards. Particularly hard when you are forthcoming with everything, cards included.

When a child laughs with glee and waves at a stranger, it’s cute. When I’m too joyful or kind, some will look at me with skepticism. They wonder if I’m disingenuous. Whose ass is she trying to kiss, they’ll wonder. It’s not that serious; I actually was just being nice. 

Behave, they said. Behaved women rarely make history they now say.

Walk the line, they said. But now, you must go your own way. Chart your path. Break the rules.  

Raise your hand before you speak, they said. Today, speak up or you will forever be a doormat. Don’t wait for permission to act.

You should respect authority, they said. Come working age, trust few if anyone or you’ll end up under a bus. God I hate that idiom but how true it tends to be.

Share your lunch! Give of yourself.  But remember, you have got to worry about yourself first.

It’s ok to cry... Emotion is an indicator of something beneath the surface and must be tended to. Suck it up and conceal your feelings or people will prey on your vulnerability.

These are generalizations, I realize that, but there is an element of truth behind grand statements. It’s not irreparable, but surely uncomfortable if you missed the transition and are left with the obedience of a child in a world that demands the ferocity of a lioness let alone a human woman. 

Im stuck somewhere between a girl and a woman.

What I learned in 2018

Another year came and went. As I stare at a stack of handmade Christmas cards that I made last year and have yet to send to any intended recipients, I realize that much was left unaccomplished. But the days were full and changes plenty, so I know there was effort, and intention. And there will always be learning.

I’m a serial overthinker. The habit birthed this little blog. It tormented me as a young person, and sometimes still does. It keeps me up and alert when I should be at ease and keeps me dismayed and confused when I should be happy or at the very least blissfully neutral. I read a slew of self help books this past year. The books were insightful and gave me comfort at least for a little while. If you need recommendations, or copies, I have them. You’ll inherit my obsessive notes in the margins too. From them I learned that you can’t be certain why you are as you are. You can’t be defined so no amount of pondering or research will yield a neat answer, only explanations we are comfortable enough accepting. Ruminating keeps our perceived issues alive and well. And why are they issues at all? So you’re fucking sensitive. And you care a little extra. You are who you are. Full stop. And labels do more harm than good anyway. All your quirks are beautiful threads in a complex tapestry. A beloved psychologist told me that years ago and I cling to it. I ran into him in a cafe a few months back and spontaneously broke into tears. His acceptance was that impactful.

Acceptance aside, I also learned that if a habit is not serving you though, then there is no reason you cannot adapt and evolve. And per my dear husband who is magnificently profound when he wants to be, I learned that if you cannot live day to day, then you can live hour to hour.

I learned that no matter how bleak and beyond repair a relationship may seem,  healing is possible. Through loss we experienced a new beginning for our family and it’s given me joy I hadn’t imagined. My husband’s late mother ensured that we all found our way back to one another and so begins the next chapter. 

I learned about perseverance. I have run from more challenging circumstances than I care to admit. But I got pushed into a corner and finally learned to speak up for myself. It was uncomfortable; speaking up really didn’t resolve anything, but it meant something to me. It affirmed that I can do hard things. And I am not a spineless fart in the wind like that woman said I was. And I’ll be the first to say my adversity is child’s play in the grand scheme of the suffering in our world. But a challenge is a challenge, and overcoming it despite all the fear and discomfort feels really fucking good. (I also learned I like to say fuck a lot. I follow most rules and having a  potty mouth is oddly gratifying.) And now I know a tough chick is there somewhere deep inside of me but it takes a lot to bring her to the surface. When she arrives though, watch out; she will bark back with a rhubarb pie in hand. 

I learned you can give everything to a job, and it still won’t love you back. It’s not a person. It doesn’t have feelings and isn’t concerned with your welfare. If you leave it, the building doesn’t fall down. Even if it’s really hard to part with the good bits, the dust settles and things keep moving. 

I made LOTS of really phenomenal Salted Chocolate Chunk Shortbread by Alison Roman. And continued to experiment with pie crust. It’s nothing new but feeding people is a way I show love so I continued to nurture that habit this past year. I learned about food styling from a wonderful intern turned great friend, landed in the acknowledgments of a cookbook, and picked up new freelance projects. I am earning income outside of an establishment and while it’s been stressful navigating this new frontier, it has also given me confidence.

I learned way too much about the inner workings of the male psyche from working late nights at a local bar, but the change of scenery has gifted me perspective, some horror and plenty of giggles. I learned about compromise. And that conflict doesn’t mean you don’t love someone. I learned you can disagree with someone on principle and still respect their dignity. I learned needlepoint! And that Pittsburgh is comprised of hills, bridges and really nice people. 

I said goodbye to a beautiful city, and am still figuring out a new city. I took a leap and leaping isn’t easy for me; I much prefer my feet planted.

