I started this blog back in 2005 as a way to connect with people. I'd moved to New York from the west coast and wanted to have some way for my family and friends to feel closer. Somehow words seemed to be the secret link among all the people I loved.
Friends had their own blogs. They would share ideas. We would debate them. I would feel fulfilled and not so lonely in a new place surrounded by millions of people who I didn't know.
And then something happened.
Slowly I started feeling more comfortable in my environment. My online forums with friends seemed to become a little more divisive. I probably became a little too pleased with my own writing in some ways - and in others completely ashamed of the way I'd formerly thought.
Eventually I started writing somewhere else.
And now I wonder whether to write at all.
People ask what I do for a living and I cringe when I tell them that I'm "also a writer." Because technically, a writer is someone who writes. And I haven't been writing so much. Not even in my diary. The closest I get to exposing my inner musings has somehow become limited to email replies and Facebook comments.
Every day I struggle to get pen to paper or words on my blank screen. And I can't help but feel like a failure. Like somehow I'm hiding from who I really am. As if I were to somehow start typing and some unlikely and unliked truth will make its dreaded appearance.
So how do I deal?
There are days I try to be brave and just start writing again. I remember that it's often the case that true bravery is rising up to who you really are. And I recall myself as someone who shares. Who opens up. Who strives to make the world a more loving, likeable place through the mere presence of connection and gratitude.
And then I sit.
I debate whether I should actually publish posts, submit queries to editors, and sometimes I even wonder whether it's worth responding to emails.
What good does this do anyone? Especially myself?
In these few moments, I'm trying to resurrect that feeling of connection and allowing myself, once again, to feel that surge of simple joy and fear - and I will allow myself to write again. Just for today.
Friday, April 26, 2013
Friday, September 07, 2012
When Everything Dumps at Once
Really what it all comes down to is the poop in the elevator.
I've been juggling a few different "job titles" for a while: Author. Journalist. Speaker. Coach. Mentor to teens. Volunteer. Wife. Landlord.
All of this constant attempt at keeping up with just one of these roles is kind of making my mind spin. Yesterday, it all came to a head when I was racing out of my early-morning volunteer shift to head back to my apartment building. I called my husband asking if anything happened while I was gone.
"Is there any way to do DNA on dog poop?"
"Ummm. Not sure, why do we need to?"
"There was a huge pile of dog crap in the elevator."
"WHAT?"
"HUGE. Like, Almost-Human-sized Huge."
"Who's dog was it?"
"Not sure."
"Did they clean it up?"
"No, I did," he said.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!"
"And now I'm wondering if we can track down the dog's DNA. I found one website that can do it if we send in a sample."
"Honey, we have surveillance cameras. I can just look at those."
"We do? Oh good."
"Yeah, so maybe you can just throw the poop away."
Sometimes the juggling just feels like that. Just when I feel like I'm getting a handle on things, there's a big human-sized piece of crap that sends my day in a totally different direction.
Onto checking the cameras. And maybe the DNA.
I've been juggling a few different "job titles" for a while: Author. Journalist. Speaker. Coach. Mentor to teens. Volunteer. Wife. Landlord.
All of this constant attempt at keeping up with just one of these roles is kind of making my mind spin. Yesterday, it all came to a head when I was racing out of my early-morning volunteer shift to head back to my apartment building. I called my husband asking if anything happened while I was gone.
"Is there any way to do DNA on dog poop?"
"Ummm. Not sure, why do we need to?"
"There was a huge pile of dog crap in the elevator."
"WHAT?"
"HUGE. Like, Almost-Human-sized Huge."
"Who's dog was it?"
"Not sure."
"Did they clean it up?"
"No, I did," he said.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!"
"And now I'm wondering if we can track down the dog's DNA. I found one website that can do it if we send in a sample."
"Honey, we have surveillance cameras. I can just look at those."
"We do? Oh good."
"Yeah, so maybe you can just throw the poop away."
Sometimes the juggling just feels like that. Just when I feel like I'm getting a handle on things, there's a big human-sized piece of crap that sends my day in a totally different direction.
Onto checking the cameras. And maybe the DNA.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Warning Signs
First, a story.
Every year when the kids get out of school and the weather starts getting warmer, I would sit in our morning news meetings as we discussed what news stories we should do about the weather.
"Send the weather guy go outside and really try to cook an egg on the asphalt."
"Let's get the cute blonde reporter to go on a boat and dive in the water."
"We can show the many ways people are getting relief: going to the movies, visiting the local water park, and show people walking around with hats, umbrellas, and little batter-operated fans."
Most of the ideas we pitch were ones we'd done already. It's hard trying to come up with the next gimmick to show that it's hot. But the stories will be told again, and again, and again. Kinda' like the water-skiing squirrel.
There's another story that unfortunately comes up every Summer, and we newsies have to tackle the challenge of telling a tragedy in a delicate manner. That story is about drowning. And it happens all too often. In fact, my sister-in-law told me that her neighbor's child recently drowned and it's affecting everyone in their world. How could it not?
Okay, so this is something I saw today and thought I'd pass along to you. This article gives the real-life warning signs of drowning. What really happens is totally different from the dramatic, arm-flailing, teen-shrieking depictions of drowning we see in the movies. Instead, a drowning person remains quiet, vertical, and could somehow go unnoticed only a few feet from you.
Check out the article and have a fun, safe Summer!
Every year when the kids get out of school and the weather starts getting warmer, I would sit in our morning news meetings as we discussed what news stories we should do about the weather.
"Send the weather guy go outside and really try to cook an egg on the asphalt."
"Let's get the cute blonde reporter to go on a boat and dive in the water."
"We can show the many ways people are getting relief: going to the movies, visiting the local water park, and show people walking around with hats, umbrellas, and little batter-operated fans."
Most of the ideas we pitch were ones we'd done already. It's hard trying to come up with the next gimmick to show that it's hot. But the stories will be told again, and again, and again. Kinda' like the water-skiing squirrel.
There's another story that unfortunately comes up every Summer, and we newsies have to tackle the challenge of telling a tragedy in a delicate manner. That story is about drowning. And it happens all too often. In fact, my sister-in-law told me that her neighbor's child recently drowned and it's affecting everyone in their world. How could it not?
Okay, so this is something I saw today and thought I'd pass along to you. This article gives the real-life warning signs of drowning. What really happens is totally different from the dramatic, arm-flailing, teen-shrieking depictions of drowning we see in the movies. Instead, a drowning person remains quiet, vertical, and could somehow go unnoticed only a few feet from you.
Check out the article and have a fun, safe Summer!
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Bragging. Writes.
The questions people tend to ask when they see me these days...
1. How's the book?
2. How's married life?
3. Did your brother and his wife have their kid?
4. They have SEVEN?
5. How are you liking Los Angeles?
6. Do you miss New York?
Most of these questions have simple answers.
My book has taken up most of my brain space for the last two years and has whittled away all that was left over. And I likely don't have the best outlook on Los Angeles because I don't really go out a lot. My life isn't as exciting as I could make it appear on Facebook or Twitter with carefully crafted over-exuberant phrases like, "I love living so close to Beverly Hills!" or "The sun is SO GORGEOUS out here!"... which really means it looks awesome outside my window.
I guess I could tell people that life is a constant adventure filled with galavanting around Hollywood and meshing my life with celebrities. But let's be honest. That was really more like my life in New York. I had size 2 jeans, a great paycheck, and lots of people who I called "friends" while others called them "famous."
I do miss all that. But really what I miss are the guys who sat on front stoops grilling outside every day of the Summer, the walkability of everything, sitting outside a restaurant and seeing friends pass by, and the random dudes who would check me out.
Seriously, I think I might miss that the most.
The sensible side of me would suggest that I don't hear cat calls anymore because I have a ring on my finger. But any wise woman will tell you that rings don't dissuade a man from a good opportunity to give a woman a compliment. After all, most common cat calls go something like this.
"You married?"
To which most single women respond, "yes," assuming it will end further questions... to no avail.
"You love him?"
Pretty much I'm in the land of no cat calls because:
A. my days are filled sitting in my apartment with my cat, snacking and typing while wearing my (size 8) sweatpants.
and B., Los Angeles is a city where people drive. Gone are the days of momentary intimate conversations between me and random dudes who likely find joy by hitting on every woman walking down the street.
Every time I'm asked, "Do you miss New York?" - or any time that I think back to my life pre-now - I have to remind myself that it's not just the city that I miss, but it's also the constant surrounding of human interaction, no matter how unwelcome or bizarre. These days my constant interaction is with cupcakes, jelly beans, procrastinating visits to the refrigerator, and brisk walks to the corner Starbucks for my glimpses of crowds, celebrities and the five seconds of real life human communication with someone asking me what size I'd like of my hot chocolate. I even give my real name when they ask.
Things have changed.
