New Journey

Today my son is leaving for Italy. The trip we thought would never arrive is finally here. The last few days flew by in a flurry of activity, and all the while, Michael’s excitement continued to grow.

Yesterday afternoon, as I closed his suitcase after putting in the last few items, I thought back about all the work of the past few days – clothes shopping, haircut, last minute gifts to send to grandparents – and all the surface stress that went with it. We lost keys, missed swim practice sessions for my daughter, forgot items we needed, and we constantly felt we were running out of time.

Preparing for a long trip is not too different than preparing for a new chapter in life – you work, work, and then work some more, and you feel that you are never going to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Then, suddenly, things seem to slow down, activity ceases, and the rush of adrenaline settles. Everything – or mostly everything, at least – is in place and it is time to recharge as we wait for changes to come.

Last night felt like that. We had been running around for so long that our pace became naturally accelerated. Slowing down felt strange and gave us a feeling of leaving something undone; yet, all the ties were pulled and secured in a knot. Once all the hard work was in place, it was time to take a step back, assess what we have accomplished and finally relax.

We grilled steaks – one of Michael’s favorite meals – and sat around on the deck talking about all the cool things he’s going to see and all the fun he is going to have. Today is going to be a long day for him, but a very exciting one all the same. He is flying to New York, and then directly to Italy, all alone for the first time. For him, this is a trial by fear, but one he is eager to take. Overcoming his fears of traveling alone feels, to him, like a badge of honor he will finally get to wear, one which will identify him as a young adult. And, the prize at the end of the race is way sweet – with grandparents eager to embrace the role of “serial spoilers” Michael already knows he is in for the treat of his life.

We typically become stressed whenever we prepare for something new, afraid to mess it up somehow, or to forget something important. Our energy gets sucked away, much like ocean water receding into the depths only to come back tenfold in the impetus of a large wave. It’s almost as if the energy we seem to throw around is needed to pack the punch before whatever is coming can make its grand entrance into our lives.

I try to think of this any time my own life seems to slow down, or all my hard work appears scattered to the four winds. None of the energy is really lost or useless, and it will all pay off in the end. For Michael pay day is today.

The Coffee Stain

“Shyness has a strange element of narcissism. A Belief that how we look, how we perform, is truly important to other people.” ~ Andre Dubus


Growing up next door to one of the fashion capitals of the world, appearances used to be very important to me. I clearly remember that, as a teenager, I would not even go outside unless I had make-up on, or wore high-heels. Then life caught up with me, and over time I came to accept that some of these things really don’t matter.

Last week, I stopped by a local Target while on my way home from running other errands; since I had rushed most of the morning, I stopped at the adjoining Starbucks to get a cup of coffee I could sip while picking up groceries and new goggles for my daughter. I hadn’t even left the coffee shop when I felt something very hot splash over my leg – the lid on the coffee cup wasn’t completely closed, and some of the steaming beverage had spilled right on my pants!

Mumbling the whole way there, I went to the ladies’ room to see if I could, somehow, repair some of the damage. The stain had by now spread and there was little I could do; I wet a paper towel and vigorously rubbed the stain, hoping to magically see it disappear, but when I stopped the stain was still there; if that wasn’t enough, it was now strangely decorated with dozens of tiny paper specks that had attached to the wet fabric.

Great! What was I to do now? I couldn’t waste the precious hour of child-free shopping, yet I was uncomfortable walking around the store with wet, stained clothes. It was time to make a decision. And that’s when I looked around. Everyone was absorbed in what they were doing, and barely making eye contact with strangers. Were these people really going to snap out of their own reveries and routines to acknowledge the fact that my pants were stained? Hardly.

The decision was made – I wasn’t going to let a stain redirect the course of my day. I marched toward the aisles and proceeded to look for the things I needed. By the time I got back to my car, I assessed the situation: not a single person had looked at me twice, or even hinted at the fact they had noticed anything strange.

We invest so much energy worrying about what others are going to think that we often lose sight of the fact that most people don’t really notice the same things we do. And, even if they do notice, what are the chances that they will continue thinking about what they saw for more than a few seconds? Once we are out of their sight, their awareness of us and our ‘unforgivable’ problem is gone and forgotten; if they met us the next day, they would likely not even remember they had seen us before.

Similarly, I use to get irritated at my husband when he acted foolishly inside the grocery store; did I think that people were going to devote more than a tiny fragment of their time to evaluate his performance? Did I actually entertain the thought that they were taking that one experience home to be discussed over dinner with their families?

These days I no longer worry about appearances, just as much as I no longer feel awkward expressing my thoughts to others. Growing older doesn’t only bring upon gifts of wrinkles and gray hair, but it also allows one to realize that self-consciousness is often synonymous with personal arrogance.

The Things We Take for Granted

I take things for granted. Most of us do, to some extent. I thought about this last night, as I sat at the kitchen table at ten o’ clock at night, helping my oldest son with a school assignment.

Now, my son Stephen is a very good kid – sweet, compassionate, and always happy – but he has a maddening quality: he is a procrastinator. If he has a project due, it is left for the last hour of the last day before it is due, leading, of course, to a mad dash and panic to get it done on time. I have tried to explain to him many times how he should pace himself, and try to set up a schedule to get things done, all to no avail. He means well, he really does, but he can’t help being a social butterfly and a bouncing ball when it comes to activities.

So, here I was last night, secretly boiling inside and pouting about the fact that another evening of mine was sacrificed to his social life; then a light went off.