I’m driving a lot these days and I hate driving. That gives me an odd sense of accomplishment in itself. I am also taking in a serious amount of podcast material. You can call me a worshipper of the podcast gospel. Remarkable stuff really.

I learned that when things are good, I find something negative to focus on. I pop the balloon and I deflate it before someone else can. So I thought long and hard about it and this is the sense I have made of it (for now.) If you are constantly finding fault with something within yourself, then you’ll never know joy and acceptance. And then you won’t have to suffer when you lose said joy and acceptance. That possibility of loss must scare me so I remain on guard. But life is loss. We are losing seconds every moment, and get experiences in return. Wonderful ones. Awful ones. Ones we never want to live again. And ones we never want to live without. What kind of protagonist will you be? I ask myself every morning.  Will I fade into the background, or show up and read my lines?

Out of office

I was out of the office for two weeks. Work has become an integral part of my identity and I’ve been neglecting some of the other rich bits that make life, well, literally worth living. My perceived importance prevented me from achieving balance and just before it all got out of hand, two little boys, 9 and 13, full of life and full of gas arrived at our doorsteps.

Initially I couldn’t disconnect even in the midst of their precious faces and significant need for  attention, love, and activities! And food,  a mammoth amount of food. I quickly eased into my new two-week normal. We rose early to feast on New Jersey bagels with taylor ham. There were chocolate chip pancakes and syrup spills on our vintage food puzzle. We re-watched Holes, one of my favorite summer reading assignments from back in the day. We re-read it too during long morning bubble baths. We made a dream catcher for mom, got water logged at the pool, and baked. I had been needing a recalibration and this most certainly was just that. I was seeing things again with wonder from the perspective of a child. Even when they were disinterested, I got to reside in another dimension of youthful innocence. I was reacquainted with joy.

We navigated temper tantrums, resentment and forgiveness. We did lots of laundry. Lots. I particularly loved finding little socks and small underwear amidst my typical load, like the prize  in a Cracker Jack box. Their big personalities tested and challenged me. They also embraced me and together we found a new comfort zone. They gifted me elevated definitions of love and selflessness. Another gift was seeing my husband through a beautiful nurturing lens. We were a family found again.

I became hyper-focused on the people and concepts that truly matter.  We ate fresh pasta, refrigerator cake and too much bacon. We watched movies and played Pac-Man. We frequented all the zoos and all the aquariums we possibly could. We were local loyalists intent on an adventure. We never departed a small strip of the east coast... for most of the trip we never actually departed our state, except for an extensive amount of time spent in Brooklyn, but the same old spots held new promise. We parted with these little people that came running into our home and our hearts. We did hard things and came out the other side changed.

Three days were left at that point and I got to reconnect with a different part of myself... We come into the world ideally with a supportive familial unit. Our needs are met, we are loved and cared for, encouraged and celebrated. Time goes on, we navigate the highs and lows of adolescence, teenage drama, higher learning and first jobs. We may end up coupled, we may not. We find our people, our tribe. The ones we are vulnerable with, celebrate with, confront adversity with. We let down our walls with our tribe. I admittedly very easily let people into my innermost circle, and often end up dismayed or misunderstood. Exposing weaknesses to those prematurely granted access into the circle can set your life ablaze and not in a good empowering way. Thankfully it doesn’t last long. The bandaid gets ripped off, you learn, you tighten the circle, you begin anew.

I had the long overdue chance to spend time with some of my tribe in the city that will always be a second home. We played rummy and Scrabble, ate mama’s chicken cutlets, drank chocolate milkshakes and watched Freaky Friday. We cried watching the wedding scene from The Office because, well, Jim and Pam. We cried again watching the trailer of A Star is Born, because music. We slurped ramen in Union Market, spritzed in Masseria’s fancy lounge under the illumination of heat lightning. We broke down barriers and were raw and unapologetic about our fears. We talked about troubling topics and felt safe in those unknowns. We ate even more than we thought we could! We parted physically at the station, but not mentally because your tribe is always with you. 

It’s back to work tomorrow but first I have a cake to ice. 

Chicken Milanese for the Soul

We will be rewarded for sharing vulnerabilities like Tinkerbell and her pixie dust, they said. Tossing it around for all in need to benefit from and partake in. Everyone is hurting to some degree, so by sharing we collectively heal.  Some people you give a gift as precious as your vulnerability to will protect it. They, like you, know how it feels to be exploited, misunderstood, and uncertain. Some will absorb it, with a feigned look of understanding, and quietly tuck that very valuable piece of you away until it is advantageous to use. When the circumstances align, they reach into their closet of intel, pluck it, and voila. You are hurting again.

