A Thousand Apologies

It has been intentional. My silence - the necessity of which was painful because silence is not my forte. 


Since December, I have remained in Turkey and done my best  to adjust to daily changes in schedule, mindset and spirit. I have a multitude of stories to tell and equally bountiful thoughts to reflect upon.


But this is not the post for that. 


I will instead share a brief poem I wrote yesterday while sitting in a small coffee shop in the middle of New Jersey suburbia. Weekdays, there are few patrons in this particular cafe. Yesterday happened to bring in a mother and her barely 1 year old daughter. The Mother, eventually preoccupied with her sandwich and latte, allowed the little girl to lull herself in and out of sleep while steadily gripping the set of keys her Mother relinquished moments ago. 


However adoring of babies, toddlers or children you may be, we have all been victims of the temper-mental screams and colics rendered forth by miniature people in a disturbingly magnanimous way. This little girl was not that sort. She was particularly precious in her self-adoration and the whimsical noises she uttered spontaneously. In fact, she offered a soothing melody of chirps, giggles and sighs, all of which hummed pleasantly in the air between us. 


So I wrote:


A child sits
Babbling songs of 
wonder. Contemplating calmly
No concerns.
Strange language of musical
Sound and honesty.
She possesses not 
The words, but the emotions are 
Effortless. The sentiment,
Veritable. 
She is the cherub she sees.

Butter Me Up for 2012

I've reconnected with an old friend in Turkey. We were always in contact but have recently spent a lot more time together. In fact, you might know him by his first name, Butter? If you've forgotten his face you would certainly recognize him once you saw him.

Anyways, we've gotten really close....

It started a few weeks after I arrived in Adana. I ran into Butter at the grocery store and, being that we were both free, we made a spontaneous date for later that same evening. It was wonderful - lots of laughs, good conversation - we had a lot of catching up to do! After that initial outing, we made it a point to meet on a weekly basis. Despite how busy we both were, we felt it was important to maintain the friendship we had rekindled.

So, for a few weeks, Butter and I had lunch or dinner together. It was lovely and just what I needed to escape the stress at work.

But then something changed. Suddenly, Butter became very, how should I put this... clingy? He wanted to do more than just one dinner or lunch a week. He even started "showing up" at breakfast uninvited. I didn't mind at first although it was obvious that he needed to be told it was not acceptable. I decided to be as patient as possible with him. After all, isn't that what good friends do?

Still, after 2 weeks went by in which Butter was like a lost puppy following my every move, I decided I'd had it. No more Mrs. Nice-Girl. I told Butter firmly that I "needed some space." Reading his initial reaction, I thought he took it well; but, by breakfast the next morning I realized he hadn't "taken it" at all....

It seems I must find a way to be more direct with my approach. The honeymoon phase of our friendship has ended and I must explain to my overly-attention-seeking companion that his side-kick days have ended and I must regain my kitchen, my thighs and my typically clear complexion.

I know he will not receive this news well nor am I excited to deliver it. But enough is enough! Now, I must choose an appropriate time and setting... maybe after the New Years? Yes, that seems best. I will wait until then. Only because I don't want to spoil the holiday for him...

Turkey for Thanksgiving

Question: What are Turkish people thankful for?

Answer: Their teachers.

Ironically (or perhaps, not so ironically) Nov 24th is Teacher Appreciation Day in Turkey. This means students shower you with gifts, flowers, love & adoration. Even the ones you thought didn't care for you! I received numerous roses & tulips, a huge bottle of perfume (like, the biggest one I've ever seen), chocolate & countless hugs. It's quite nice.

Then, a school sponsored dinner is held in your honor. In our case this dinner took place at a nearby hotel & was complete with a belly dancer, live musical entertainment & a sufficient amount of food to co-mingle with a sufficient amount of alcohol. (Note: if you do not like anise flavoring or ridiculously potent alcohol, do not have Rakı. Bleh.)

At such events, do not expect to sit since your hospitable & energetic co-workers will not allow you to do so. Dancing or eating are your only options for passing time. So if you don't want to dance, well... too bad. Fake eating? Mind you this is coming for the girl who looooves to dance. But even I had to point out sweat on my brow to earn a 3 minute water break. I do love unexpected exercise, though.

Hours later, with full bellies & ringing ears, you are permitted to go home as you have successfully celebrated "your" day to the Turks liking. Phew. Sleep.

Now let's back up & focus on that dancing portion again....

Similar to Greek & Hebrew celebratory dances, Turkish people also have "group dancing" with skilled legs kicking, tapping (or flailing) & stepping; large inner & outer circles moving to a repetitive beat you can't get out of your head; holding hands & laughing smiles. Don't know the steps? Not to worry, you'll be taught in the standard sink-or-swim manner. Hopefully you're next to someone who knows what they're doing...

There were 3 or 4 discernible dances as far as I could tell. Two large group line-dances, one hip-moving, circle-making war dance between two girls? & one, well .... you'll see the pictures.

It started because I saw a handful of girls dancing in pairs with a minimal amount of choreography taking place. They were casually kicking & doing something pretty with their hands. It also seemed there was "free" time in the song as the movements were sometimes synchronized & sometimes free-style. As I watched I found the moves easy enough to mimic but wasn't sure where the song or dance started & stopped. So I asked a co-worked standing next to me to "teach me" then pointed to the nearest pair of girls we could see dancing. With an arched eye-brow she pointed & clarified, "teach?"

...Nod, "Yeah!"

She then took one of my hands in hers, pointed towards the ground & proceeded to kneel down... on the floor. For a minute this looked like a lesbian proposal as I remained standing & contemplated whether my request had been misunderstood. But she was persistent & although I didn't understand WHY we were kneeling on the ground, I joined her.

Evidently this "dance" I innocently noticed was the end portion of a much longer dance that tells the story of a maiden (gypsy) completing a hard-days work.

This gypsy starts by washing clothes by the river. She washes & washes, subsequently building-up quite a sweat. After wiping the sweat from her brow, she proceeds to make baklava (or food in come capacity). Also working up a sweat, she wipes her brow again. And so it continues - washing clothes, making food, seducing, being playful then actually standing up & dancing (the part I witnessed).

Despite my years of dance/theatre/live performance, I could not contain my laughter. I mean, I was on the floor surrounded by co-workers as well as my boss playing the part of a gypsy woman, complete with a white napkin (towel) & all. I laughed the e.n.t.i.r.e time Cansu taught me the story sequence & movements. I could take nothing seriously in that moment.

