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. 

What I learned in 2017

Another year has gone by. I am actually listening to Celine Dion's song by the same title from circa 1998 to get me in the mood for recalling all that was 2017. I've been concluding the year with these reflections for a few years now and it brings me a feeling of peace despite the fact that I really don't like New Year's all that much. While I am hopeful for the promise and opportunity of another year, I always war with a subtle melancholy for the conclusion of the Christmas season. 

This past year I began a new job in Manhattan, one that has exposed me to a multitude of experiences for which I am so very grateful. I learned a valuable lesson in persistence. I applied to work at Bullfrog+Baum as a senior at Georgetown and received no reply back. I applied again a year later, and again received no reply. I committed to writing more, learning to compose a compelling image, and sharing creative projects here in this digital corner of mine. Upon applying to Bullfrog some 5 years after my initial infatuation with the firm, I got a call, 3 interviews, a job, a slew of new connections, a belly full of meals, and some new sisters. Brothers too! I see you Aik Wye and Alex. Oh and a promotion! 

I felt the pride of seeing my name in the Wall Street Journal.

I learned that relationships don't always endure change, but they serve their purposes for a moment in time. You can still be thankful for the impressions and wisdom left behind. Speaking of relationships - they can begin on rocky footing. There can be conflict, dissonance, and even harsh judgment. But all is not lost. People evolve and under the right circumstances the unlikeliest of people can become allies and advocates.

I learned you can make peace with popovers, win over a hardened heart with the freshly-baked, and heal someone who is suffering with 12 minutes on the phone. 

I have seen that the afflicted are prone to flock to helping professions. I believe this is a constructive way to cope with feelings of pain, fear, shame and inadequacy. I also learned we do not have to perpetually be on trial. We can be forgiven. 

I have learned to love more completely, and that sometimes love is uncomfortable and that you can love and not quite like someone momentarily. Life does not have to be blissful and without adversity to be pure magic. I have learned that when I am angry, or he is angry we make more progress confronting matters head on than when we dance around a fragile topic. 

Wine and Cheese Class at Italienne 

I have learned to navigate the NYC subway! Learned about some wines, many cheeses, and a spirit or two at Italienne. I baked oh so many batches of Rossella Rago's Italian Knot Cookies as I have for years at Christmas. We became friends too and to hold her book in my hands and call her a companion is wildly gratifying. I made Gail Simmons' Banoffee Pie and I am never looking back. I ate at restaurants I could likely never afford, at least not for a very long time.  

Rossella Rago's Knot Cookies 

Chocolate Banoffee Pie

I learned to shoot in manual mode. Thank you lynda.com and Melissa Cohn. I learned some ways to make an Instagram story perdy, and how to navigate the freaking billing section on Facebook Ads Manager. 

I learned of the joy in train travel. I learned oh so much about Hoboken from frequently missing said trains, and made new friends at the diner I get milkshakes at when I miss said trains.

I learned about press language, media outlets, and how to multi-task like a beast.

I had hot pot, my first ever martini, and ate pizza multiple times in Brooklyn.  

I learned how to maintain composure when dealing with obnoxiously drunk patrons while working the door at a bar. I also learned how gratifying it is to work with different demographics in capacities that use different parts of your brains.  

No two couples are alike. Comparison, as has always been said, is literally the thief of joy.  

Books fed my soul this past year, and period television was mildly addictive.  The Tudors and The Borgias kept me company on the treadmill... That is when I made it to the treadmill. I walked far and wide in the city to avoid the subway although as I said, the scared Jersey girl learned to navigate it. 

I learned that I can thrive outside of my comfort zone and that I’ve merely scratched the surface of all I would like to see and try.  

I’m still learning to be gentle with myself but I’m closer than I was and I’m hopeful for what lies ahead.