I constantly remind myself that if the potential for friends - or even cat calls - is as far in my past as my size 2 pants, then I will be okay. Because I still have my dreams of changing the world, one word at a time, making my never-ending battle with a book seemingly "worth it." I have love in my heart that I share with the few people I see, reminding me that love is grand, even when it seems small in scale. I still hold onto the hope that people everywhere will somehow hear my muffled voice shouting with joy, no matter where I am. But most of all, I have to realize that being in the trenches is often the most teachable part of the journey. And because of that, my dear friends, I cannot forget (although, admittedly, too often I do), that God has not forgotten me, but in fact, He's been blessing me this whole time.
1. How's the book?
2. How's married life?
3. Did your brother and his wife have their kid?
4. They have SEVEN?
5. How are you liking Los Angeles?
6. Do you miss New York?
Most of these questions have simple answers.
My book has taken up most of my brain space for the last two years and has whittled away all that was left over. And I likely don't have the best outlook on Los Angeles because I don't really go out a lot. My life isn't as exciting as I could make it appear on Facebook or Twitter with carefully crafted over-exuberant phrases like, "I love living so close to Beverly Hills!" or "The sun is SO GORGEOUS out here!"... which really means it looks awesome outside my window.
I guess I could tell people that life is a constant adventure filled with galavanting around Hollywood and meshing my life with celebrities. But let's be honest. That was really more like my life in New York. I had size 2 jeans, a great paycheck, and lots of people who I called "friends" while others called them "famous."
I do miss all that. But really what I miss are the guys who sat on front stoops grilling outside every day of the Summer, the walkability of everything, sitting outside a restaurant and seeing friends pass by, and the random dudes who would check me out.
Seriously, I think I might miss that the most.
The sensible side of me would suggest that I don't hear cat calls anymore because I have a ring on my finger. But any wise woman will tell you that rings don't dissuade a man from a good opportunity to give a woman a compliment. After all, most common cat calls go something like this.
"You married?"
To which most single women respond, "yes," assuming it will end further questions... to no avail.
"You love him?"
Pretty much I'm in the land of no cat calls because:
A. my days are filled sitting in my apartment with my cat, snacking and typing while wearing my (size 8) sweatpants.
and B., Los Angeles is a city where people drive. Gone are the days of momentary intimate conversations between me and random dudes who likely find joy by hitting on every woman walking down the street.
Every time I'm asked, "Do you miss New York?" - or any time that I think back to my life pre-now - I have to remind myself that it's not just the city that I miss, but it's also the constant surrounding of human interaction, no matter how unwelcome or bizarre. These days my constant interaction is with cupcakes, jelly beans, procrastinating visits to the refrigerator, and brisk walks to the corner Starbucks for my glimpses of crowds, celebrities and the five seconds of real life human communication with someone asking me what size I'd like of my hot chocolate. I even give my real name when they ask.
Things have changed.
I constantly remind myself that if the potential for friends - or even cat calls - is as far in my past as my size 2 pants, then I will be okay. Because I still have my dreams of changing the world, one word at a time, making my never-ending battle with a book seemingly "worth it." I have love in my heart that I share with the few people I see, reminding me that love is grand, even when it seems small in scale. I still hold onto the hope that people everywhere will somehow hear my muffled voice shouting with joy, no matter where I am. But most of all, I have to realize that being in the trenches is often the most teachable part of the journey. And because of that, my dear friends, I cannot forget (although, admittedly, too often I do), that God has not forgotten me, but in fact, He's been blessing me this whole time.
Friday, January 21, 2011
What's in a name?
For the past year I've been trying to figure out my new name.
Boys don't have to deal with this. They are born as Sam Smith and they stay that way. Girls? We have somehow traditionally been stuck with the decision making. Shall I just take his name? Should I keep my maiden name? Should I hyphenate?
A few years back I was really anti-name-change. I had just started dating a guy and we were sitting among a bunch of friends when this same discussion came up. From across the room he argued, "WHY wouldn't a girl change her last name? That's so dumb. She's part of a new family now, so she should change it."
"Um..." I piped in earnestly, "I'm not changing my name."
We stopped dating.
When I married Mr. Johnson I quickly became Mrs. Johnson. Maybe it's because I was in my 30s when I married. Or maybe it's because I had my whole career using my maiden name. Or maybe it's because there is only 1 Tamara Duricka in this world and (according to all-knowing google) there are more than 1,094 women named Tamara Johnson... I've been having a hard time with the switch. This has been a bit more than an identity crisis as I try to figure out which name to stamp on the front of my new little book.
These are the thoughts that go through my head...
*I did this project using my maiden name, so keep my maiden name as part of it.
*I'm married now. This is about a cynical girl who wanted to be better at dating and was surprised when she ended up married. Be sure to use your married name somewhere.
*Use all three names. It'll be fine even though it's a mouthful.
*Don't use all three. No one should, unless your name is awesome like Jennifer Love Hewitt. Besides it gives away the ending.
*Johnson is simple and easy to pronounce. The maiden name isn't, so drop it.
*There are already at least three other authors who have used 'Tamara Johnson' (two with a middle initial)
*Go totally different and use your given middle name: Tamara Jane Johnson. It's cute.
*No. No one knows you as that name, why would you use that?
*Does it really matter? You will be lucky if anyone other than your mom actually reads that thing anyway.
I've chatted with a few women who've debated their name changes over the years. They get married and use their married name. Then they change back to their maiden name at work. People think she got divorced. Or she actually gets divorced. And then maybe she remarries.
In some ways, I hate the fact that women have been forced into such a traditional role. Just as that old boyfriend said to me in heavy defense, "Women should change their name. You will be part of a whole new family! What will your children call you?"
"MOM."
But this name-changing opportunity does give us a chance to own our own identities. What do we want people to call us? How much of a statement is a married woman making if she chooses her husband's name? Is it an even bigger statement when she doesn't?
I have a friend who took her husband's last name when they married only under the condition that he take her maiden name as another middle name. Apparently it was much more difficult at the Social Security office for him to add a middle name than it was for her to change her last name.
Is this all too archaic? How important is it really?
I think of dear Samuel Clemens, who would still have been one of the best authors of all time had he stuck with his real name and not gone with Mark Twain. Does it really matter what we call ourselves? Isn't it more important that we deliver something substantial to the world than what we call it?
Boys don't have to deal with this. They are born as Sam Smith and they stay that way. Girls? We have somehow traditionally been stuck with the decision making. Shall I just take his name? Should I keep my maiden name? Should I hyphenate?
A few years back I was really anti-name-change. I had just started dating a guy and we were sitting among a bunch of friends when this same discussion came up. From across the room he argued, "WHY wouldn't a girl change her last name? That's so dumb. She's part of a new family now, so she should change it."
"Um..." I piped in earnestly, "I'm not changing my name."
We stopped dating.
When I married Mr. Johnson I quickly became Mrs. Johnson. Maybe it's because I was in my 30s when I married. Or maybe it's because I had my whole career using my maiden name. Or maybe it's because there is only 1 Tamara Duricka in this world and (according to all-knowing google) there are more than 1,094 women named Tamara Johnson... I've been having a hard time with the switch. This has been a bit more than an identity crisis as I try to figure out which name to stamp on the front of my new little book.
These are the thoughts that go through my head...
*I did this project using my maiden name, so keep my maiden name as part of it.
*I'm married now. This is about a cynical girl who wanted to be better at dating and was surprised when she ended up married. Be sure to use your married name somewhere.
*Use all three names. It'll be fine even though it's a mouthful.
*Don't use all three. No one should, unless your name is awesome like Jennifer Love Hewitt. Besides it gives away the ending.
*Johnson is simple and easy to pronounce. The maiden name isn't, so drop it.
*There are already at least three other authors who have used 'Tamara Johnson' (two with a middle initial)
*Go totally different and use your given middle name: Tamara Jane Johnson. It's cute.
*No. No one knows you as that name, why would you use that?
*Does it really matter? You will be lucky if anyone other than your mom actually reads that thing anyway.
I've chatted with a few women who've debated their name changes over the years. They get married and use their married name. Then they change back to their maiden name at work. People think she got divorced. Or she actually gets divorced. And then maybe she remarries.
In some ways, I hate the fact that women have been forced into such a traditional role. Just as that old boyfriend said to me in heavy defense, "Women should change their name. You will be part of a whole new family! What will your children call you?"
"MOM."
But this name-changing opportunity does give us a chance to own our own identities. What do we want people to call us? How much of a statement is a married woman making if she chooses her husband's name? Is it an even bigger statement when she doesn't?
I have a friend who took her husband's last name when they married only under the condition that he take her maiden name as another middle name. Apparently it was much more difficult at the Social Security office for him to add a middle name than it was for her to change her last name.
Is this all too archaic? How important is it really?
