NYC and Snow

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When I walk to work through Barnard College campus in the morning, the first day the city is covered in snow, it is quiet, soft and beautiful. The next day or two, the city snow gets sooty. After that, I don’t see the snow because I am too busy Googling cheap fares to Florida.

Snow is inevitable. But lately we’ve had so much so frequently! Oy! There must be a lesson here. Perhaps we are meant to pull together as New Yorkers — zip up, meet your neighbors, share the icy chill at the bus stop! Maybe the lesson is to hunker down with family and friends. Or seize the opportunity to beautify the home and clean the linen closet!

Maybe we are supposed to feel the aliveness of the moment when we step into the frozen wind of Riverside Drive.

Whatever the lesson is, I’m looking for it. My eyes are open. Yet my head is down and I am watching my steps. I am avoiding the ice. New Yorkers are intrepid in all kinds of weather. I wrote about New York, a walker’s town, in the rain. http://mybeautifulnewyork.wordpress.com/2010/03/29/new-yorkers-and-the-rain/

Now I am looking forward to the rain. I am waiting for the Spring. I will love New York in the Springtime. They write songs about that. That and Autumn in New York. The Winter though? I am not singing the love song.

Leading with Positivity

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Our workplace leadership academy begins tomorrow. I am a sucker for skills building. As I said in the application for the academy, I am a life-long learner. I’m excited. I love taking classes, especially ones where I learn about my assets. And I’m guessing Strengths Based Leadership has to do with, well, my assets. Confident people are productive people, says the leadership book, so bring it on.

Tonite, after taking an online quiz while sipping Chardonnay and ignoring my kids’s pleas for homework help, I discovered that my strenghs are Positivity, Woo, Communicator, Maximizer and Relationship. I think that’s what they were. I am also an ENFP according to Myers Briggs and a 4 or a 7 in the Enneagram. Know thyself!

Although these kind of personality or leadership tests help me get to know myself, they also remind me that other people have other ways. In fact, my way is not the only way. In the Five Love Languages book, which I read years ago, I recall that my love style is to value loving words. (But, okay, I like gifts, and all the rest of the love styles too!) So if my spouse brings me a bag of groceries instead of a kind word (ahem!) that doesn’t mean he’s wrong and I’m right. It just means we have different styles.

But now that I have learned my style is positive and encouraging, I can encourage him (and everyone) to be more like me. Ahem.

Busy or Crazy Busy?

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I know my kids are overscheduled. But I want them to learn to type (keyboard), play instruments, enjoy theater, and do sports. They’ll watch less TV, play less XBox, stay out of trouble, sleep better, have more fun if they’re active.

Being active is great for kids’ mental health. I read a study that showed Middle Schoolers were something like 30 times less likely to be depressed if they participated in team sports.

I know it helps my mental outlook when I work out.

I’m also more productive. Like the expression says, “If you want something done, ask a busy person.” I like being busy, just not crazy busy.

We may all be a little too busy, but we’re not all depressed.

I’d like to go on and on about this. And tie the kids’ activities into this theme of getting them unplugged. But I’ve got to tell them to go to sleep now. It’s late and they’re still doing their homework. I’ve got homework too. I just started an online class, Bootcamp for Journalists at Media Bistro.

Creative Writing Prompts

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A colleague emailed me that she was feeling creative and wanted some writing prompts. Here are the two I sent her:

  1. Write about the last time you were really mad. After 10 minutes, stop, breathe. Now continue the story but make it funny.
  2. Write about one memory from a kitchen in your childhood. Be sure to include the smells.

There is something warming about memories of food and there is something healing about making an infuriating incident comical.

Once when I did this first writing exercise, I wrote about how a fellow drama student blamed me for our acting scene having gone awry. To add a funny twist I conjectured that she had a crush on our teacher and was just trying to ingratiate herself in his good opinion by dissing me. I don’t know if my take on the incident was true, but writing that scenario made me feel better.

Writing naturally makes you feel better and boosts the immune system. Lots of studies show that journal writing every day can improve your health. I don’t know why this is true but I believe it has something to do with our human need to see things anew.

And the human body is just wired to love and respond well to stories, even the stories we tell ourselves, which is why we dream.

I have been thinking about performing and teaching because  this morning I taught three one-hour classes at my son’s school. I taught, “Writing and Performing Comedy.” Almost all of my 60 or so students were 7th grade boys.

In their comic scenes, the boys often made choices that had to do with shooting one another and/or putting on funny accents. I tried to encourage them to see that humor has to do with being authentic and saying the thing that everyone thinks but no one says. Comedy is about getting to some truth. Sometimes saying the truthful thing with a funny accent works, but not usually.