But it sure was fun! And I can prove it : )

I WIN!!!!

Remember When Jasmine "Steals" the Apple...

Everyone's seen the Disney movie Aladdin (if you haven't please do NOT continue reading until you have).

You know the scene when Jasmine casually hands a hungry little beggar boy an apple - then walks away without paying? The merchant-man accuses her of stealing & threatens to cut off her hand if she doesn't pay for the fruit. Standard (but not accurately portrayed) punishment in Islamic culture. You steal, you lose the sinful instrument. That's what Disney says & what Disney says is TRUE!

Well, I live in a predominately Muslim country & although I wouldn't have liked the idea of illegally taking something any better in the U.S, I am particularly sensitive to such accusations here. Foreigner. No concrete understanding of the language. Going to jail is not. an. option. So you can imagine my sheer terror at the mere idea of stealing.

Story-time! Let me set the scene...

It is a beautiful, mildly chilly Friday afternoon & I have taken a ride to Mersin with my friend & fellow English Teacher, Angela. Her boyfriend drops us off at Forum, a local outdoor Mall then continues on to work (I know, I know - me shopping, weird). I have one goal & one goal only: find a warm, wonderful leather jacket. And coffee.

Angela & I grab a cup "to-go," which is a novelty here. Everyone sits to drink their coffee before continuing on with their day. Strange custom. Anyways, coffees in hand, we commence perusing the stores for sweaters & coats. Adana is colder than we thought it would be...

Three or four places in, I find a leather store & try on some jackets. One is a "maybe" so we continue to the next store where I have more luck but I'm still uncertain which one I should settle on. Angela suggests we walk around so I can "think about it." Great idea! There is a Turkish department store not far away that she wants to check-out.

Enter department store, browse racks, try on a few things, kill some time... no big deal. Angela finds a few vests she likes so we get a little girly & hog the dressing room mirror together, toss shirts, sweaters & vests of different sizes all around until we have the ones we like. For me, she picks out a goofy but adorable lounging tee with a Sherlock bunny & three cupcakes.

Yes, you read correctly.

The shirt is a size too large so I throw it on the chair behind me & ask her to grab a smaller size. She obliges. It fits. I decide it is too silly not to buy. We grab our purses, I grab my coat - let's go pay! With happy lil shopping bags in hand we head downstairs to walk through makeup on the way out of the store. And then it happens...

As we walk through the security sensor, lights & sounds go off. A little confused we both turn & show our bags plus receipts to the nearest sales-assistant. She nods in approval so they run Angela's purse & bag past the sensor. Nothing. Angela walks through the sensor. Nothing. My bag? Nothing... My purse... nope...

Now the security guard has come over. With a puzzled look on my face I brush my jacket by the sensor. Alarms go off. I am shocked. I unfold the jacket and to my bewilderment, the shirt I purchased falls to the ground. What. The. Fuuuudge.

I scream and cover my face with my hands. My eyes are wide & momentarily I feel like I should grab Angela & run because there is NO way we can explain this!?!

Instead, I immediately show the guard the shirt from my bag with the attached receipt. I shout "too large" while pointing to the identical item on the floor. All I am thinking is "You have GOT to be kidding me!" The shirt must have been under or in or between or around my coat & I accidently grabbed them both in the dash to leave the store! Surely he'll understand?

But, much like Aladdin, said Security Man pulls out an oversized knife. "Wow," I think "It really is just like the movies..."

JUST KIDDING!!

What really happened is Security Man & Sales Lady started laughing hysterically. Apparently my genuine yet ridiculous reaction was believable. Finally, through his laughter he managed to say "no problem, no problem..." & proceeded to take the shirt back upstairs. So I grab Angela & leave the store before anyone has a chance to change his/her mind about the events which have just transpired.

Outside, Angela is now laughing but my heart is still pounding out of my chest. All I can think is "Who would I have called from jail?" "What would they have done to me?" I then take a moment to share love & appreciation for both my hands.

Phew. Close call.

But all's well that ends well! I found a jacket at the next store & love my unexplainable sleeping-T. I never knew shopping could be so dangerous - lesson learned!

It isn't a complete story without photos....

I Can't Find My Size....

American sizes. European sizes. The even numbers or the odd numbers. Something runs small. Something else runs large. Many things just don't fit at all no matter the size.

Today is hard. Unexpectedly so. My "avoid and keep busy" coping mechanism failed me. Merely 22 days in but I feel I'm running out of techniques to overlook the things I miss & focus on the the things I like here. It isn't that there aren't things to like. Of course there are. It's less what is out there & more what is in here (points to self).

But I wouldn't have escaped her in the U.S, either. Maybe I should have left myself at home when I packed.

Over a year ago there was a dinner discussion one night on the topic of traveling & living amongst a new culture. I wanted this. I had an insatiable itch to move around & explore new places while meeting new people all at the same time. I feared without such opportunities the itch would never be scratched. I also feared the itch would be reoccurring - maybe on a yearly basis. But being young, it didn't hurt to find out... this was the life I saw for myself. A sort of vagabond, leave it all behind bohemian lifestyle that resurrected itself after a year or two of settling down somewhere, organizing & stabilizing. Two opposing ends of the spectrum forced to coalesce in one tiny 5 foot 3 girl.

But what can truly coalesce when forced? Nothing. It's like putting a size 8 girl in size 3 pants: you aren't hiding anything.

Ready to admit I feel bipolar & equally ready to admit I've followed the path that brought me half-way around the world whilst listening to my starry-eyed subconscious, I now have to admit: I can't find my size.

Not my clothing size. I found that here just fine... one dress, a pair of jeans and a new shirt later.

I meant my size in happiness. Because in this post we're attributing human dress sizes to happiness. Keep up, really.

I've been shopping for it. Looking all over the city each day. No luck. Maybe it is the labeling - with my limited Turkish vocabulary, maybe I can't read the packaging properly. They must sell happiness, right? Clearly I'm either a day late to the store, unable to see above the 3rd shelf or impaired by the all Türkçe. Wouldn't I recognize the packaging if I saw it? Maybe I've just got it all wrong.

I miss the happiness that was there for me each morning I woke up next to my boyfriend. The same happiness that was in a nice, pre-bottled container I could open then shower myself with as necessary. The grab-and-go happiness I found all over The City even immediately following Mr Subway Jerk or Taxi Driver from Hell. Happiness in so many forms I couldn't figure out which one to choose sometimes. I don't remember it being so difficult. Not to say I remember it being easy; but I certainly don't remember having to fight & work so hard for it.