I think of dear Samuel Clemens, who would still have been one of the best authors of all time had he stuck with his real name and not gone with Mark Twain. Does it really matter what we call ourselves? Isn't it more important that we deliver something substantial to the world than what we call it?
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
-Romeo and Juliet (Act 2, scene ii)
By any other name would smell as sweet."
-Romeo and Juliet (Act 2, scene ii)
When my parents divorced, my mom kept her married name. That way people would know she was our mom. Plus, the paperwork is a hassle. Then she remarried and considered keeping my dad's last name. My step-dad wasn't too keen on that idea. So she changed it to what is apparently the most popular Irish name: Pat Kelly.
What do you think about your name? Have you changed it? Would you?
(I'm also posting this on my 31 Dates blog)
What do you think about your name? Have you changed it? Would you?
(I'm also posting this on my 31 Dates blog)
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Dreams and Theme Music
I was just chatting with a friend about those moments in our lives when we're pursuing - or even living - our dreams, but we feel like frauds.
During grad school, I felt as if I were a fraud the entire time. I was just waiting for someone to discover that I had no idea what I was doing and then, in a very stern voice, ask me to leave. I cried most days.
And then I started to work on my thesis. I holed myself up in the radio lab and spent weeks working all night, sometimes even taking naps on the floor, using my coat as a pillow. I had somehow remembered that even if I hadn't gone to a big-named undergrad, or I didn't have the same newspaper background as my classmates, or I hadn't published a book, I still loved to work and give storytelling my best shot.
Eventually, I realized that maybe I wasn't a fraud as much as I was just a work-in-progress.
Same goes for my never-ending journey to define myself as a writer. I spend my days writing, thinking about writing, reading about writing, and still. I can't help but think I'm a fraud.
And then there was my friend, who is busily working at all hours of the day as an interior decorator, her lifelong dream. She dresses like a decorator - fashionably draped in fine cloths and textures with a touch of something fun, like an unexpected colorful broach. She talks like a designer, seeing the world through its visual beauties. She easily points out the details that make a room, a person, or even a joke special. And yet, as she finds herself swimming in stores surrounded by thousands of fabrics, she's not so sure if she's got it all together.
Yesterday, she received a little bit of validation after a visit with her old college professor, who's - of course - impressed with her work. Here's a little bit of something she just shared with me:
"I really needed that step back from my life which I tend to get overwhelmed and stressed and insecure about, and to realize that I actually am doing what I want to be doing. And that I am pretty successful. I don't think I knew that about myself. Lately I tend to feel like I am failing."
Oh!!! How glorious is that?! She is such a success already! Yet, she's in the midst of those trying, delicate moments when we are wanting - so badly - to be great at something. We are trying so hard, that all we can see are the mistakes!
Don't we all do that? We make so many mistakes along the way, that we somehow think, "I'm no good at this at all."
We are all taking our journeys up the mountain. And with each step closer to the top we think, "how much longer is it??" Sometimes we feel all like Sisyphus, pushing that boulder up only to fall back down to the bottom. We stand, yet again, at the bottom of the mountain and look up wondering, "Can I do this?"
Sure. There is much to be said for people who really aren't good at certain things. There are times we need to reassess, accept defeat and disappointment, and take our lessons to move on. Those moments are humbling and beautiful.
But there are also the times when we are working so hard to keep fulfilling our lives that we forget about all the work that's already been behind us. And all the potential that remains ahead of us.
Are you in the midst of something great, but there is so much ahead of you that you feel overwhelmed by the remaining part of the journey?
Here was my fleeting advice to my dear, successful friend:
"Sometimes i feel like my "love story" is super lame and that I'm super lame. "There are days we all feel that way. Okay, let's be honest... there are MONTHS we all feel that way. But nah. You're doing so well. You're living your dream! You just kinda forget that you are because you don't hear all the theme music."
How easy to forget! As we are living our dreams today, let's turn up the inspiring theme music in our minds and remember where we are really standing.
During grad school, I felt as if I were a fraud the entire time. I was just waiting for someone to discover that I had no idea what I was doing and then, in a very stern voice, ask me to leave. I cried most days.
And then I started to work on my thesis. I holed myself up in the radio lab and spent weeks working all night, sometimes even taking naps on the floor, using my coat as a pillow. I had somehow remembered that even if I hadn't gone to a big-named undergrad, or I didn't have the same newspaper background as my classmates, or I hadn't published a book, I still loved to work and give storytelling my best shot.
Eventually, I realized that maybe I wasn't a fraud as much as I was just a work-in-progress.
Same goes for my never-ending journey to define myself as a writer. I spend my days writing, thinking about writing, reading about writing, and still. I can't help but think I'm a fraud.
And then there was my friend, who is busily working at all hours of the day as an interior decorator, her lifelong dream. She dresses like a decorator - fashionably draped in fine cloths and textures with a touch of something fun, like an unexpected colorful broach. She talks like a designer, seeing the world through its visual beauties. She easily points out the details that make a room, a person, or even a joke special. And yet, as she finds herself swimming in stores surrounded by thousands of fabrics, she's not so sure if she's got it all together.
Yesterday, she received a little bit of validation after a visit with her old college professor, who's - of course - impressed with her work. Here's a little bit of something she just shared with me:
"I really needed that step back from my life which I tend to get overwhelmed and stressed and insecure about, and to realize that I actually am doing what I want to be doing. And that I am pretty successful. I don't think I knew that about myself. Lately I tend to feel like I am failing."
Oh!!! How glorious is that?! She is such a success already! Yet, she's in the midst of those trying, delicate moments when we are wanting - so badly - to be great at something. We are trying so hard, that all we can see are the mistakes!
Don't we all do that? We make so many mistakes along the way, that we somehow think, "I'm no good at this at all."
We are all taking our journeys up the mountain. And with each step closer to the top we think, "how much longer is it??" Sometimes we feel all like Sisyphus, pushing that boulder up only to fall back down to the bottom. We stand, yet again, at the bottom of the mountain and look up wondering, "Can I do this?"
Sure. There is much to be said for people who really aren't good at certain things. There are times we need to reassess, accept defeat and disappointment, and take our lessons to move on. Those moments are humbling and beautiful.
But there are also the times when we are working so hard to keep fulfilling our lives that we forget about all the work that's already been behind us. And all the potential that remains ahead of us.
Are you in the midst of something great, but there is so much ahead of you that you feel overwhelmed by the remaining part of the journey?
Here was my fleeting advice to my dear, successful friend:
"Sometimes i feel like my "love story" is super lame and that I'm super lame. "There are days we all feel that way. Okay, let's be honest... there are MONTHS we all feel that way. But nah. You're doing so well. You're living your dream! You just kinda forget that you are because you don't hear all the theme music."
How easy to forget! As we are living our dreams today, let's turn up the inspiring theme music in our minds and remember where we are really standing.
Friday, November 12, 2010
A Whole Lotta Love. But How Much Life?
What's your priority these days? Are you living your life the way you want?
Sometimes I feel like I go to bed every night and all I can think about is how I'm not of any use or being as useful/efficient/helpful/hard-working as I need to be. Hmmm... actually, I'm pretty sure that's how I feel every night.
So I'm starting to think about all those beautiful sayings that tell you how to live the life you want:
"Be the change you want to see" - Ghandi
"We become what we want to be by consistently being what we want to become each day." - Hugh B. Brown
“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” - Albert Einstein
"One Day at a Time" - A.A.
"I yam what I yam" - Popeye
How do you live your life? Is it in line with how you want to live your life?
I once had a bishop who would tell us, "How you're living your life today will help you predict what your life will look like six months from now." I thought that was smart.
I guess this means I need to get moving so I can start going to bed at night without so many regrets...
Sometimes I feel like I go to bed every night and all I can think about is how I'm not of any use or being as useful/efficient/helpful/hard-working as I need to be. Hmmm... actually, I'm pretty sure that's how I feel every night.
So I'm starting to think about all those beautiful sayings that tell you how to live the life you want:
"Be the change you want to see" - Ghandi
"We become what we want to be by consistently being what we want to become each day." - Hugh B. Brown
“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” - Albert Einstein
"One Day at a Time" - A.A.
"I yam what I yam" - Popeye
How do you live your life? Is it in line with how you want to live your life?
I once had a bishop who would tell us, "How you're living your life today will help you predict what your life will look like six months from now." I thought that was smart.
I guess this means I need to get moving so I can start going to bed at night without so many regrets...
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
Do You NaNo???
I love November. For a million reasons.
I love the Fall and everything about it. The crisp air. The beautiful trees. The feeling of change whipping through my heart. It's wonderful. Every November I feel as if I'm falling in love. The whole month.
This month I'm stepping things up a bit. This month I'll actually get outside and work out. This month I will finish this darned draft. And this month I will be more grateful. Would you like to join me?