I love teaching but after the morning session, I was exhausted. I don’t know how teachers do it day in and day out.

Making Beauty

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A home should be a nest, a cocoon, a snuggly sanctuary. But beauty, creativity, comfort takes time. Three-day weekends are perfect for making the crib cozy.

Late Saturday afternoon, I was staring at our newly painted walls, thinking, “I should put some art up.” Several of my friends who are very good at decorating have offered to help. So I called one of them, my friend, J.

I hedged, “Hey, someday, could you come over and help me hang some art?”

“I think I can come tonite,” she said. Wow. I was in luck but I didn’t know if I was ready. I got H. to help me dig a bunch of paintings out of the top shelf of my cluttered dining room closet. J. mentioned she loves my art collection. But like a lot of my life, I find it embarassing and eclectic.

Another friend, L., redecorated my bedroom and H.’s room a few years ago. They look awesome. I’m incredibly lucky to have such lovely, talented friends!

After this Saturday night decorating session, the room looked great. But it took some time. That’s the thing. I usually slap things up on the wall but I’ve learned a lesson from my friends. You have to measure. You have to add and divide fractions. That is not easy for me. But it’s worth it. The room feels artsy Bohemian now.

I have one theory that travel begets travel — Like, when you’re on one trip, you should always plan your next. But I have a theory about art too. Beauty creates more beauty. Creativity inspires creativity. And art encourages art. And we should all beautify, create and indulge in art. The world would be a better place if we did.

Tonite the kids and I spent hours making art at the dining room table.

Sunlight Releases Serotonin

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I ran today for the first time in a couple of weeks. I felt horrible. I felt overweight and stupid. I couldn’t find my nylon running shirt so I threw a torn   jean jacket over my baggy velour sweatsuit.

I might run better if I felt more stylish. I know that’s ridiculous but there you have it.

I felt out of shape because I only worked out once this week — one lunchtime Pilates class. I skipped my other class, opting to attend the new book club started by my friend Tracy the librarian at the Interchurch Center.

We discussed The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox by Maggie O’Farrell — really good! And I always love sharing my opinions on a book. My other book club just finished reading Zeitoun by Dave Eggers. Also brilliant.

Any way, when I started in Riverside Park, the sidewalk was hardly cleared. I had to jump over patches of ice and move out of the way of dogs. It was like 30 degrees and windy. I thought, “This is dangerous. I should’ve stayed home with the Times.” (See again, here’s my dilemma — fitness or literature? If only I could read while running.)

But then the sunlight hit me. It’s hard to be grumpy with a face full of sunshine. I felt good. Okay, not stylish, but not pathetic either. I had nobility and purpose in my slow run. I felt proud because I wasn’t totally pathetic. I ran to the end of the 70th Street Pier http://www.riversideparkfund.org/ I remembered running out here in the summer and running on top of this sidewalk art. 

According to my Cardio Trainer app, I ran 1.6 miles in 22 minutes — I know that’s not great, but it’s not nothing.

I think when the sunlight hit, the endorphins kicked in. Or maybe the serotonin — the brain’s natural mood enhancer.

I stopped at a deli on the way home and picked up bagels and blueberries for the family.

Only Connect

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Last night I saw The Social Network on DVD (Thanks, SAG!). It totally captured the irony of this connected life. The movie also questions the primacy of male nerd culture, the difficulty in small business start ups, and the ownership of creative ideas.

In a closing scene Zuckerberg is left alone in a corporate office right after a potential friend declines his dinner invitation. He opens his computer to Facebook befriend her online. It is lonely, true. Yet, the scene reminds me that when the real world stings of rejection, having an onscreen persona can ameliorate the sting.

There is a place for online meet ups. For example, today I’m hoping to meet some of my fellow NaNoWriMo writers whom I’ve only received emails from during national novel writing month. Having companions while being a lonely writer has led me to greater compassion for other writers. I am grateful for my writing compatriots’ inspiration and productivity prompts. I’m grateful for real life workmates too. I’m always IM’ing my work buddy for motivation on being more productivity (Thanks, Beth!).

Word!

The president reminds the nation to connect in his awesome inspiring address this week:

“Use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways our hopes and dreams are bound together.”

I have written before about being wired to care and seeing my own need for compassion as a weakness and not a strength, especially on the job (which, I know, is ironic, given that I work at a Christian agency.)

http://gettingmyessayspublished.wordpress.com/2010/07/03/wired-to-care/

I think my desire to connect and be compassionate and have compassion is okay. It is bound up with my innate and human drive to be part of a community.