Ah. I see now.

The cultivation of happiness from unhappiness.

Before now, I would have sworn mastery level at this. Unpleasant experiences thrown your way, trudging through the thick of it just to come out the other side mildly scathed yet the better for it. I've been here many, many times. I have! I know it. I remember. Patience was key - waiting it out, being strong enough to find something small each day that made you smile or laugh. Not looking back until enough time had gone by you were sure to see road behind you. Trying not to judge yourself harshly for the meltdowns. Yes, yes, yes. This is all checked off my To-Do list. So what is the problem here? Why am I finding this so difficult?

If you expected me to answer that, I'm sorry. I don't know yet. I have only guesses. Possibly the self-discovery process I've been catapulted into & all the long-hours awake this equates to. Staring at yourself in a mirror while wearing ill-fitting clothing isn't enjoyable.

Anyways, where I go from here is unclear but I do believe it will bring clarity in a way I hadn't bargained for. I look forward to the challenge the same way a girl shopping the day after Thanksgiving looks forward to a dressing room finally making itself available. You know it will happen... if you're patient. But how patient can you be? And how many times can you check your phone, hum along to the store's pre-holiday soundtrack or thumb through the closest rack, potentially adding another item to your pile? Yeah. You see my point. We've all seen the women in front of us abandon piles of clothes silently saying "I'll come back later" or "I didn't really want any of these anyways."

I won't do it. I'm waiting for the damn dressing room. Even if it takes all day. Let's just hope some of these clothes fit...

Kurban Bayram (and The Day of the Locked Door)

I just locked myself out of the apartment. How did I manage this? Well, a hospitable neighbor came by to wish me “Happy Bayram” and in an effort to actually speak with him, I shut the door on a barking Louie – momentarily forgetting that the door locks behind you.

Whoops.

Thank baby Jesus and all his godly friends – this man knew a locksmith who was not only in town for the holiday but was a mere “on beş” minutes (15) away. So I sat down on the steps to the 5^th floor and patiently waited while Louie frantically cried on the opposing side of our massive apartment door.

After 60 seconds of sitting (I know this because the hallway light only stays on this long) I stood up and used the railing to practice some ballet barre work. Right side. Turn light back on. Left side. Turn light back on. You get the idea…

While “enjoying” my workout, I realized that this being my 17^th day in Adana, it felt important to take a moment and reflect on what led me to my decision to accept this teaching position. Under the circumstances any positive, deep yet calm thoughts seemed appropriate.

17 days ago…

A conversation. It was the phone call I shared with Jovana, my boyfriend’s sister, shortly before boarding the flight from JFK to Istanbul. She was actually the last person I spoke to stateside and by that time I had cried multiple tears throughout the day. But it was only in speaking with her that I recognized what scared me so much about leaving NY/NJ and heading abroad. It wasn’t the standard “don’t speak the language,” “going to a foreign place,” “being far away from home” or “adjusting to a new job and living situation.” Sure those were concerns but nothing I hadn’t dealt with in the past and nothing that seemed overwhelming. I would learn the language, that I knew, and living in a different country would take some adjusting but was a dream of mine for too long to let that be a source of struggle. No, something else was nagging at me. I just couldn’t understand what it was … until I remember how I felt each time I “left” someplace in the past. New Orleans, DC, New York, Charleston… even one apartment for another, boyfriends, friends, family…

These other instances of moving on came about because I was ready to go. SO ready to go, I couldn’t possibly have stayed. More importantly, the moment of leaving didn’t feel like I was “leaving” behind anything at all. It felt only as if I was heading somewhere better to a place with infinite possibility and a new, improved me at the end of it. What I would find there would only make me happier. This is not to say it would all be rainbows and butterflies but any trouble along the way was merely a reminder that I’d have to fight for what I wanted and earn the life I dreamed of.

To put it more bluntly, each time I’ve left a place in the past it was with a good riddance attitude.

Back at JFK’s international terminal, this wasn’t at all how I felt... quite the opposite, in fact. I didn’t want to leave behind anything that I had in NY. Not the city, not the few friends I had there. And the key component – not my boyfriend or his family. For once, I felt at home. For once, I wanted to stay right where I was.

Yet there I was sitting with my dog waiting for a Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul. The opportunity to travel abroad appeared and I took it because I needed to prove to myself that I could be challenged. I needed to take a risk on life. If I hadn’t moved, I would have always wondered how I might have handled it all. Would I have changed? What I would have learned? How it would have felt coming home…

So this is what I look forward to. The changes I will start to see in myself. The growth. The knowledge. The calmness. A gratitude that will come with knowing I did something not many people have the chance to do. I was fortunate enough to experience the world as an outsider, to exchange cultures and languages with people – some willingly and some by happenstance. Better yet, for the first time in my life I will experience the sensation of coming home to the open arms of my boyfriend and knowing without any shadow of doubt that I belong.

I could go halfway around the world and the world I left behind will be patiently waiting for me to return when I’m ready. This will be the ultimate prize for me. This will be what I work for each day as I immerse myself in the present - the full circle effect of coming and going - the love shaping that journey.

Minutes have passed and Louie has stopped barking. The locksmith comes and opens the door. I pay him 40TL and eat half a bag of Fritos out of mild frustration.

Then I sit to write this entry because it is true. I was scared to come. I am unsure of myself here at moments. Still, I feel inner warmth when I recognize my strength, persistence and channel the love that I carried with me over all those miles.

I only wish Louie could tell me how he feels about all this : )

10 + 1 Reasons to Love Turkey

1. That the caloric value of food is referred to as “energy” rather than calories and somehow makes me feel as if it has only positive energy with no negative effects.

2. Women here are plump and beautiful – a hard combination to find.

3. Medical care is willingly and easily forged when your insurance has not yet kicked in.

4. My newfound love of honey.

5. Turkish Dondurma (ice-cream) because it is so amazingly different from gelato or frozen yogurt.

6. Incredibly cheap pastries and bulk nuts (especially hazelnuts).

7. The availability of potato chips, sprinkles & Haribo gummy bears – because I already have to live without so many other things I will miss over 11 months.

8. Crazily inexpensive “within Turkey” travel. Thank you.

9. Hard Wax, Brazilian Keratin Treatments & beauty supplies at half the normal cost.

10. My students adoring the idea of me learning Turkish to the point of wanting to teach me all words they can translate between English and their native language.