November is National Novel Writing Month. The challenge is to write 50,000 before midnight, December 1st. If you feel like writing with the thousands of other people who have signed up, find me online and we can be cheerleaders for one another. (I'm a great cheerleader!!! Go! Go!!!)
Also, this November I would like to focus on gratitude. A few years ago, a group of my friends emailed each other once a week. We all listed what we were grateful for and it was inspiring. I'm spending this month in gratitude mode. Gratitude is one of the strongest tools we can use when we're looking to improve our relationships. Once a week, let's think of what we're most grateful for. I'm going to post a little something on my 31 Dates site. Every week, I'm looking for little posts of things you're grateful for. We'll call it... Thursday Thanks. Or something like that. (You know I love me some good alliteration.)
Life is good. And can be even better if we allow ourselves to see it that way.
I love the Fall and everything about it. The crisp air. The beautiful trees. The feeling of change whipping through my heart. It's wonderful. Every November I feel as if I'm falling in love. The whole month.
This month I'm stepping things up a bit. This month I'll actually get outside and work out. This month I will finish this darned draft. And this month I will be more grateful. Would you like to join me?
November is National Novel Writing Month. The challenge is to write 50,000 before midnight, December 1st. If you feel like writing with the thousands of other people who have signed up, find me online and we can be cheerleaders for one another. (I'm a great cheerleader!!! Go! Go!!!)
Also, this November I would like to focus on gratitude. A few years ago, a group of my friends emailed each other once a week. We all listed what we were grateful for and it was inspiring. I'm spending this month in gratitude mode. Gratitude is one of the strongest tools we can use when we're looking to improve our relationships. Once a week, let's think of what we're most grateful for. I'm going to post a little something on my 31 Dates site. Every week, I'm looking for little posts of things you're grateful for. We'll call it... Thursday Thanks. Or something like that. (You know I love me some good alliteration.)
Life is good. And can be even better if we allow ourselves to see it that way.
Monday, November 01, 2010
I am a Writer?
I'm a little ambivalent about titles. On one hand, I feel as if they can pigeon-hole us: the cool kids, the dweebs, the nerds, the band geeks, the jocks. On the other hand I feel as if titles give us... well... a sense of entitlement. Or empowerment: esquire, president, CEO, secret agent, supermodel, superhero, etc.
Over the years I've traveled through a bunch of titles:
Actress
Singer
Daughter
Sister
President
New Kid
Lonely Girl
Popular Girl
Sorority Girl
Nerd
Producer
Unemployed
Girlfriend
Wife
Couch Potato
Runner
Marathoner
(and back to) Couch Potato :)
Yet there's been one title I keep struggling with over the years: "writer." Have we talked about this already? I feel like I talk about it all the time.
When I was a kid, I remember holding my first "published book" with pride. We were in third grade and had been assigned to write a book titled "All About Me." The book was about 6 pages long with one sentence per page. In the school's office, it was spiral bound with a laminated cardboard cover. Inside you would read about, well... me. I had a big brother and a cat named Maxinne. I wanted to be an actress, a hairdresser, or a lawyer. At the end, it was followed by an "About the Author" page, which listed the same information.
I thought it was a treasure -- and certainly I was sure it was the most brilliant piece of literature ever created.
I wrote for fun. Or for comfort. Poems and prose got me through my tough teenage years. Journaling helped me feel as if I had an outlet.
In college I majored in English because it made sense. It balanced out my theatre major, which was "fun." The double-major in English would make me appear "serious." Graduating in three years would make me appear "super serious."
I fell into my career naturally. Having both parents as journalists (mom, a print reporter and dad, a photojournalist) would mean the apple wouldn't fall far from the tree. My dreams of becoming a hairdresser/lawyer/actress had fallen behind and my dad easily tricked me into the news business.
For years, I spent my days writing and producing stories and newscasts. I received a master's degree on fellowship from the world's best journalism school. I became a network news writer. I joined the Writers' Guild. I even landed a book deal.
And yet, even with those pretty endorsements, it has still been a struggle for me to identify with this title without following it with a question mark: I am a Writer. Period.
Sometimes I believe this struggle to call myself a writer is simply because I don't feel as if I write well enough. Or often enough.
My self-criticism serves as my limitation.
My grammar is strong. But my vocabulary could be stronger.
I compare my rough drafts with published works.
My discipline is weak.
My ideal of what a "writer" is somehow seems greater than I could ever hope to be.
And then I think of Mile 8.
As I was training for a marathon a few years ago, I would spend every Saturday morning waddling several miles, adding a couple miles to each weekend, slowly (very slowly) building up my endurance to 26 miles. I had never been a runner.
During high school I was well aware of my lack of coordination. I much preferred the camaraderie and kilts than the actual athleticism of my team sports. I happily took my place on the field hockey team playing "left bench." Lacrosse was no different. I stood in the goal, watching the rest of my teammates skimper up and down the field, praying no one would toss the ball my way. If we were challenged to run a mile during practice, I would gasp and walk and grip my aching side.
Who was I to sign up for a marathon?
I had worked my way up to eight miles in training. Eight miles without dying! It was then, that somehow I knew, no matter how slow I would end up, I would some day finish a marathon. I wasn't fast. I would certainly not win a marathon. But I spent my mornings donning a race cap and running shoes. I was slow. But I was dedicated. And by merely getting out the door in the morning, I was a runner.
So today, as I continue to fear my editor's deadline, to compare myself to "real" authors, to feel the weight of the world peeking over my shoulder and criticising every word I write, I will take a few minutes to allow myself to waddle into the world as a writer. I might tip toe my way to the end of my book. It might not resonate with any readers. But for today, I am showing up to write. I am committing to my title without question mark.
Today, I AM A WRITER.
Over the years I've traveled through a bunch of titles:
Actress
Singer
Daughter
Sister
President
New Kid
Lonely Girl
Popular Girl
Sorority Girl
Nerd
Producer
Unemployed
Girlfriend
Wife
Couch Potato
Runner
Marathoner
(and back to) Couch Potato :)
Yet there's been one title I keep struggling with over the years: "writer." Have we talked about this already? I feel like I talk about it all the time.
When I was a kid, I remember holding my first "published book" with pride. We were in third grade and had been assigned to write a book titled "All About Me." The book was about 6 pages long with one sentence per page. In the school's office, it was spiral bound with a laminated cardboard cover. Inside you would read about, well... me. I had a big brother and a cat named Maxinne. I wanted to be an actress, a hairdresser, or a lawyer. At the end, it was followed by an "About the Author" page, which listed the same information.
I thought it was a treasure -- and certainly I was sure it was the most brilliant piece of literature ever created.
I wrote for fun. Or for comfort. Poems and prose got me through my tough teenage years. Journaling helped me feel as if I had an outlet.
In college I majored in English because it made sense. It balanced out my theatre major, which was "fun." The double-major in English would make me appear "serious." Graduating in three years would make me appear "super serious."
I fell into my career naturally. Having both parents as journalists (mom, a print reporter and dad, a photojournalist) would mean the apple wouldn't fall far from the tree. My dreams of becoming a hairdresser/lawyer/actress had fallen behind and my dad easily tricked me into the news business.
For years, I spent my days writing and producing stories and newscasts. I received a master's degree on fellowship from the world's best journalism school. I became a network news writer. I joined the Writers' Guild. I even landed a book deal.
And yet, even with those pretty endorsements, it has still been a struggle for me to identify with this title without following it with a question mark: I am a Writer. Period.
Sometimes I believe this struggle to call myself a writer is simply because I don't feel as if I write well enough. Or often enough.
My self-criticism serves as my limitation.
My grammar is strong. But my vocabulary could be stronger.
I compare my rough drafts with published works.
My discipline is weak.
My ideal of what a "writer" is somehow seems greater than I could ever hope to be.
And then I think of Mile 8.
As I was training for a marathon a few years ago, I would spend every Saturday morning waddling several miles, adding a couple miles to each weekend, slowly (very slowly) building up my endurance to 26 miles. I had never been a runner.
During high school I was well aware of my lack of coordination. I much preferred the camaraderie and kilts than the actual athleticism of my team sports. I happily took my place on the field hockey team playing "left bench." Lacrosse was no different. I stood in the goal, watching the rest of my teammates skimper up and down the field, praying no one would toss the ball my way. If we were challenged to run a mile during practice, I would gasp and walk and grip my aching side.
Who was I to sign up for a marathon?
I had worked my way up to eight miles in training. Eight miles without dying! It was then, that somehow I knew, no matter how slow I would end up, I would some day finish a marathon. I wasn't fast. I would certainly not win a marathon. But I spent my mornings donning a race cap and running shoes. I was slow. But I was dedicated. And by merely getting out the door in the morning, I was a runner.