I have no idea why I receive weekly emails from Rector Bill Tully of St. Bart’s Church, but I’m glad that I do. http://www.stbarts.org/bill-tullys-blog/ (I should visit this church for my church a day (week) blog https://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/ )

Tully is one of those brilliant church people who is addressing and writing about the need for connection and community.

This week he says, “…America is a hothouse of communities. In towns, cities, neighborhoods, congregations, clubs, schools, service projects, even in offices and places of work, we have a chance to practice the known virtues of love.”

Tully quotes our President too, who said:

“I believe that for all our imperfections, we are full of decency and goodness, and that the forces that divide us are not as strong as those that unite us.”

What he said.

The Dead Are Following Me (on Twitter)

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It’s freaking me out that C.S. Lewis and Louise Nevelson are following me on Twitter. Didn’t they die? If they were alive I’d be oh, so happy to know they were following me. Me, one of their lowly fans. They were genius.

But how would you feel if one of your dead heroes was following you? Like Elvis or Marilyn? You’d say, “Don’t follow me, go back to your eternal rest. You lived your life. People followed you when you were alive (although not on Twitter) and you might have followed people too. That was your time. You did it. Now is my time. Because I am alive. And when you’re alive you can do these kinds of things. So don’t follow me from the grave.”

People who died in the second half of the 20th century shouldn’t follow anybody. They haven’t been dead long enough. Maybe people from the first half of the 20th century is okay. Like, okay, Victorian dead people can follow me.

It’d be okay if Sherlock Holmes or Miss Marple followed me. They’re fictional (aren’t they?) and better yet, they’re British — that’s a whole different game.

But not C.S. Lewis and Louise Nevelson — although Clive and Louise, if you’re reading this, I want you to know I do like your work. But no, don’t follow me. Besides Louise Nevelson reminds me of my mother. And I don’t want my mother following me either. At least not in this life.

The Zodiac

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The zodiac changed. In 2009, an earthquake realigned the stars and bumped our astrological charts, according to some expert in Minnesota. This was the talk of Happy Hour tonite. I didn’t pay much attention until someone said everyone’s sign had changed. Not me, I thought. I’m sure mine didn’t change. I’m such an Aries. But what? Someone said, “You’re a Pisces now.”

“That’s not me. That’s my Dad’s sign. I’m fire. I’m not water!”

We were out at Havana Central, a fun place for our big group. We were saying good bye to our beloved Matt Morgan who’s moving on to another, better job in Connecticut. Why would anyone want to leave NYC? It was the first Happy Hour I’d been to in a while ($3 for a beer).

Back to the astrological signs. Everyone seemed a bit queasy about losing their signs. Someone said, “It feels like I’ve just discovered I’m adopted. I’m not who I thought I was.”

I tried to embrace my new identity. I would be more placid, more like a fish than a ram.

Someone showed a picture of Ophiucus, the new symbol in the stars. He wore a phallic snake around his waist. I kinda liked that, but I didn’t like that the new sign was a man. Why not a woman?

I asked them to look up my daughters’ new sign. They were Virgos now. Comforting.

Then, after 15 minutes of stressing out about our new signs, someone said, “I just got a text. It says these new signs only apply if you’re born after 2009.”

Thank God. We leaned back in our chairs, returned to eating our Cuban sandwiches, our rice and beans. We could all go back to being who we were. (Except Matt, of course, who’s leaving.) But, phew, crisis averted.

Family Dinner

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When kids eat dinner with their families on a regular basis, they do better academically and socially. Tons of studies show that teens who sit down to a family dinner experiment less with drug, alcohol and sexuality than kids who don’t have family meal time.

Okay, I get it. But I have a question. While kids might do better, how are the parents doing? 

Hello! A homemade dinner is a lot of work, especially for parents who already work (or parents with Parkinson’s Disease!) And the kids are rarely grateful. (Tonite I made rice, ready-made Indian food and a salad — nothing fancy.)

I understand why lots of parents behave like the ones in the sitcom, The Middle — throwing bags of fast food to the kids who are plunked down in front of the TV. They throw each kid a bag of food as if to a lion in a cage. It’s easier. Life is hard. The kids are wild.

But they might even be wilder if they didn’t have time to unwind with some evening conversation.

Conversation does civilize kids (and adults). Dinner is the only time to talk without an agenda. Tonite Hayden’s friend was over. We talked about book clubs, Shake Shack, snow days, how hard history is. We talked about puns like, “If your nose runs and your feet smell, you must’ve been built upside down.”

I did get ticked off during dinner when Hayden’s phone beeped with text alerts, but he threw it on the couch before I had time to snatch his cell phone away. And that’s what dinner is, too, time snatched away — stolen from time we’d spend on the computer or in front of TV.

It’s worth it. I think. Yet, making family meal time work is a lot of work.