I thought about all those kids who are sullen and withdrawn, isolated and unable to connect to others. I thought about the meaning of being a kid, and the demands society has on kids these days. I also thought about parents who have children with illnesses, the ones whose sons and daughters are confined in a hospital room, void of energy and preoccupied with issues they shouldn’t have to worry about at their young age. Those parents would give all their possessions to have a bubbly, smiling child, and their hearts would warm quickly if they could detect a small mischievous twinkle in their own kids’ eyes.

That’s when I realized how fortunate I am. My kids are not perfect – none of us is – but they are good, normal kids, who have been lucky enough to be born in a life void of hardship, in which they can live their childhood years worry-free, thinking about sports, games and girls.

I looked up from the paper and glimpsed at Stephen. He felt that I was staring at him, so he looked back at me a little puzzled. When he saw I was smiling he grinned and his eyes sparkled. I took his hand and told him I love him. We finished the assignment sooner than I thought. Stephen stood up and was ready to bolt out the room to go play with his brother, but before he got to the stairs he turned around and came to give me a hug. “Thank you for helping me, Mom” he breathed in my neck. “I love you”. Then he was gone.

I was no longer pouting. Suddenly, I was really excited about the future he, his brother and sister have ahead. They may not be the poster children for perfection, but they have good values, good thoughts, good hearts, and, most of all, they are happy children. The rest will come with time.

The Power of Taking the First Step

“Take the first step, and your mind will mobilize all its forces to your aid. But the first essential is that you begin. Once the battle is started, all that is within and without you will come to your assistance.” ~ Robert Collier



Whenever it is time to face laundry in my house I understand how Ulysses felt when he found himself in front of the Cyclops - with three children, two of which are teenagers, laundry at my house easily falls into the categories of scary and overwhelming.

Yesterday was laundry day. With five baskets sitting in the way, and coats the kids had shed after school piled up on top of the washing machine, the laundry room was filled to capacity; just looking at all the work ahead was enough to make me want to grab my car keys and run.

I began by separating the colors from the whites and organizing them in separate baskets. Once that was done, and the first load was started, things immediately looked less daunting. By the time the first load ended up in the dryer, and the second one was on its way to being washed, I was ready to take a breath of relief.

It is quite normal to feel helpless when facing an overwhelming task; whatever is in front of us feels so big that we feel powerless in its presence, and it is natural to become frozen on the spot, scared to do anything that will cause the dominoes to fall. Taking the first step appears as a Herculean task, and we come up with countless excuses to delay the inevitable. Taking the first step is all we need to do. Once we get started, a second step quickly follows the first, and then a third lines up before a fourth; before we know it, everything is done and we are back in control.

This concept applies to many things we face on a daily basis, but it particularly applies to change. We are afraid of the unknown, and worry that the approaching wave will pick us up and thrust us toward unfamiliar waters; and, while we are so absorbed by our fears, we forget that we do know how to swim.

So, no matter what awaits out there, know that you can do it. You might feel that you are in front of something huge and overwhelming, but quite often the fear of the monster is much bigger than the monster itself. Once the light of reason shines on its shadow, we gladly see that the monster can be easily slain. It all starts with the first step of choosing to win.

The Yellow Rose

I believe that one of the most important encounters of my life – one that has changed the course of my thinking, and my general living approach – took place when I was about thirteen. I had gone with my mother to visit some friends of hers, and I immediately felt drawn to an old man who lived there – I would later find out he was the father of my mother’s friend.

The man was an easy one to spot. With snow white hair and a fluffy beard he somewhat reminded me of Santa Claus. Little did I know then, that in so many ways he really was a Santa Claus, as the gift he gave me that day was indeed the most precious I ever received.

As a teenager, I couldn’t be bothered with spiritual stuff – I lived for boys and clothes, and as all teenagers, I believed that a life free of drama was a waste of time.

Well, this particular day, we were going to see my mother’s friends, and although I did not dare roll my eyes in boredom during the trip, I certainly did so in my head. What a dreadfully boring afternoon this was shaping up to be! We arrived at about 3:00pm, and walked in. My mother’s friend had coffee and pastries ready, and we all sat down with her. Shortly after we arrived I asked if I could go out in the yard. I figured there would be even less to do there, since they lived in the country, but at least I didn’t have to listen to the annoying chat.

I walked outside, and that’s when I noticed the man. From the back he was an ethereal vision, and created a marked contrast against the vibrant green of the foliage around him – his hair blended with the collar of his white shirt, and where that ended, white trousers began. He turned around when he heard me approaching and flashed a smile as white as his hair and shirt. “Well, hello young lady” he said. I nodded, uncertain whether to feel annoyed at the prospect of more adult conversation, or relieved that I wasn’t alone.

“Would you like helping me weed the flowers?” He asked, his intense brown eyes peering through thick dark lashes as he pointed to a small row of rose plants. I shrugged, walked toward him and began to pull some of the weeds growing around the plants. With my city training I had no clue I had to watch out for thorns, and I pricked my finger after the third weed. I instinctively sucked my finger and saw the man smile. Was he making fun of me?? The nerve! Here I was helping him and he found it funny that I got hurt. I got up, ready to leave and go back inside.

“Please, don’t leave” he said, “thorns are one of the downfalls of cultivating roses, but the flowers are a gift of Heaven. He picked one of the roses and handed it to me. It was an explosion of yellow silk, and I don’t think I had ever seen one so pretty.

“See?” said the man, “its thorns hurt for a moment, but its beauty makes you forget the pain. People are like roses – we see the thorns first, but if we work past them, what we find is worth the struggle. Tonight, when you go to bed, ask yourself this question – who are you, really? Are you a rose, or just its thorns?”

“Who am I really?” – This question haunted me for years, and maybe I haven’t quite fully answered it yet, but one thing for sure is that, since that day, I’ve known that if I ever wanted to find my inner rose I would have to work through at least a handful of thorns.