So today, as I continue to fear my editor's deadline, to compare myself to "real" authors, to feel the weight of the world peeking over my shoulder and criticising every word I write, I will take a few minutes to allow myself to waddle into the world as a writer. I might tip toe my way to the end of my book. It might not resonate with any readers. But for today, I am showing up to write. I am committing to my title without question mark.
Today, I AM A WRITER.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Biology 150 (and how it still influences my life)
This is an email I just sent to an old college professor. I felt like sharing it with you too. Thank you to you teachers who push us to excel!
Hi Dr. Jorgensen,
I hope this finds you well.
I'm not sure if you remember me, but I took your Bio 150 class when I was a freshman at Roanoke College. I remember listening to my roommate complain about your class during the Fall 1995 semester. She spoke of how you were a tough teacher and how "no one can ace his class." I took that idea as a challenge, thinking, "I can ace his class." As an English/Theater double-major, I had no specific interests in biology, but I had much interest in proving to myself that I could stand up to a difficult challenge.
I enrolled in your class the following Spring semester with high hopes of easily making an "A." My roommate was right. Your class was the toughest I'd ever come across. The material seemed dense, too difficult for me to comprehend, but I was determined to ace your class.
Even though I feared the ridicule that would I would face from other students, I bought a tape recorder, placed it on my desk, and started recording every one of your lectures while taking meticulous notes. At night, I would listen to the taped lectures and type them up, word for word. The repetition of your lectures helped me considerably.
When it came time to take your tests, I revisited the material and made a bunch of flash cards, hoping to trigger the details of all-too-confusing cellular structures. Over the next few months I found myself falling in love with biology. I started to find the mysteries of human structure and development fascinating, I looked forward to every class, and I relished in my studies.
I kept my schedule packed, blending my intense study time with my participation in choirs and plays and of course, having fun with my friends. And there were many times my studying called for sacrifices. I can recall a Friday night when I was reviewing the material for an upcoming test in your class. I sat in one of the study rooms in my dorm, Marion Hall. My friends would pass by and head out the door, stopping to ask me when I would be done studying so I could meet them at a party. I told them I still had a little more material to cover and would hopefully make it out later. I remember clearly one friend who said, "Why are you studying on a Friday night? You'll forget all the material by the time you take the test on Monday anyway." I shrugged my shoulders and got back to work, making sure not to mention that the test was not on Monday, but on Wednesday -- I was studying five days in advance.
While those months of listening to lectures and absorbing every little detail about the class taught me much about biology, I learned so much more about myself than I ever could have imagined. I learned that I loved learning. I loved working hard and proving to myself that I could do the unthinkable. I taught myself how to study. I figured out ways to teach myself new material. There are days that I think back to those flash cards, those Friday nights in the study room, those difficult tests, and I somehow feel as if I can do anything if I just prioritize and work hard.
I did ace your class.
At the end of the semester you asked me to consider Biology as a major. "Biology?" I thought, "but I already have two majors." The idea was tempting, though.
I don't regret majoring in English or in Theater. Every class I took at Roanoke College was well worth the hard work. I graduated from the school in three years. I worked as a television news producer and writer for twelve years, most recently at Good Morning America. I received a full-tuition fellowship from Columbia University's Graduate School of Journalism. Now I'm writing my first book.
Sometimes I wonder if professors know how much of an influence they have had on the lives of their students. I'm sure many teachers gauge their success by the number of students who manage to succeed in their career field. But there are those of us who see you as a success merely because you inspired us when you didn't realize it. You served as an example when you thought no one was listening during your introductory-level class.
Thank you for being the teacher who keeps pushing his students. I can only assume being a difficult professor has its drawbacks. No one loves the teacher who makes life hard. But for me, your pushing made all the difference in my life.
Hi Dr. Jorgensen,
I hope this finds you well.
I'm not sure if you remember me, but I took your Bio 150 class when I was a freshman at Roanoke College. I remember listening to my roommate complain about your class during the Fall 1995 semester. She spoke of how you were a tough teacher and how "no one can ace his class." I took that idea as a challenge, thinking, "I can ace his class." As an English/Theater double-major, I had no specific interests in biology, but I had much interest in proving to myself that I could stand up to a difficult challenge.
I enrolled in your class the following Spring semester with high hopes of easily making an "A." My roommate was right. Your class was the toughest I'd ever come across. The material seemed dense, too difficult for me to comprehend, but I was determined to ace your class.
Even though I feared the ridicule that would I would face from other students, I bought a tape recorder, placed it on my desk, and started recording every one of your lectures while taking meticulous notes. At night, I would listen to the taped lectures and type them up, word for word. The repetition of your lectures helped me considerably.
When it came time to take your tests, I revisited the material and made a bunch of flash cards, hoping to trigger the details of all-too-confusing cellular structures. Over the next few months I found myself falling in love with biology. I started to find the mysteries of human structure and development fascinating, I looked forward to every class, and I relished in my studies.
I kept my schedule packed, blending my intense study time with my participation in choirs and plays and of course, having fun with my friends. And there were many times my studying called for sacrifices. I can recall a Friday night when I was reviewing the material for an upcoming test in your class. I sat in one of the study rooms in my dorm, Marion Hall. My friends would pass by and head out the door, stopping to ask me when I would be done studying so I could meet them at a party. I told them I still had a little more material to cover and would hopefully make it out later. I remember clearly one friend who said, "Why are you studying on a Friday night? You'll forget all the material by the time you take the test on Monday anyway." I shrugged my shoulders and got back to work, making sure not to mention that the test was not on Monday, but on Wednesday -- I was studying five days in advance.
While those months of listening to lectures and absorbing every little detail about the class taught me much about biology, I learned so much more about myself than I ever could have imagined. I learned that I loved learning. I loved working hard and proving to myself that I could do the unthinkable. I taught myself how to study. I figured out ways to teach myself new material. There are days that I think back to those flash cards, those Friday nights in the study room, those difficult tests, and I somehow feel as if I can do anything if I just prioritize and work hard.
I did ace your class.
At the end of the semester you asked me to consider Biology as a major. "Biology?" I thought, "but I already have two majors." The idea was tempting, though.
I don't regret majoring in English or in Theater. Every class I took at Roanoke College was well worth the hard work. I graduated from the school in three years. I worked as a television news producer and writer for twelve years, most recently at Good Morning America. I received a full-tuition fellowship from Columbia University's Graduate School of Journalism. Now I'm writing my first book.
Sometimes I wonder if professors know how much of an influence they have had on the lives of their students. I'm sure many teachers gauge their success by the number of students who manage to succeed in their career field. But there are those of us who see you as a success merely because you inspired us when you didn't realize it. You served as an example when you thought no one was listening during your introductory-level class.
Thank you for being the teacher who keeps pushing his students. I can only assume being a difficult professor has its drawbacks. No one loves the teacher who makes life hard. But for me, your pushing made all the difference in my life.
Friday, September 10, 2010
The PNW
I'm not sure if the people in the northwest think of us as crazy California drivers or unforgiving New York drivers, but apparently we don't fit in on the roads up here. The first day we were here I was flipped off in Oregon. I figured the woman was extra antsy because our rental has Washington plates.
And then Evan was given the bird in Washington. So they hate us there too.
Other than that, it's been a great trip so far.
On a side note...
Tonight is Stand Up to Cancer, a cross-network televised fundraiser for cancer research. I love this. Most of you know, cancer has played a big part in my family life for a long time. Over the years I've done a few fundraisers for different types of cancer. This particular fundraiser is for collaborative cancer research. Check out their website or watch tonight at 8pm (7central).
And then Evan was given the bird in Washington. So they hate us there too.
Other than that, it's been a great trip so far.
On a side note...
Tonight is Stand Up to Cancer, a cross-network televised fundraiser for cancer research. I love this. Most of you know, cancer has played a big part in my family life for a long time. Over the years I've done a few fundraisers for different types of cancer. This particular fundraiser is for collaborative cancer research. Check out their website or watch tonight at 8pm (7central).
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Back in the Saddle...
Hi friends! Just a quick update on love and life. I'm loving life and am adjusting to the California sunshine (even though I still miss the lovely NYC!).
The rest of my life has taken a little longer to adjust! As I keep being reminded, change comes quickly but the transition is sometimes slowwwwww!
In my ever-changing career, I'm learning what it's like to be my own boss. It's hard! No more complaining about The Man unless I'm willing to complain about myself!
I set up a new website that I'm pretty excited about. And I gave the dating blog a lil' makeover. Things are a-changin'!
Some of you have asked me about my book (thanks for asking!). I've started it over a few times. I guess working in news has trained me to easily kill my work if it doesn't feel relevant (or good). But then... I started liking what I wrote! And then my hard drive died. (so sad!) I was pretty bummed about losing a few chapters; I was heart-broken. It felt kinda like a really hard breakup. One of those really painful breakups that takes a before having the desire to get back in the game. It's still kinda a touchy subject. Ouch.
