What's your wallet?

The past week has been challenging.  That’s actually putting it mildly.  The past week has been a chaotic, ridiculous frenzied circus.  A home organization project spiraled out of control; work demanded every millisecond of my attention.   My apartment looked like an audition for Hoarders; the dirty dishes were stacked on the stove because the sink was full and I wasn’t sure where I could locate any more clean clothes to get to the end of the work week.    For someone who thrives on order, it wasn’t pretty.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, I was a red wine swilling hot mess.

At 7pm, I was in sweats and plunked firmly on the couch watching the Home Shopping Network.  (For anyone who knows me well, this is the equivalent of total meltdown mode)   

By 8 pm, I had abandoned the couch for bed.  It’s important to note here that I literally crawled from the couch into bed.  Makeup intact, clothes on, wine glass askew- you get the picture.

I normally have an end of the evening routine.  Pack a lunch for the next day, compile a quick to do list, walk the dog, charge my phone, lay out clothes for the gym and office.  Basic prep for the day ahead.

Not last night.  Nope.  Last night it was a long 500’ crawl straight to bed where I was dozing blissfully until an early morning text message catapulted me from bed.

“I have your wallet”

Now before your mind goes wandering down a very dark and dramatic road, let me clarify…

The text message was from my husband, who was at work.  At work with my wallet.   The wallet I left in the car last night before the wine swilling, virtual shopping meltdown.

This leaves me at home without my wallet.  Which is all fine and dandy until a quick inventory of the apartment reveals that my CTA card and emergency cash are both in said wallet.  

At this point, I have:

·         No money

·         No access to money

·         No car

·         No way to get to work, where I am expected to be in just over an hour

·         A husband who cannot leave work to bring me the damn thing

Immediately, I am obsessed with getting my wallet back.  I am completely focused on that wallet and the contents of it.  In my mind, the day  can not start until I have my wallet back.

I frantically brush my teeth and scour the rubble for shoes.  Reserve a Zipcar online.  Run to the car.  Attempt to open the car with my phone.  Get messages telling me I must use my card to access the car for the first time.  That’s fine, but we all know where that card is, right? 

Yes, yes it is.  It’s …in the wallet.

After stomping my feet and letting loose a few choice words, I call customer service and pray that my dwindling cell phone battery makes it though the call.


I manage to stumble through all of my secret passwords and security questions and I am on the road with 30 minutes to spare.  30 minutes that I will spend sitting in rush hour traffic on Lake Shore Drive.  Wall to wall traffic.  The kind of traffic where you completely question your existence and pound the steering wheel in frustration.  The kind of traffic that lets your mind wander to other places…..

My wandering mind thought about the two rolls of quarters in the laundry room that could be CTA fare or even cab money.  The good friend who lives a block away and has access to both a car and cash.   My retired father who lives 10 minutes away and also has access to a car and cash (and probably a snack)

Instead, I was sitting on Lake Shore Drive watching the clock tick closer and closer to the start of my meeting.  I was hungry and not sure that I remembered to lock the door on my way out.

Later in the day, when my wallet and I were safely at work, I was finally able to catch my breath chuckle about my morning.  At this moment, it struck me that my wallet could easily symbolize any obstacle we create for ourselves.

Here's the thing-I was so focused on the wallet that I failed to see all of the options in front of me.


There were at least three other ways (calmer and more effective ways) to resolve this.  By only zooming in on the wallet, I missed all of the other choices and probably spiked my blood pressure a few points along the way!

Is there something that you are so focused on that you’ve lost your way?  Is it clouding your vision and preventing new ideas from sinking in?  What are you fixated on and what are you missing with this fixation?


What’s your wallet?

Free to be me?

I’m a firm believer in the idea that there are many roads to happiness. No matter how much I love someone or how close we are, their path will never match mine. To be truly happy, we must choose our own way. If we’re very lucky, we have people along our path cheering us on and picking us up as we fall.