The feeling empathes in a world that wants us to believe something is seriously wrong with us as we are, must not allow these circumstances to harden us. Someone, somewhere is deserving of our gifts. We just might have to be a little more selective when doling them out.

The best we can do as people is make of ourselves what we are able,  sharing with those deserving of our vulnerability. Plant our feet firmly on the ground, ignite our surroundings with our passion, quietly give thanks, tenderly love,  enthusiastically try, and make chicken Milanese. After all this feeling, I’m starving.

You'll Need:

For the chicken:

• 4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts (about 6 ounces each, lightly pounded)
• 2 large eggs
• ⅔  cup all-purpose flour
• 1 cup plain dried breadcrumbs 
• 1 cup olive oil
• kosher salt and pepper

For the salad:

• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
• 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
• 3 cups baby arugula
• 6-10 grape or heirloom tomatoes, halved
• ½  red onion, sliced thin
• 2 roasted red peppers, sliced thin
• kosher salt and black pepper  

To Prepare:

1. For the chicken: Lightly beat 2 large eggs in a medium bowl. Place all-purpose flour and breadcrumbs in 2 separate wide, shallow dishes.
2. Season eggs, flour and chicken with coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper.
3. Working with 1 cutlet at a time, dip into flour, turning to coat and shaking off excess. Dip into egg, and lift out, letting excess drip off. Dip into breadcrumbs, pressing firmly to adhere. Set aside.
4. Heat oil in a 12-inch skillet (oil should be between 1/4 and 1/2 inch deep) over medium-high heat until shimmering; a breadcrumb should sizzle when dropped into oil.
5. Gently place 2 cutlets in skillet, and fry until bottoms are golden brown, 3 1/2 to 4 minutes. Flip cutlets, and fry until cooked through and golden on other side, about 2 1/2 minutes more.
6. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined baking sheet, and pat off excess oil.
7. Repeat with remaining cutlets, skimming brown bits and adding more oil if necessary.
8. For the salad: Whisk together Extra Virgin Olive Oil and Balsamic Vinegar. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
9. Toss arugula, tomatoes, red onion, and red peppers with vinaigrette. Top cutlets with salad.
10. Finish with a drizzle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil as well as a turn of salt and pepper. 

Commuter: Year 1

It’s been a minute since last I put on my writing hat while packed into a three-seater on NJ transit or huddled in a corner of Hoboken terminal. My work being heavily digital has gifted me some degree of carpal tunnel and sometimes the thought of clenching my phone a minute longer to write something is enough to deter me from the practice. But so much happens in these minutes, hours spent contained in a metal tube, devoid of service, surrounded by people and on occasion still feeling alone.

Today marks one year for me as a commuter. I refer to other people as tourists whereas I myself was a tourist in this gigantic city system a year ago. I get lost far less often, I can transfer trains, I can help a straggler on the corner and I walk quickly enough to appear to an onlooker like I know where I am heading. While commuting isn’t as romantic as it had been the first spring months I began work, it still entrusts me with forced quality time with myself and for that I am always grateful. 

And yet every day, a new experience en route to and from my job, another anomaly of the train uncovered. I lost my mother-in-law at 6 pm on a work night a few weeks back. I had been planning to get drinks with friends and was plucked from this carefree space and transported to one of fear and sorrow. I deliriously trekked to the PATH and sobbed on the train, anchored against the window. I tilted towards the corner to hide my face from view but noone noticed me. Not one soul. I’m not sure if this is good or bad? Perhaps both.

I recall in my writing from about three months ago that I felt as if I was losing my tenderness canvassing the city space. I’m more impatient than I once was. I have trouble unplugging as I feel a sense of urgency to be available. I rarely allot myself the time to be unproductive and feel endless yearning for a moment of calm all the while feeling excited and invigorated to have found work that is stimulating and exciting. When I hit the tunnel and service goes out I am outraged. I refresh the phone as if something will change and magically cell service will cut through water and concrete. Alas, I have to be comfortable sitting with myself and my thoughts for however long that spread of track is. Maybe connectivity is so desired because it prevents me from being in my brain all alone. My college roommate used to tell me that. Try not to reside alone in your head too too long. It can be a scary and vulnerable place.

I still wonder what it would be like to be an adult without immediate access. What would I do on the train in lieu of checking emails or scrolling? Even my reading is interrupted by a buzz or a ring. When I have kids I want to teach them the power of boredom. The joy of being uninfluenced by the forces of popular culture that tell you what needs fixing or who you should aspire to. The allure of disconnecting and daydreaming, without an intended destination. I pray amidst the constant onslaught of information and pressure they will know snippets of a childhood like I had with rollerblades, scraped knees, and conversations happening face to face. I pray I myself get back to this place too. For now, setting my devices aside and gazing out the window at the same landscape will be my solace.