BUT! Now I'm back in full-swing. It helps that my book deal has finally gone through with all the appropriate signatures and my editor (whom I LOVE!) is rooting me along. So that's fun.
The book world is a really strange business. I feel like I've learned a lot along the way about what it takes to get a book published (let's be honest, I've been the luckiest woman in the world with that and will be forever grateful). Books take so much work to get onto those little shelves! I have an even higher respect now for writers than ever before!
I'm also learning how lonely writing a little book can be. I'm used to focusing on my work while surrounded by the chaos of a busy newsroom. I miss having people around. So sometimes I'll work with noise on in the background. Or I'll head to the outdoor market/mall nearby and will pretend all the passersby are my co-workers. They really are a delight to work with. No one complains about anything!
We're lucky to live fairly close to my mom. Somehow she seems offended if we don't bring our dirty laundry over to wash at her place. She loves us.
And we're about an hour away from one of Evan's brother's place... the other "T&E Johnson" home. It's good to be so close to family.
We have one car and Evan walks to work. The New Yorker in me is still into walking. I miss New York. Have I mentioned that?
For the first few months, I would cry any time I was reminded of New York. I would whimper at songs about the city. I would compare everything to the days gone by ("y'know, we don't even need a car in New York," or "they have the best cookies/crepes/bums in New York," or "I'm pretty sure I weighed 10 pounds less in the city."
I would even get choked up if I watched Law and Order, gazing at the yellow 'caution' tape draped outside bodegas or entrances to subway stations. But now my tears are replaced by the joy for the life I have here with my handsome husband.
Of course, I feel like we had more friends back in New York...
See? I'm making a little bit of progress.
The rest of my life has taken a little longer to adjust! As I keep being reminded, change comes quickly but the transition is sometimes slowwwwww!
In my ever-changing career, I'm learning what it's like to be my own boss. It's hard! No more complaining about The Man unless I'm willing to complain about myself!
I set up a new website that I'm pretty excited about. And I gave the dating blog a lil' makeover. Things are a-changin'!
Some of you have asked me about my book (thanks for asking!). I've started it over a few times. I guess working in news has trained me to easily kill my work if it doesn't feel relevant (or good). But then... I started liking what I wrote! And then my hard drive died. (so sad!) I was pretty bummed about losing a few chapters; I was heart-broken. It felt kinda like a really hard breakup. One of those really painful breakups that takes a before having the desire to get back in the game. It's still kinda a touchy subject. Ouch.
BUT! Now I'm back in full-swing. It helps that my book deal has finally gone through with all the appropriate signatures and my editor (whom I LOVE!) is rooting me along. So that's fun.
The book world is a really strange business. I feel like I've learned a lot along the way about what it takes to get a book published (let's be honest, I've been the luckiest woman in the world with that and will be forever grateful). Books take so much work to get onto those little shelves! I have an even higher respect now for writers than ever before!
I'm also learning how lonely writing a little book can be. I'm used to focusing on my work while surrounded by the chaos of a busy newsroom. I miss having people around. So sometimes I'll work with noise on in the background. Or I'll head to the outdoor market/mall nearby and will pretend all the passersby are my co-workers. They really are a delight to work with. No one complains about anything!
We're lucky to live fairly close to my mom. Somehow she seems offended if we don't bring our dirty laundry over to wash at her place. She loves us.
And we're about an hour away from one of Evan's brother's place... the other "T&E Johnson" home. It's good to be so close to family.
We have one car and Evan walks to work. The New Yorker in me is still into walking. I miss New York. Have I mentioned that?
For the first few months, I would cry any time I was reminded of New York. I would whimper at songs about the city. I would compare everything to the days gone by ("y'know, we don't even need a car in New York," or "they have the best cookies/crepes/bums in New York," or "I'm pretty sure I weighed 10 pounds less in the city."
I would even get choked up if I watched Law and Order, gazing at the yellow 'caution' tape draped outside bodegas or entrances to subway stations. But now my tears are replaced by the joy for the life I have here with my handsome husband.
Of course, I feel like we had more friends back in New York...
See? I'm making a little bit of progress.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
My New Life
I guess I should mention... 
I quit my job and moved to L.A.
Yes, life is blissful.
I quit my job and moved to L.A.check out more wedding pics from MegRuth photography here
And now we're married!
Yes, life is blissful.
I'm pretty excited about everything ahead. Moving, marriage, and my new "job" is an adjustment for sure. I'm grateful for all of it. I feel really blessed.
I really am enjoying being married. I truly believe marriage is the modern-day miracle. It has taken me a lot of personal growth and gratitude to get me to the point where I would marry my dream man. I am still in shock about the whole thing. Maybe it'll really hit me soon. Evan is the greatest blessing I have been given so far in my life. He really is amazing and seems to be a never-ending fountain of love and support.
I had a very eventful last year (or so) and I am feeling like this year will be quite busy as well. I just signed with an agent, so we'll see what happens with the book. I guess I need to finish writing it...
I might also start a new lil' blog for Evan and I to keep you updated. We're debating relevance and format.
For now, I'm happy to report that we're getting settled into this new, fantastic chapter of our lives. It's a happy adjustment. I am going to write, to be a wife, to continue being happy, and I'm going to allow more miracles to unveil themselves in my life.
This is the best so far...
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
On Holiday in New Hampshire...
{A Story...}
Here is Evan after waking up early (9:00) to take us out on a canoe:
Here I am apparently paddling on the lake:
But here is what I was really doing the whole time he rowed:
Here we are being silly on a little island in the middle of the lake:
Evan: Tam, what kind of a face would you make if you were really mad at me?
Evan: Okay, now what kind of face would you make if I got down on one knee like this... and... pulled this little box out of my pocket?
This is how happy I was after he asked me to MARRY HIM!!!!!!!!
This is the proof that we are now ENGAGED!
And here we are, so excited to get married in just a few short months! Yayyyy!
{more details to follow! for now, email me your address! yay!}
Sunday, August 30, 2009
"Nothing is Impossible"
This weekend people are remembering Senator Ted Kennedy. But for me, Teddy has always reminded me of my dad... especially one of my favorite stories about the two of them.
In 1973, Kennedy's son, Teddy Jr., had his leg amputated at 12 years old because of bone cancer. Most of the pictures shot afterward showed the pre-teen on crutches with a distraught look on his face. But after the family arrived home from the hospital, Dad was the person the family asked to do a private photo shoot showing how Teddy Jr. would prevail and live a happy life.
I tend to think of this photo as one that shows more than just the strength of a young boy.
Dad and Senator Kennedy were friends. Over the decades that they worked together, they didn't meet eye to eye politically, but they were both hard workers who respected one another. I look at this photo (shown below) and see the strong relationship my father had with the people he worked with and the trust they had in him. For many years, the photo hung in our home, reminding me of perseverance, good work, humility, and friendship. Dad never made a big deal about his photos or the stories he covered, but his strong work ethic and friendships resonated strongly and clearly then and still do today.
Now, Senator Ted Kennedy lies alongside his brothers - and a stone's throw from my father - in Arlington National Cemetary. Kennedy's funeral was attended by hundreds who remembered the man known as the gruff lion in the Senate and the warm-hearted lamb among friends and family. Here are some words from Teddy Jr.'s eulogy about his father, and the day that forever changed his life and attitude.
"He was not perfect, far from it. But my father believed in redemption and he never surrendered. Never stopped trying to right wrongs, be they the results of his own failings or of ours. But today I'm simply compelled to remember Ted Kennedy as my father and my best friend.
When I was 12 years old I was diagnosed with bone cancer and a few months after I lost my leg, there was a heavy snowfall over my childhood home outside of Washington D.C. My father went to the garage to get the old Flexible Flyer and asked me if I wanted to go sledding down the steep driveway. And I was trying to get used to my new artificial leg and the hill was covered with ice and snow and it wasn't easy for me to walk. And the hill was very slick and as I struggled to walk, I slipped and I fell on the ice and I started to cry and I said "I can't do this." I said, "I'll never be able to climb that hill." And he lifted me in his strong, gentle arms and said something I'll never forget. He said "I know you'll do it, there is nothing you can't do. We're going to climb that hill together, even if it takes us all day."
Sure enough, he held me around my waist and we slowly made it to the top, and, you know, at age 12 losing a leg pretty much seems like the end of the world, but as I climbed onto his back and we flew down the hill that day I knew he was right. I knew I was going to be OK.
You see, my father taught me that even our most profound losses are survivable and it is what we do with that loss, our ability to transform it into a positive event, that is one of my father's greatest lessons. He taught me that nothing is impossible."