11. The fact that this experience (or 2 weeks of it) is inspiring me to focus on the positive no matter what negative crosses my path.

I came, I saw, I've yet to conquer...

Finally… 7 days in, I’ve found some time to recap my move half-way around the world!

Turkey is, in a word, eclectic. In many ways, Adana is just like New York City or other major U.S cities. Yet in other ways, Adana is soooo the opposite of any culture I’ve ever experienced. For instance, the trash in Adana...

Although trash-bins do exist, they are not only hard to find but under-utilized by the general public. Where does the trash go, you ask? Anywhere you please – the side of the road, the patch of grass around a tree, a fountain. After NYC, I thought “dirty” streets were hard to come by – then again, maybe not. But in actuality, the street-cleaners do a pretty impressive job of going behind the Adanians and picking up their garbage. Recycling included. Phew!

The above paragraph aside, Adana is beautiful. There are two parks nearby. One itsy bitsy park right outside our door and one HUGE park less than 10 minutes away. The bigger of the two, Merkez Park, actually means “central park” which I find ironic and amusing for obvious reasons. So far I’ve gone running there three times & felt very much at home despite being the only one running. Which brings me to my next topic. Exercise…

In Adana, walking is the most popular sport. In fact, it’s pretty much the only sport. I’ve only seen delivery guys on bikes save a few exceptions. As for runners, I think the only other person in Adana besides me who runs is the city’s oldest man (he was pushing 85, I swear, but looked very healthy). It seems “keeping in shape” is a foreign concept here.

I’m proud to say I know about 15 Turkish words and a handful of phrases. Which is a pretty good rate if I keep it up! Caroline (my fellow teacher and friend here) and I have decided to do mini-Turkish lessons to improve our fluency. Luckily, one class we have in common is comprised of two 20-something year old girls who want to be teachers. I’ve decided to structure their class such that they get 7-10 mins “teaching practice” per class … teaching me Turkish. Sneaky : )

Now for Louie… who’s adjusting quite well. The first few nights were rough as they included barking at foreign noises and all people, not going to the bathroom ONLY outside, running amuck in the house, etc. But, after a few days and some very patient roommates – he is acting like a normal 81/2-month-old puppy (mild barking “jogging” amuck and fewer accidents for the most part). He has made many neighborhood friends, both with the strays and home-afforded dogs. Actually, one of my two complaints about Adana/Turkey is the plethora of stray animals. They are some of the smartest (I kid you not, I watched one look both ways before crossing the street) I’ve ever met but also some of the mangiest and, of course, saddest. It’s the same for our feline friends nearby, too.

Sigh. Louie doesn’t know how good he has it.

I mentioned two complaints and as I’ve covered one, I’ll fill you in on the second: the sales people, who are more like sales-stalkers than people. It is absurd. Almost every store I’ve been to except the grocery means a shopping experience where the sales-person follows right on your heels to “see if you need anything,” including someone to catch you when you trip over them. To make matters worse, those handful of phrases and 15 Turkish words I know do not include “I’ll let you know if I need anything.” That’s next on the Rosetta Stone agenda.

Next topic, English Home and my students! Good and good. The school is one of the most well-know English schools in Adana. For most students, it operates as an “after-school program” they come to immediately following the long hours they attend at their primary school. Then for the youngsters, English Home is their only source of school and teachers, therefore, provide more subjects than English. But for the bulk of our students who make their way to us after school to supplement their learning, we have multiple programs designed to fulfill any ESL need. For example, my English Practice for Wanna Be Teachers speaking class, which I love. There are also YDS classes (mainly vocab building for a TOEFL type exam), Business English courses, etc. I’m really happy about this structure because it means each of my classes has a theme, purpose and achievable goal. My students are also motivated and taking classes mainly because they want to – which is a HUGE plus. So on the whole, 7 days in, I’m pretty happy with the teaching amenities. Did I mention they are less than 5 minutes door to door from our apartment? The picture below was taken from our balcony.

More to come on that as time goes on, of course.

Roommates and housing!! Well, I knew a little about the living arrangements before coming. I’d seen a few pictures and I knew a few things about the girl Caroline had been living with for a few months. We have a great dynamic going though! Our teaching, cooking. living, shopping together is going well. We having individual and group time equally balanced, which is nice. And the apartment is big enough that there are many places to escape if need be.

In other news, there are many American products and stores here. Starbucks, Mavi, Ralph Lauren, Adidas, Nike, Max Mara and I’m sure I’ll find more. Nail and hair salons are easy to come by. And my greatest achievement yet – the cheapest leg wax I’ve ever had (20 TL - $12. whoa). I do find it amusing that brands like L’Oreal, Pantene and Maybelline are considered “high end” labels in this neck of the woods. Apple products are also ridiculously expensive. It seems that “luxury items” are taxed heavily.

That is about it for now! Hope I’ve painted an image that makes you feel as if you can be here in spirit. I miss you all terribly but hope to master the balance between soaking up this experience and passing the next 11 months as quickly as possible. Then on to my next adventure – yet to be determined.

Please feel free to send postcards. As you can see from the pictures, my walls are quite barren. But I’ve been told the mail is unreliable and so anything other than a postcard might not make it to me. You’ve been warned.

Cemalpasa Mah. Toros Cad.

63007 Sokak Bahadir Apt. No 32 Kat 47 Daire 4

Seyhan, Adana

Turkey

Love you very much! Reservations for Skype dates welcomed : )

I Respectfully Defer

In "Setting the Table," restaurateur Danny Meyer unravels the ethics of his business model which, simplified, focus on treating your employees as wonderfully as possible. Whereas most business-minded individuals are focused on results, customer services, price or something on that end of the spectrum, Meyer keyed in on one very important psychological facet of human nature: projection (or transference).

Let's say you wake up in a pleasant enough mood, head to Starbucks for your usually morning brew & they mess up your order. With your patience still in check & time to spare before work you ask the barista to re-make your order. She gives you attitude. Patience dwindling you decide to ignore her & wait for you drink as planned. Five minutes later you are still waiting. With no patience left you ask where your drink is but snotty barista says "you'll have to wait for me to re-make it. I'm a little backed up..." as if your desire for a correctly made drink when you had one a minutes ago that was close enough to what you ordered is selfish, indulgent or wasteful.

Finally you have your drink. You vow never to go to Starbucks again. Bitch.