I like to think that those who love us the best give us the most room to be ourselves.


Over the years, I’ve tried to walk (and stay) on my own path. I like listening to my inner beat and slowly feeling my way around to what is right for me. In fact, the older I get, the more I feel like myself.


Unfortunately, it also seems that the older I get, the more people expect me to be like them. To emulate their dreams and their experiences. Anything else is uncomfortable. Maybe other choices make them question their own?


I’m completely content with my little universe and the world around me. That’s why I’m so shocked at all of the opinions that have been swirling around.


Some of my favorites include comments about “my alternative lifestyle” and “You need to grow up and stop living this way”. I’ve also been told that “you can’t be young forever” and “it’s time to quit playing around and make a decision”.


With a husband and a dog, and a full time job and a fledgling writing career and volunteer work and time at the gym, I’m not sure how my life looks much different than most people I know.


Apparently, my mistake was not having children.


Not only do I not have any children, I’m not miserable about it.


This is foreign territory- even to those who love me the most. By not having a family (and not being miserable about it), I have somehow become a stranger to them. A stranger with an alternative lifestyle!


Let me be clear. I adore children. In fact, my husband and I have been trying to have one for a very, very long time. Many failed attempts later, I’ve decided to return to my roots. To do what I know. To listen to my inner beat and slowly feel my way around to what is right.


What feels right is to be happy. To accept my life where it is. To embrace and dance and play and discover and explore….. To relish joyful moments and be grateful for my blessings.

To let things be.


Apparently, this is not an acceptable response to my childless situation.


According to society and Hallmark cards and just about everyone I know, I’m supposed to be miserable. Heartbroken. Putting on a brave face. Emotional. Unable to come to terms with my bad luck. People speak to me about it in hushed tones or pull me aside to ask how I am ‘holding up’.


They are incredibly sympathetic until they find out that we are not in a rush to do anything about it. No fertility treatments. No tests. No profiles for prospective birth mothers. No immediate plans, of any kind- other than to focus on being happy.


That’s when the opinions come spilling out. I usually nod and smile, eager to end the conversation.


Here’s what I’d like to say…


If you really love someone, let them walk their own path. Even when it looks different than yours. Honor where they are and not where you think they should be. My journey doesn’t have to mirror yours. Yours is still perfectly ok. My reaction doesn’t have to match yours. That doesn’t mean yours is wrong. As I honor your way, please let me choose mine.

Be careful with me. I'm sensitive.

Last year, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Only very recently have I been able to open up to my loved ones about that fact. I spent a long time feeling ashamed and embarrassed about my diagnosis. Worried what people would say or think, I kept it to myself.


You see, for a (reforming) perfectionist like me, being diagnosed with anything can feel like a failure.


I spent a lot of the past year parked on the couch, alone with my misery. Putting on a super woman act for the rest of the world, I crumbled when left by myself. My work, my marriage, my friendships and my spirit all floundered.


I have yet to find a way to accurately describe what it feels like to experience depression and anxiety. It's exhausting. Scary. Alienating. And most of all, it's not who I am. Sometimes, I felt like a stranger watching my own life unfold before me.


Nothing has ever challenged my spirit and my very soul in the way that these two illnesses have.


Over the winter, I began to recover and to gain some perspective about the journey. Slowly, I am reclaiming my life and putting my rose colored glasses back on. For the first time in a long time, I'm beginning to feel like myself again.


Often, I find myself torn about the experience. I wish I could go back in time and have a conversation with that sad girl on the couch. I'd like to reassure her that everything will be ok. Mostly, I want her to know that she is not alone. Unfortunately, she is in some very good company. Per the National Mental Health Association,


• 1 in 8 women will experience depression in their lifetime
• women are more likely than men to struggle with depression and anxiety
• being a perfectionist is a high risk factor for both diseases


Be careful with us. We're sensitive.