Edward Kennedy Jr., rides on his father's back, Sen. Edward M. Kennedy, D-Mass., as they sled down the hill in the front yard of their home on Monday Dec. 26, 1973 in McLean, Va. (AP Photo/John Duricka)
In 1973, Kennedy's son, Teddy Jr., had his leg amputated at 12 years old because of bone cancer. Most of the pictures shot afterward showed the pre-teen on crutches with a distraught look on his face. But after the family arrived home from the hospital, Dad was the person the family asked to do a private photo shoot showing how Teddy Jr. would prevail and live a happy life.
I tend to think of this photo as one that shows more than just the strength of a young boy.
Dad and Senator Kennedy were friends. Over the decades that they worked together, they didn't meet eye to eye politically, but they were both hard workers who respected one another. I look at this photo (shown below) and see the strong relationship my father had with the people he worked with and the trust they had in him. For many years, the photo hung in our home, reminding me of perseverance, good work, humility, and friendship. Dad never made a big deal about his photos or the stories he covered, but his strong work ethic and friendships resonated strongly and clearly then and still do today.
Now, Senator Ted Kennedy lies alongside his brothers - and a stone's throw from my father - in Arlington National Cemetary. Kennedy's funeral was attended by hundreds who remembered the man known as the gruff lion in the Senate and the warm-hearted lamb among friends and family. Here are some words from Teddy Jr.'s eulogy about his father, and the day that forever changed his life and attitude.
"He was not perfect, far from it. But my father believed in redemption and he never surrendered. Never stopped trying to right wrongs, be they the results of his own failings or of ours. But today I'm simply compelled to remember Ted Kennedy as my father and my best friend.
When I was 12 years old I was diagnosed with bone cancer and a few months after I lost my leg, there was a heavy snowfall over my childhood home outside of Washington D.C. My father went to the garage to get the old Flexible Flyer and asked me if I wanted to go sledding down the steep driveway. And I was trying to get used to my new artificial leg and the hill was covered with ice and snow and it wasn't easy for me to walk. And the hill was very slick and as I struggled to walk, I slipped and I fell on the ice and I started to cry and I said "I can't do this." I said, "I'll never be able to climb that hill." And he lifted me in his strong, gentle arms and said something I'll never forget. He said "I know you'll do it, there is nothing you can't do. We're going to climb that hill together, even if it takes us all day."
Sure enough, he held me around my waist and we slowly made it to the top, and, you know, at age 12 losing a leg pretty much seems like the end of the world, but as I climbed onto his back and we flew down the hill that day I knew he was right. I knew I was going to be OK.
You see, my father taught me that even our most profound losses are survivable and it is what we do with that loss, our ability to transform it into a positive event, that is one of my father's greatest lessons. He taught me that nothing is impossible."
Edward Kennedy Jr., rides on his father's back, Sen. Edward M. Kennedy, D-Mass., as they sled down the hill in the front yard of their home on Monday Dec. 26, 1973 in McLean, Va. (AP Photo/John Duricka)
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Freedom Is[n't] Free
These last few days, I checked off a few long-awaited (and free!) activities off my list. Friday night Evan and I headed up to the Highline. 
I had read about it and wasn't sure what the big deal was other than that it was an elevated park. But once we made our way up, it was clear what all the excitement was about!
The park is created on old rails and it incorporates the tracks within the landscape design. 
My favorite were these lounge chairs that not only fit on top of the tracks, they also rolled 
along them!
along them!
The next morning, Evan met me after work in Times Square and we got an early start on our Fourth of July plans. We headed to the Intrepid. It's a WWII aircraft carrier and was one of the coolest spots I've been in the city. We got in for free, thanks to the Bank of America free museums program. 
Okay, I guess I geeked a little too...
There was so much to see!
Along with the carrier and the planes docked on the deck, there was the Concorde and a submarine. We didn't see the submarine because of the hour-long wait, but everything else was so impressive.
And free for us!
That afternoon, we headed to Battery Park for a free concert with indie rockstars Conor Oberst and Jenny Lewis. We ran into some favorite familiar faces there... along with thousands of other indie hipsters. 
I took a little nap and awoke to a huge crowd that reminded me of Portlanders... from the way they dressed, danced, smelled... all of it.This year the fireworks moved to the Hudson. 
We headed down to 14th Street. Since police blocked our way to the pier where our friends were sitting, we stood in the streets with a few million of our closest neighbors. We couldn't hear the music playing along, so Evan chose to sing instead.
We headed down to 14th Street. Since police blocked our way to the pier where our friends were sitting, we stood in the streets with a few million of our closest neighbors. We couldn't hear the music playing along, so Evan chose to sing instead. Our view was okay. Above the crowd, the street lights, and beyond the buildings was quite a lovely display.
We moved our scheduled bbq to Sunday since we didn't have enough time on the Fourth. Evan was pretty stoked to grill this huge slab of beef that he bought in the meatpacking district. You can find great deals there!As the token vegetarian in the group, I enjoyed the smell of the steak and the taste of the cupcakes. YUM!!! We had a really great 5th of July BBQ with our friends and then I caught up on some much-needed sleep. Still, I had to get up early the next morning for my next adventure...
This year, tickets to Shakespeare in the Park are extremely hard to get. The play is free, but you have to wait in line to get tickets -- two tickets are granted to each person. And since this summer Anne Hathaway is starring in Twelfth Night, the tickets are really hard to get! Kathryn, Russell, and I headed to the line in Central Park at 7:00am and there were already 400 people in front of us. We weren't sure what our chances were. The first bunch of seats are given to sponsors, and there are also many set aside for the virtual line. In a 1,900 seat theatre, we were sure we had a chance.At one point, a member of the staff came to talk to us, and announced that before us stood the people sitting near the Rock of Hope, then those near the Tree of Possibility. As for us, we were sitting on the Grass of Uncertainty.
At 1:00pm, after six hours of waiting, we didn't get in.
So the next day we started earlier. At 5:30, we had a bigger group show up. We brought a survival kit, including donuts, games, and rain gear. We were much closer, with maybe 100 people ahead of us. And we got in!
It was one of the best shows I've seen in a really long time. It was so good it made me cry! Yes! At a comedy! :)
So far, the summer of free fun has been going rather well. I hope yours is going great too!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Fun for Free!
This Summer, I'm giving myself a little goal. I hope to hit up two free activities a week. Living in New York makes this really easy. Not only are there a lot of recession-friendly deals, but the city has lots of Summer-time sponsored events at museums and in the parks.
On Saturday, Evan, Megan, and I hit up the Bronx Zoo. We each got in free with our cards from Bank of America. Every first Saturday of the month, BOA sponsors free admission to 100 venues across the U.S. So if you have a credit or debit card or whatever, check out where you can get in for free!
I loved the gorillas so much. There were about 10 gorillas in all, including three toddlers chasing each other and an old silverback who was lounging around.
Then last night was the annual Museum Mile. The museums on the east side were all free and open late. We wanted to see the Guggenheim.
Evan and I planned to meet up on the west side before heading over. And he ran into our friend Mitzi who was heading to meet her fiance, Tony! What luck! Tony had been waiting in the long line for the Guggenheim, so luckily we got in without having to wait.
It was so cool inside! I loved the Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. He designed it so that it was conical, which allowed us to take the 
elevator to the top and just walk the spiraling ramp to the bottom.
On Saturday, Evan, Megan, and I hit up the Bronx Zoo. We each got in free with our cards from Bank of America. Every first Saturday of the month, BOA sponsors free admission to 100 venues across the U.S. So if you have a credit or debit card or whatever, check out where you can get in for free!At the Bronx Zoo, the must-see exhibit is the one with the gorillas. In addition to the cost of admission, it's $3. Not a bad deal when you get in for free!
I loved the gorillas so much. There were about 10 gorillas in all, including three toddlers chasing each other and an old silverback who was lounging around. I wanted this one gorilla to fall in love with me and run away with me King Kong style... and then I found out it was a girl.
Hm.
Then last night was the annual Museum Mile. The museums on the east side were all free and open late. We wanted to see the Guggenheim. Evan and I planned to meet up on the west side before heading over. And he ran into our friend Mitzi who was heading to meet her fiance, Tony! What luck! Tony had been waiting in the long line for the Guggenheim, so luckily we got in without having to wait.
It was so cool inside! I loved the Frank Lloyd Wright architecture. He designed it so that it was conical, which allowed us to take the 
elevator to the top and just walk the spiraling ramp to the bottom. I was excited that the museum was filled with art from my two favorite eras: Impressionism and Modern. So much fun... for free!
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
My First Fondant
I always wanted an EasyBake Oven.
Instead, I pretended our kitchen was a restaurant and made up menus listing the few items I could make: hot dogs, toast, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches... the classics. I can't remember how much I charged, but I'm pretty sure that I was willing to negotiate for nothing.
I inherited my sweet tooth from both sides of my family, and although cooking meals has yet to come naturally, my love for baking desserts seems to just keep growing. I guess I just figure there's a lot of intimidating science involved with the accuracy in cooking. But baking seems harder to mess up... (Although the infamous "Salt-for-Sugar Swap" of '85 in our brownies was a baking benchmark for me and my friend, Jenny).