Ah, but now... now you are in a bad mood. This bad mood could be fatal or magically disappear if someone, friend or stranger, cheers you up. As it more frequently plays out my guess is you will proceed to silently curse the oversized-bag-man who is squishing you up against the subways doors, will the woman who cut you off while walking into work to trip, bashing something against the pavement & hope against hope that the taxi driver who took you through Times Square rather than using the West Side Highway will be deported back to where ever he is from. Maybe you even lose your temper with your co-worker, get jumpy with your significant other or ignore your Mom's phone call just because you're positive she will annoy you even though she only called to ask about your Christmas Wish List.

Transference. Projection. These are the predictable train-wrecks caused by human emotions & this is what makes Danny Meyer, in my opinion, a genius.

If you focus on how you treat your employees as he proscribes and, in fact, do treat them very, very well - their good mood will bounce around amongst themselves, transfer to your customers, boost morale & production which leaves your business running smoothly as well as profitably. Genius, no?

Anyone who doubts this method need only look at how many successful, popular & money-making restaurants Meyer has opened under the umbrella group Union Square Hospitality. Thanks, Danny for putting the hospitality back in the Food and Beverage business!

Now, to get increasingly personal. (As a side note, I worked for two of the Meyer/USHG restaurants and loved it.) Two incidents, one last night & one this morning, happened which call to mind the very "projection" topic I'm currently exploring.

Walking home last night I finished crossing 3rd Avenue as the blinking orange "Do Not Walk" sign stopped blinking. Anyone anticipating their next pedestrian move knowwwwsss the cross-walk sign perpendicular to 3rd Avenue is about to turn white. Meaning "Walk." Well, there was a bit of a crowd on 88th (the street in question) who were concentrated on the taxi cab coming up the street rather than focused on the now yellow traffic light. Without touching ANYONE (seriously, I didn't barrel through the crowd) I walked in between two strangers standing on the corner then proceeded to cross the street.

The gentleman, if I can seriously call him that, yells "Hit her!" to the cab.

Now listen here, asshole... First off, you're a moron. The light, now red, means the taxi is obviously stopping. If you would like to wait in order to witness the complete end to his inertia before you cross the street be my f-ing Beauty and Best guest. However, I'm confident enough this guys is coming to a halt & not trying to race against the yellow light to cross 3rd Ave. So I'm gonna walk. Is that OK with you? Oh! Also, I wouldn't wish death on people. Life has this ironic way of shedding light on mean & angry people with something we like to call KARMA! Safe travels, buddy. Watch out for falling A/C units or whatever.

Mind you, I said NONE of this to him & laughed a "F-You" as I rounded the corner because I really thought it was funny he was obliged at that moment to use me as his "tackle all would be J-walkers" muse.

For a more lovely story let me relay to you what happened on my subways ride this morning.

Being that the 4/5 is the only transportation on the East Side its an understatement to say it's crowded in the early mornings.

As I finagled myself into the last spot available on a car, I was pressed nearly face to face with a woman somewhere between 30 &40. I noticed she was staring at my face and my overly self-conscious guess was "Do I have a booger? Is she looked at my upper lip because I need to bleach or something?" But to my relief she broke my feverish concern saying "This is a very weird question but do you use Latisse?" I laughed. No, I do not use Latisse my eyelashes are real and they come from my Dad but funny you should ask me that because my best-friend says I should be the spokes person.

This could have played out very differently if I wasn't such a nice person. If, for instance, I had the Starbucks morning I ran down a few paragraphs above, maybe her comment would have offended me. If I did use Latisse but secretly prayed it would look so natural no one would ask me about eyelash enhancements this question might have caused me sadness or even depression if I was prone to over-reacting.

Instead, I laughed and found both humor and compliment in what she was wondering. We continued talking for awhile before she got off at 14th Street. Our conversation put me in a good mood AND gave me something to blog about. All and all, I would say that I'm primed to transfer happiness and project pleasantries this morning : )

Adrift but Unbroken

The thing that frustrates me the most about my day is the lack of certainty & reliability which surrounds my only form of transportation in NYC: the subway. It can start my day off on a depressingly bad note or it can end my day by bringing me near tears when I "just want to get home" but can't because the MTA is financial helpless, understaffed & often just having an exceptionally fucked up day.

And then I read a story like the one below & feel a sense of shame lined with guilt for ever allowing my troubles to trouble me so troublesomely. It happens all the time. You're feeling bad about your looks then you see an infomercial for a child in a 3rd world country with a cleft palate & suddenly, all does not seem lost. Your friend is complaining about the lack of variety in the grocery store chip aisle. After paying you walk past 2 homeless people outside the grocery store who likely wouldn't give a shit what flavor of chips they were eating. It's a lesson in not only humility but memory. We consistently have to remind ourselves or be reminded that we have it pretty frickin awesome.

Reading through the December issue of Vanity Fair I came across a story that gently reminded me of that tendency towards forgetfulness. A story that made me wonder what true character is & if every individual will have theirs tested at some point or another.

While technically the US is currently at war, Iraq/Afghanistan is a different beast than the war our grandparents dealt with in WWI and WWII in some ways. Mainly, I don't think we feel the daily impact of today's military expeditions the same way families or the US did during the late 30's and early 40's. This does not mean I'm unaware or worse, unwilling, to acknowledge similar, extraordinary tales of survival & rescue that are happening as I type. It only means that part of who we are as a military agency now is based on the history of then.

When I started perusing this article I wasn't sure what to expect really. The story was upfront and well written so it wasn't hard for me to continue reading ... but then it became hard for me to put down! The fact that three men both willingly and out of necessity worked together to protect each other, encourage each other & fight for each other is a beautiful. They survived more than insurmountable odds & experienced something that certainly changed them forever.

Of course I don't know this but my guess would be that in the same predicament, I would have flung myself overboard after day 2. I like to think of myself has brave, optimistic & resourceful; but, I feel like if I was clinging to maintain life in my undernourished body while clinging to the sides of a small, slowly sinking raft with sharks circling & praying that I would, indeed, give up... I might give up. I don't know how these men did what they did. This isn't a movie. This isn't a novel. It really truly happened.

If by reading their story a sliver of tenacity or courage rubbed off on me then I would re-read it every day of my life.

http://www.vanityfair.com/politics/features/2010/12/unbroken-excerpt-201012

Beautiful Just As God Made You

One of my favorite college English classes was titled "Literature of the Black Arts Movement and Harlem Renaissance." It was focused, interesting, culturally awakening and run by one of the more funny, down to earth and naturally talented teachers my college had in stock.