As women, we spend so much time taking care of everyone and everything else. For some of us, the flip side of feminism is feeling like you have to do it all and do it all well. Sometimes, it's good to remember that we are not invincible. Sometimes, it's good to ask for help.


Sometimes, it's good to be careful with yourself and to be sensitive.

keep your eyes on your own paper

I fell in love with my life today. Just like that. As if someone flipped a switch or turned on a spotlight to showcase all the wonderful that surrounds me.


An actual blizzard forced me to forgo work and the normal daily grind for three days of fun. I spent the past 72 hours wandering around and doing whatever the hell I felt like doing. This included napping and baking and cooking and lots of walking and laughing and playing with the dog and yoga and cocktails and bubble baths and wandering around outside taking pictures and reading a novel slowly to savor every last, beautifully placed word on the page. There were snow angels and giggle fits. Dancing and clapping. Story swapping and favorite movies.


It was almost like being a kid again. And it was absolutely magical.


Often, I find myself caught up in the managing and the planning and the details of life. I struggle against this grind. It's a valiant effort, but more often than not the planning and managing win. Lately, there has been a lot of "what next" plans ,discussions and debates on the home front. Somewhere along the way, I picked up the memo that I should be doing something. "Moving forward" That awful cliché, 'the next step' has been tossed around more than a few times.


Ironically, I have found myself unable (unwilling?) to truly commit to anything. In some inexplicable way, my soul was pulling the emergency brake. The more I tried to truck along, the more that brake was calling my name. Even as I write this, I am unable to fully articulate the sensation or the internal conflict it caused.


Then it snowed and snowed and snowed some more. And the debate got put on hold.


Instead of worrying about 'the next step', I was wondering if the fudge recipe on the marshmallow bag was any good. For the first time in a long time, my mind wandered. For three consecutive days, I did not make a to do list. (For those who know me, that alone is nothing short of a miracle!)


And, you know what? It did me a world of good. As I said at the beginning, I literally fell in love with my life. In love with my cozy apartment and my good natured and indulgent husband and the warm and lovely people in my life who accept my inherent quirkiness. In love with my happy little dog and my interesting job and the city I live in. In love with the path I've chosen.


In love with my right now.


It truly hit me like a ton of bricks.


While meditating today, I was finally able to articulate the problem-the reason my soul was screaming for that emergency brake. I can't commit to any of the plans, because they are not mine. It seems about the time I absorbed the message that I should be doing something, I also took on the notion that it should be what everyone else was doing. Or what would make everyone else happy or comfortable or secure in the fact that I was just like them. That's just not me. Never has been.


I need to keep my eyes on my own paper.


Remember that school age phrase? Tossed around a classroom when there were tests or quizzes to fret over? The teacher would walk up and down the aisles and admonish everyone, "keep your eyes on your own paper."


Who knew how true and profound those words could be?

Take Time for Fun

When I was growing up, our park district motto was "take time for fun". People, particularly adults, loved this and frequently noted how clever it was. I spent many hours puzzling over this concept. Take time for fun. To me the whole thing was backwards. There was always time for fun, it was the other stuff that I constantly ran out of time for.


Fast forward twenty odd years and my how the tables have turned! Lately, it seems I have time for everything but fun.


Today, while cleaning my baseboards (that's a topic for a whole other post), the dog began throwing her toys at me. She was completely oblivious to the fact that I had exactly 90 minutes left to clean before leaving for work and other mindless pursuits. The bouncy balls and chew toys continued to rain down as she ran joyfully in circles around the apartment. When the tug toy hit me in the head, I finally caved in and played with her.


Every fiber of her being was focused on our play session. She literally yelped with pleasure when I threw a ball across the room. This continued until she sighed, collapsed on the floor and promptly started snoring.


I stayed on the floor for a few more minutes, marveling at her ability to play. My mind inevitably wandered to that ancient park district catchphrase and I got it.