I have since learned to be a little more patient with myself. A little. In the past I've spent time teaching myself how to create yummy cookies, cupcakes, and pies. More recently I've been wanting to become a little better at making cakes.
Recently, I finally took a stab at making a cake with fondant on top. Allison (quite the savvy cake-maker) gave us some advice. It was followed by a last-minute phone call for help to Michal, who might be one of the best cooks I know.
Okay, so here's what we made. A four-layer chocolate cake with raspberry and whipped cream, plus buttercream with fondant on top.
The marshmallow fondant was quite the adventure to work with. I guess the big thing that we quickly learned was to grease the countertop before working with the fondant. 
We ended up making it work, but it was just a little messier to clean up than it would have been had we greased the counter.
We dyed some fondant and used the Spring colors to make a Spring-themed cake.
Look! Pretty flowers...
Instead, I pretended our kitchen was a restaurant and made up menus listing the few items I could make: hot dogs, toast, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches... the classics. I can't remember how much I charged, but I'm pretty sure that I was willing to negotiate for nothing.
I inherited my sweet tooth from both sides of my family, and although cooking meals has yet to come naturally, my love for baking desserts seems to just keep growing. I guess I just figure there's a lot of intimidating science involved with the accuracy in cooking. But baking seems harder to mess up... (Although the infamous "Salt-for-Sugar Swap" of '85 in our brownies was a baking benchmark for me and my friend, Jenny).
I have since learned to be a little more patient with myself. A little. In the past I've spent time teaching myself how to create yummy cookies, cupcakes, and pies. More recently I've been wanting to become a little better at making cakes.
Recently, I finally took a stab at making a cake with fondant on top. Allison (quite the savvy cake-maker) gave us some advice. It was followed by a last-minute phone call for help to Michal, who might be one of the best cooks I know.
Okay, so here's what we made. A four-layer chocolate cake with raspberry and whipped cream, plus buttercream with fondant on top.
The marshmallow fondant was quite the adventure to work with. I guess the big thing that we quickly learned was to grease the countertop before working with the fondant. 
We ended up making it work, but it was just a little messier to clean up than it would have been had we greased the counter.
We dyed some fondant and used the Spring colors to make a Spring-themed cake.
Look! Pretty flowers...
Evan added a butterfly... and a sun with - of course - sunglasses. (I'm sure there's something existential about that). Oh... and I made some grass with a lil' bunny hiding.
And Megan was kind enough to add a ladybug (cute!) and a caterpillar.
It was not only the cutest cake ever but also one of the yummiest! :)
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Self Motivation
I think... if I post on this blog, I'd like to make it a venue of "Good Vibes Only." So I want to post things on here that make me feel good, and hopefully some things that might make you feel good too.
Today I needed some words of wisdom on writing.
So here's the deal. I've been writing. A bit.
There's this book I'm working on. Maybe you've heard of my insane dating project that somehow landed me a lil' interest from: the book world, Hollywood, and a handsome beau. I'm writing up my adventures - along with some tales of dating woes and wonders and magical moments of finding visions of hope while in the depths of despair - and am hoping to compile it in book form soon-ish.
In reality, the book feels very, very possible. Extremely possible in fact. But I have been standing in my way of getting it done. Some call it writer's block. But I believe the only block standing in any writer's way (or anyone's way from his own success)... is himself.
I took a break from writing for a few weeks. And I've successfully come up with a few excuses as to why...
One.
It's not really an awesome feeling writing about my failed relationships in a way that "takes the reader there." Ouch. For real. Let's just photocopy my journal, shall we? Very humbling. And it makes me ornery.
Not attractive.
Two.
I am not giving my life enough credit. I keep thinking this book is basically my take on a sort of memoir... when my life is not even a third over yet (I expect to live FOR-EV-ER). And I keep thinking my life is not interesting.
Three.
I have been feeling like I suck at writing.
So I went to a writer I really respect for some inspiration.
Here's what Liz Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love) has to say:
"As for discipline – it’s important, but sort of over-rated. The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness. Because your writing will always disappoint you. Your laziness will always disappoint you. You will make vows: “I’m going to write for an hour every day,” and then you won’t do it. You will think: “I suck, I’m such a failure. I’m washed-up.” Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline, but also self-forgiveness (which comes from a place of kind and encouraging and motherly love). The other thing to realize is that all writers think they suck. When I was writing “Eat, Pray, Love”, I had just as a strong a mantra of THIS SUCKS ringing through my head as anyone does when they write anything. But I had a clarion moment of truth during the process of that book. One day, when I was agonizing over how utterly bad my writing felt, I realized: “That’s actually not my problem.” The point I realized was this – I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. So I put my head down and sweated through it, as per my vows."
-Elizabeth Gilbert
So...... I think that makes sense. I need to throw out my excuses and just write.
I really do.
--------------------------------------------
Here's the thing. I'm not posting this whiney complaint in an effort to lure fantastic compliments my way.
Really.
I just wanted to post something to give myself some motivation. Plus, I want to start making this blog a haven for the good words of good people. So there you go.
Do you have any cool phrases you've heard recently that have given you a boost?
What motivates you???
Today I needed some words of wisdom on writing.
So here's the deal. I've been writing. A bit.
There's this book I'm working on. Maybe you've heard of my insane dating project that somehow landed me a lil' interest from: the book world, Hollywood, and a handsome beau. I'm writing up my adventures - along with some tales of dating woes and wonders and magical moments of finding visions of hope while in the depths of despair - and am hoping to compile it in book form soon-ish.
In reality, the book feels very, very possible. Extremely possible in fact. But I have been standing in my way of getting it done. Some call it writer's block. But I believe the only block standing in any writer's way (or anyone's way from his own success)... is himself.
I took a break from writing for a few weeks. And I've successfully come up with a few excuses as to why...
One.
It's not really an awesome feeling writing about my failed relationships in a way that "takes the reader there." Ouch. For real. Let's just photocopy my journal, shall we? Very humbling. And it makes me ornery.
Not attractive.
Two.
I am not giving my life enough credit. I keep thinking this book is basically my take on a sort of memoir... when my life is not even a third over yet (I expect to live FOR-EV-ER). And I keep thinking my life is not interesting.
Three.
I have been feeling like I suck at writing.
So I went to a writer I really respect for some inspiration.
Here's what Liz Gilbert (author of Eat, Pray, Love) has to say:
"As for discipline – it’s important, but sort of over-rated. The more important virtue for a writer, I believe, is self-forgiveness. Because your writing will always disappoint you. Your laziness will always disappoint you. You will make vows: “I’m going to write for an hour every day,” and then you won’t do it. You will think: “I suck, I’m such a failure. I’m washed-up.” Continuing to write after that heartache of disappointment doesn’t take only discipline, but also self-forgiveness (which comes from a place of kind and encouraging and motherly love). The other thing to realize is that all writers think they suck. When I was writing “Eat, Pray, Love”, I had just as a strong a mantra of THIS SUCKS ringing through my head as anyone does when they write anything. But I had a clarion moment of truth during the process of that book. One day, when I was agonizing over how utterly bad my writing felt, I realized: “That’s actually not my problem.” The point I realized was this – I never promised the universe that I would write brilliantly; I only promised the universe that I would write. So I put my head down and sweated through it, as per my vows."
-Elizabeth Gilbert
So...... I think that makes sense. I need to throw out my excuses and just write.
I really do.
--------------------------------------------
Here's the thing. I'm not posting this whiney complaint in an effort to lure fantastic compliments my way.
Really.
I just wanted to post something to give myself some motivation. Plus, I want to start making this blog a haven for the good words of good people. So there you go.
Do you have any cool phrases you've heard recently that have given you a boost?
What motivates you???
Friday, April 24, 2009
One More Reason...
Wednesday night I was talking about this cool walking mystery tour around the city that I wanted to do (kinda like "How to Host a Murder" but out and about). Neil Patrick Harris had mentioned it about a year ago on the Regis and Kelly show and I've been trying to track it down ever since.
The next day, my friend, Dan, and I headed to the Starbucks across the street from work. And who walked in behind me wearing a black leather jacket and sunglasses??
That's right.
Neil. Patrick. Harris!
As I waited for my grande hazelnut hot chocolate, I gently touched Neil (we're on a first name basis now, apparently) on the arm.
"I was just talking about you last night!" I said. "What's the name of that mystery tour around the city?"
"Accomplice."
"Is it an all-day thing?" I asked.
"No, only a few hours."
Um....
So there you go. More cool moments and serendipity giving just one more reason why my life is awesome. That was such a cool experience! Right??!
Okay, so here's that tour (they also have it in L.A.).
And here is some more Neil Patrick Harris joy that you will love!!!
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