We read works by Langston Hughes, Malcom X, Amiri Baraka, Nicki Giovanni, Zora Neale Hurston... then we tapped into the unknown writers of the time. There was one novel we started about half-way into the class that I remember having vivid words and such rich in imagery I would dream about it when I'd sleep at night. I regrettably can't remember the name or the author but the story remains fresh in my mind. We watched The Color Purple, re-read excerpts from the high-school favorite There Eyes Were Watching God. Toni Morrison's poetry would pop up now and again as well.

I saved all the notes, the handouts and many of the novels themselves. This isn't that surprising because I also saved the majority of paraphernalia from all my other English and Religion classes. But in cleaning the other day I was relieved to see the orange spiral bound that designated English 352. In my own handwriting, "BAM & HRen" was scrawled across the top.

What occurred to me the morning after I made this discovery & unearthed my latent fondness for the era's aesthetic and artistic jewels was an untouched theme that appears over and over again in literature. African American literature, especially.

You are beautiful just the way God made you.

I look at this from two very different standpoints. A literary one(including the cultural, political and ethnic ramifications it has). Then the religious one (including the cultural, political and ethnic ramifications it has). For the sake of brevity in this entry I will only talk about the literary. Even though I would love to invite HIM to the party, I'm going to leave God out of this particular dance....

Let's look at the ladies I think comprise the triumvirate of women from the HR and BAM movements: Zora Neale Hurston, Toni Morrison and Alice Walker. Combined, they have not just produced successful, beautiful poems, novels and autobiographies but also incredible lives and careers that have stood the test of time. Morrison never let her role as mother distract her from her role as author and vice versa. Likewise, Hurston was one of the most beloved "grandmothers" of her era to the community whole. As for Walker, well, Walker not only married a white Jewish activist, bore his child, divorced him and became a lesbian who at one point was involved with Tracey Chapman - she also was and remains an activist for many causes dear to her heart.

So besides artistic genius, cultural weight, family values and gender what do these women have in common? A message to black people and little girls especially that they're beautiful just the way God made them.

Apologies, God decided to drop by unannounced.

The thing of it is, this message presupposed that the listener is spiritual in a way that is rooted in family and ethnicity more so than society or conscience. What I mean is that the religion of African American culture is so often taken for granted within its own resting place. It's an assumed action. Going to church is tradition and acceptance of God is not challenged the way it is in most other cultures. (This is an overly modified statement but will suffice for the course of this post). The discovery of Jesus comes just as simply and wonderfully as a baby's discovery that he has feet which will walk him anywhere he likes. It's natural and dare I say, unavoidable in the African American community by and large.

What is magnificent about this message of inner beauty which is based on the notion we are all "God's children" is that it never begs for explanation. Everything you need to know is right in the statement. God made you, therefore you are perfect.

But what about the atheist....

In The Color Purple, Walker's character Celie demands one day "You telling me God love you and you ain’t never done nothing for him?" She has never been introduced to Him. The social net - better yet - safety net of Sunday (or sometimes Saturday and Wednesday) church going peoples was not afforded to Celie. She is a missing link in her black culture. Although Celie is not atheist she is still an outcast and that diagnosis would have a similar affect on a black child in this scenario.

So what happened her? Was it her unfortunate circumstances leading to the unavailability of religion that resulted in her lack of faith which makes it difficult for her see herself clearly in the mirror? Or, was it disbelief in her abilities that makes it harder for her to understand how a God could love her aside from the question of His potential non-existence or existence? Both?

It is an interesting question. How does the atheist remedy the inner voice that calls forth the ego, superego and id all too often? Who is to thank or to blame for the confidence one has in their own beauty or importance? What would the staunch atheist say to these questions? Would they ask them at all? Ultimately what you're trying to determine is the origin of the intangible - the soul, conscience, the will to do good...

Anyways, I haven't gotten much further with this idea than to realize how spirituality plays a silent yet anything but trivial role on the success of someone's security. The lack of which could shake a community like that of Walker's The Color Purple.

Good For You

Dig In, Enjoy, Bon Appetit, Buon Appetito....

I love the pre-meal ritual. Every culture has their own meaningful yet unique rendition. Sometimes its a prayer, sometimes its a toast, sometimes it's merely a string of words that bequeaths a type of blessing over the food on the table & the people on it's outskirts. The Sicilian woman in me loves them all.

How interesting that across all races & religions there is a respect for nourishment, the body & the convergence of the two so much so that a ceremonial routine of sorts was created to introduce the two together. "Food, meet body. Body, this is food. Nice to meet you both..."

Gross overstatement; but, there is a beauty in the protocol no matter the motivation (your body is a temple, you are what you eat, etc).

Another layer of this reverence that went unnoticed to me until recently is a universal "blessing" people display everyday without realizing. Picture this: you're at work & it is lunchtime. You have brought yours for today (insert typical lunch imagery) and place it nicely on your desk, ready to devour at your leisure. Right then, your best co-worker friend passes your desk, sees your arrangement of food on display and says....

What will they say? Well, depends on what you have in front of you but familiar does this sound familiar:

Food: Apples, nuts, cheese wedges & a smart water
Response: "Oh wow, you're so healthy. Ugh, that looks so good - I should eat more healthy."

Food: Microwaved mac and cheese cup & a coke with a crumbs cupcake for dessert
Response: "Look at you, I wish I could eat that way now but with my metabolism, sheesh..."

Or even...

Food:

There is this insatiable need to validate not only what we intake on our own accord but what we see other people eating. It's like you do something (run a 10K) and reward yourself with a beer and cheeseburger. All your friends say you deserve it and then comments ensue for no less than 2 minutes about the caloric intake versus the calories burned at the recent race.... you dieted for weeks, you deserve a splurge, blah blah blah. Meanwhile, at the same table, someone is eating a salad for the exact OPPOSITE reason. "I haven't worked out in weeks, I feel so lethargic. I just need to watch what I eat more."

It's like a never-ending soap opera saga. We must talk about and analyze what we eat every single day. Oh, and what others eat too.... AND what we are not eating.... or want to eat but can't...or use to eat...

Please understand, I'm not criticizing especially because I'm probably the one most guilty of commenting on anything that enters my mouth before it even gets there. This makes me an expert in pointing out though how mundane it is to think that over 30% of conversations revolve around FOOD? Not even the interesting parts like the rituals surrounding meals or new baking secrets or fads like cancer causing sugars (those only make up like 5% of the 30, wouldn't you say?). I'm smacking myself over the head in an effort to learn how to enjoy food more and talk less about what my next meal will or won't consist of ....