Take time for fun.


When was the last time you had so much fun that you were oblivious to the world around you? So much fun that you lost track of time? So much fun that every fiber of your being was filled to the brim with joy?


Take time for fun.


I'm beginning to see this in a whole new way.


Take time for fun.


I love my life. There is very little I would change. However, I often find myself caught in a constant and never ending cycle of non-fun things. (see the baseboard reference above). I do think that the older we get, the more we need to take time for fun. For belly laughs. discarded to do lists. impromptu road trips. unscheduled days. baking. bike rides. finger painting and all the other endless ways you can imagine to have fun.


So that's it. I'm taking time for fun. Some of this other stuff can wait. Who really cares about clean baseboards anyway? How important are the daily tasks we assign ourselves? Will the world stop turning if the laundry goes unfolded?


A brilliant colleague of mine once confessed that she starts each day with the simple question, "What actually has to happen today?" It's a great self check to talk us down from the cliff of 'should' or 'must' or 'need to' that can quickly dominate our time.


So, what actually has to happen today? FUN.
Fun, has to happen today.

Can't we all just get along... with ourselves?

Lately I find myself wondering why so many beautiful and talented women I know are so hard on themselves?


Here's the thing- I am constantly amazed by the love, support and acceptance my female friends dole out to the loved ones in their lives. Everyone from moms and dads all the way down to the family goldfish get the gold star treatment. Availability round the clock. No deed too small to be done well. And then, they can still drop everything and rally around a friend in need.


My female friends have walked the darkest paths with me, they celebrate my wins and ease the sting of my defeats. They know things about me that no one else does. In short, they sustain me. I like to think we do that for each other. We have been there for death and birth and moves and new jobs - like a security blanket woven through the ever changing facets of our worlds. Throughout history, women have nurtured these kinds of social support networks to survive. When female friendship works, it can be a life changing force.


So these women, these miraculous, life affirming, smart and accomplished women- these women who love and inspire and are loved.... why don't they love themselves? I am notorious for encouraging my girlfriends to be kinder to themselves. The mere whiff of a self deprecating comment leads me to bellow, "if you talked to your friends the way you talk to yourself, how many friends would you have?" The result is usually a grimace and an eye roll before the conversation moves on.


But, really? Why can't we get along with ourselves? The leading killer of women in the U.S. today is heart disease. American women are under more stress and taking more medication than ever before. We are bombarded by messages about all of the many things we should be. The overwhelming theme to these messages... perfection. We should be perfect. It's not enough to be loving, smart , life affirming or even accomplished. Nope. Ladies, we must be all of those things...and perfect.


What a losing battle. Unfortunately, it's one most women I know have taken to heart and it's not doing us any favors. Somewhere along the complicated road to being a 'grown up', we've managed to internalize all of these "shoulds". No matter what we do, it's never enough. We must be smart, special and talented. Independent. Resourceful. Thin. Attractive. Sexual. Intelligent. Kind. Domestic. Clever. Fertile. Fun. Nurturing. Fashionable. (to name just a few)


And while juggling all of these expectations, there is the minutiae of daily life to manage.


While making dinner tonight, I called a girlfriend and jokingly asked her where we were supposed to find the time to do everything? I started enumerating the laundry list of "shoulds" that engulf our lives and pairing them with all the things we actually have to do in a given day. She listened and let out a shaky laugh as she admitted that some days she just made it through work. We both laughed, acknowledged the absurdity of the situation and went on with our evenings.


I haven't been able to shake that conversation. When is it enough? When are we satisfied? When do we actually see how amazing we are? When do we learn to get along with ourselves?

Here We Go...

Welcome to the Uptight Hippie! I find that I walk both sides of this plank on a daily basis. As I navigate the road, I hope you'll enjoy reading about my journey. Feel free to join the conversation. Leave a comment or contact me directly. I always welcome respectful opinions from either side of the fence.