I fully embrace the fact that we are only given one body in this life and therefore must cherish it, nurture it and be patient with it in regards to food. That same body, however, must also be cherished in mind, nurtured in soul and receive patience in overall health because I believe it only feels like our stomachs act independently from our minds. They are more intertwined than we know. This is the true meaning behind dinner time practices to me, like why we crave family style sit-down dinners or leisurely meals rather than rushed lunch hours that are only 30 mins anyways. We want to respect what we eat by enjoying the content of the meal as well as its preparation, reception and even clean up.

My point, eating is a process that should be revered rather than rushed or over-calculated.
My wish for us as Americans living in a fast paced corporate world is to have more time to eat what we want, when we want and enjoy it. Everyone relishes these few and far between moments and for this, I challenge you to aspire for more. Don't succumb to fast food because it's convenient, find more time to charm yourself with cuisine, pay homage to the fare in front of you. Your body and your soul will thank you.

And by all means, pig out from time to time and mean it! For example, I ate an entire box of Crunch and Munch solo during a movie last night.... no shame - it was delicious. In fact, more delicious than normal because I replaced my usual mindless shoveling with an offering. Before each bite I said a silent but oh so significant thank you to those caramel kernels & I cherished my peanut breath all the way home.

Mangez Prie L'amour

I have to do it. I have to jump on the bandwagon and admit that yes, not only have I read the book Eat Pray Love once but I am in the midst of re-reading it each morning during my subway ride to work. What's worse, I am now going to use my blog as a means to ride that bandwagon a little further & actually talk about Elizabeth Gilbert's newest literary treasure. Why? Because I liked it.... and I admittedly didn't think I would. Why not? Well, I guess due to the fact that I don't consider myself a trendsetter or even a trend-follower in so far as I've noticed what entertains or seduces the vast majority does not usually amuse me. I'm also a bit rebellious. Certainly a voice inside of me recognized the amount of people caravanning to the movies or nearest bookstore on account of E.P.L. as "great for Gilbert but bad for Micky's determination to keep her individuality in check."

So how did I get here? Suffice it say my roommate had a copy laying around, I adore Julia Roberts & after reading Outliers & two David Sedaris books in a row - I needed a book "just like this." So there it was....

But something like 20 pages in, quelle surprise! I'm hooked - but maybe not for the same reason the mass population of women, all ages, were. Gilbert's story is secondary to me. It is the content of her religious discussion with the reader & more importantly the way she writes that got my attention. I'm in love with it. I quickly realize I have a literary crush on Elizabeth Gilbert. In fact, it may be more accurate to call it a lustful literary infatuation. 20 more pages. Yes, it's infatuation.

My roommate, who's book at this point I am using, gave me the heads up that you "fly through Italy" because of all the food and beautiful imagery but that "India moves a little slower" because it's more introspective, more dedicated to itself. Not to worry, things "pick up again in Bali because she is interacting with Felipe" and more of less closing out this chapter of her life which was spent abroad.

My experience: I flew through every chapter.

I flew so fast that before I finished the last page I was at Border's buying a copy for myself which would allow me to not only re-read this marvelous piece of work but to highlight and post-it note my very own edition. Why was I so hooked?!?

The answer was pretty obvious. If you know my two college majors it would be obvious to you as well (English and Religious Studies, by the way). Here, in one tiny book, was the evidence that something beautiful and so very personal could be written in such a way so that the English language & religions of the world would meet, play with each other & remain unscathed by the human propensity to damage or defame. And while this has been done before in memoirs, biographies or diaries published posthumously - Gilbert did it best, in my opinion.

She is witty, clever, fast-paced, honest, stimulating and (enter envy) non-judgmental. How she managed to write about her heavy experiences with her personal spirituality, the divine, life, friends and that inner-self everyone struggles against WITHOUT passing any judgment or carrying an apologetic tone through each chapter is beyond me. I was more than impressed - I was enthralled.

My one distinct and repetitive wish that follows me through day to day life is to "find the right words." I consistently feel like the passion I have for life paired with my fervor to love everything in site often leave me speechless... in a not good way. I have to search for vocabulary or even sentence structure to endow my message with intellect and poignancy. On rare occasions do I succeed and this makes me sad. I love to speak but I also love to listen & reflect upon what has taken place only then to have a resulting array of magnificent thoughts, provocative emotions & endearing words in my head. The minute I open my mouth however, I feel those thoughts turn spacey or overly logically. My emotions sound jaded and the words become disenchanted. Now, maybe I shouldn't be so judgmental and cautious about my ability to articulate, (or inarticulate) my speech (or lack their of). But it is indescribably frustrating to feel you have something worthy to say and can neither quiet your mind down enough nor vocalize these thoughts with a measure of success that does justice.

In Eat Pray Love, Gilbert did. And I think one reason I am re-reading her novel is to potentially double my chances at this technique rubbing off on me.

I have so many questions for her. I would guess that my questions are different than what most readers would ask her given the chance. The usual array include: "How do you answer to accusations of being selfish?" "Why did you want children with Felipe but not with your ex?" Or other follow up questions to the many intimate details she shares in this new-age style autobiography. My questions are more geared towards Elizabeth Gilbert, the writer. "Did you work on this book all along or only after the year was over?" "Was there any point at which you started to resent this manuscript or the book because of the toll it took on your creativity?" Etc.

This book answered a silent prayer I have offered up for a long time now. Please, let my voice, spoken and written, become a vehicle for the divine - the effortless fountain of love that exists across all religions, all cultures - so that I can find the proper words, the telling words, the encouraging words when I need them, recognizing it takes equal parts patience, eloquence and listening to do so.

There you have it. This is why I enjoyed the book so much & will do so for years as I continue to write and search for my own voice. I highly recommend this book to everyone, regardless of the reason. Wisdom can be found in many layers on each page of this paperback. You will, no doubt, see yourself in Liz more than once & challenge the way she thinks simultaneously challenging yourself. She is really on to something....

Been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely, lonely, lonely....

It's come to my attention - and with great fervor I might add - the type of woman/housewife/mother I am to be.

On a recent trip to Duane Reade, I had the pleasure of witnessing the first box of Halloween candy make its way to the shelf. In this moment of excitement prefaced by the all too common "Really? It isn't even October yet..." I had a day dream. Suddenly, I was 35 years old living in a generic suburban neighborhood. My house was custom built but not loud or austere. The perfect sized, all around brick two story. There were two cars in the driveway but only one of which was luxury, and from the feel of it, I could sense that I had two children - a boy and a girl - somewhere between the ages of 8 and 11.

In my daydream, it was fall. Spookily close to October, in fact. (Ironic given what was taking place in the real world outside this imaginary vision.) I was at a nearby drug store purchasing candy for the upcoming holiday (another irony.) But out of nowhere, panic! I could feel it - both in my dream and out of it. A light turning of the stomach, "I can't just get any normal candy" I thought to myself, "I have to get sometime that kids will remember. I don't want them walking away from my front door with anything other than a 'Yes, I LOVE this candy!'" Or better yet "Mrs. Micky is the COOLEST!"

Now. I realized what you're thinking. First, kids are fickle. By the end of a trick-or-treating marathon and average kid will have declared something along these lines no less than 5 times each. I don't weigh this factor in to my wishful praises. To hear it said is all that I ask. What happens prior to said statement or afterward is of no consequence to me. And second, yes "Mrs. Micky" - I am presumably married in my delusional stupor.

So why the need to be nominated by children under the age of 10 as "Best Candy-Giver on the Block?" Say what you will about a lack of love in my childhood or an insatiable need to please. The root of this is much more simple. I want to be thought of as "cool." This does not mean that I'm the pushover mom or the overly obedient housewife. It only suggests that staying on the vast majority of the neighborhood children's "awesome list" is important and maybe borderline necessary to me. I want them to feel I still have some sense of what they like, what they look forward to and what is important to them (however trivial is seems to the overly-grown grown-ups). A mutual respect, of sorts. You do your job as a child, I'll do mine as an adult and on occasions like Halloween, we will meet halfway.

Of course this entire realization took place in a matter of seconds as most dreams do. Quickly, I was back to grabbing the work necessities I originally came for: notebooks, milk for coffee, etc. But I also grabbed a a few varieties of candy. Once I was back to my desk, I took out a bowl and filled it with a nice even mixture of the picks I made. One by one, my fellow employee's would walk by and let out whispered but important "oohs" and "aahs" followed by the under-appreciated "Thank you." I'd smile unassumingly and revel in what now becomes my secret satisfaction, especially when I hear "Oh man! I love these things, haven't had one in forever..."

I've cheered up their day and they've cheered up mine in that "I still got it" kind of way.

The Little Engine That Felt Like It Couldn't

"The most important relationship you will ever have is the one you have with yourself."

And I have to add - this may very well prove to be the most difficult relationship as well.

I'm slightly rosy-cheeked to admit that I heard this quote delivered by Diane Von Furstenberg on The City. Not that she isn't an altogether intelligent woman but I would have rather been quoting someone of a more prestigious nature. Prestigious, in the scholarly sense....

Never the less, there is an insurmountable degree of truth in DVF's wise words. The relationship you have with yourself is the one relationship that you should never ever let go by the wayside. Yet, people often do. Striving to always keep yourself balanced, in check, self-aware comes with great rewards. You're other relationships, your demeanor & your health will only benefit from you continually bettering your understanding of yourself.

But it truly isn't easy. Besides being you're own hardest critic, you are also dangerously close to the "situation." There is no escaping you. As such, you are often the most beneficial & yet harmful person to your own life. Within hours you can go from loving yourself to loathing the very skin you embody, an example of the extreme bipolar emotions that rarely happen outwardly towards other people (unless you are vehemently unsocial).

To be a bit more personal, I'm currently at the loathing end of the spectrum. It's entirely my fault; although, I would gladly put the blame on someone else. I've lost touch with who I am, not to the core but definitely on the surface. I have less zeal for life than I use to. Less certainty about what I'm capable of as well as what I want out of life, long-term. It's annoying really because there was no onset to this (what the hell is this) emotional quandary & loss of self. Sometimes I seem to be at a loss for what's going on in my own head. At other times, I can't get out of my own head...

The circular reasoning & cycle of improvement<>worsening that come with this is the worst. You pump yourself up, do something to improve your mood or circumstance....and then one little, inconsequential thing sets you off, putting your right back to where you were. Or sometimes farther. Then get even MORE down about the whole thing & that's when you're really in over your head.

Nothing specific got me to this point. It's rarely ever just one thing, I've noticed. A series of uncomfortable scenarios, dwindling dreams, sad realizations... being honest with myself... it all amounted in a general malaise towards who I am for the moment. And trust me, it's painful mainly because I hate HATE hate self-pitying. Hate it. I don't mind talking about my feelings, hashing something out. I enjoy that, actually. But I hate when you're just whining because you can't think of or find any motivation to DO something about anything. Horrible. Goes against my whole essence.

It makes you understand how powerful your mind can be - both for you & against you. One can convince themselves of nearly anything. It just takes time, a little determination & a pinch of avoidance. Consequently, I've convinced myself of something so outrageous that it has driven me into a nervousness I've never known. A paranoia basically. Despite reassurance that my "fear" is not true & more importantly, not worth me reacting or dealing with it the way I am - I have a hard time snapping out of it. My mind tells me otherwise. My mind is convinced of something so defiantly that my eyes & senses have even joined forces with it to help reinforce the picture I painted in my head.

It's horribly confusing. I know in my heart that if any one person I knew was struggling with this same issue - I would be telling them exactly what I'm hearing from my friends. But I can't swallow it for myself right now - it does nothing for me. It's worse than "in one ear, out the other" - it goes right over my head.... Sometimes, I think they're just saying it because they're "required to" as people who love me. False logic, I know. Well, I guess I don't REALLY know. I just can't internalize the idea that what everyone is saying could be true because it means that what I'm convinced of, is not true.

Throughout all of this, I've grow more & more aware of the fact that I am my best & worst friend. No one can hurt me the way I can hurt myself. No one can help me, though, the way I can help myself. Inspiration often comes from others. But true change, true action yielding results, only comes from yourself.

So whatever it is you may be struggling with, fighting internally, I hope it subsides sooner than later. It's hard to see a problem so vividly that doing anything but attacking dead on seems like a weakness of character. It's not a weakness of character. We are only human & though I hate to admit it, many of life's problems just take time. That's all. But Hallmark once put it very succinctly: "Everything will be OK in the end. And if it's not OK, it's not yet the end."