Power of No and Yes

The extraordinarily talented Norman Vladimir, helping me celebrate my b'day this January. :)

On my birthday this year, my good friend Norman insisted on one thing: That I make this my year of "Yes."

All of the things I wouldn't have said "yes" to in years past, obviously within reason, I was supposed to begin saying it to, even if it felt out of my comfort zone. "This will change your life this year!" He told me about how he'd applied the very same principal to his life, and the difference it made. (The evidence is obvious if you ever just google the man: http://www.normanvladimir.com/ )

So, I have been slowly but surely applying this principal to each day, and I'll admit - the results are impressive.

What's amusing (to me) about this new tactic, is that for years I was told to learn how to do the opposite. In high school I played sports, danced 6 nights a week, did the musicals, competed for awards for voice and violin, performed at All State/ All Eastern for voice and violin, was an honors student, was in the jazz vocal ensemble, was part of bible study, did the morning announcements, and tutored. Therefore, in my undergrad I happily piled on work as class Secretary, wrote for the school paper, played violin in church quartets, taught private lessons, became an orientation leader, then became an RA, joined Westminster Choir, did tours with said choir, did roles in the musicals and summer program operas, and piled on way too many courses. No wonder in the span of those 4 years I wound up with an ulcer (twice), kidney problems, and was always deathly ill with whatever flu was going around due to my nonexistent immune system and sleep deprivation.

By 2007, after I'd applied and auditioned for 5 different grad schools, I had no voice and was wilting from exhaustion in my voice teacher's studio. This was the point at which she gave me the lecture I will never forget, with one insistent word of wisdom: "Learn to say 'No.'"

She explained to me that if I continued to go through life the way I was: over-extending myself and living with insurmountable stress at the age of 22, I would fall apart before 30. Now, 6 years later, I can see how very right she was about that.

So, in the next two very busy (yet fulfilling, with things I wanted to be busy with), years of graduate school in Rochester, I put that concept in motion. I learned how to tell people "No" when they asked me to join student life groups. I picked two extra-curricular activities to do: soloing in church and private teaching while I performed and went to classes. I said "no," to going out when I could tell my body needed a night in. I spent time with friends out and about in Rochester only when I knew I would enjoy it, or at their apartments, but I reserved most of my R&R time just for me. I learned to love that alone time, and spent it cooking in my apartment, going for jogs down to Amanda's place, or cleaning and doing laundry on a lazy evening in while I'd practice. NO became a wonderful word; a savior. I never felt stretched too thin, was able to focus on what I was in school for, and I developed real friendships (that are still in place today) without guilt or obligation.

But, new habits soon become old/stubborn habits, and this past year I found myself saying "No" to way too many things. It became common practice for me to stick to what I knew; to "Play it safe" in the phase of life after graduation. I felt more comfortable with the people I had already established trust with, and with the activities I'd already set in place for my life. I began to exercise my "no" capabilities far more often than not. I don't necessarily regret that introspection, but I will admit that with closing myself off more came a certain "trapped" feeling, stagnancy, that I realized was an inevitable pitfall of being that way. Habits are formed so quickly, and "NO" was my most frequent habit - for better or for worse.

So, in the last few months I have pushed the boundaries to find an equilibrium I can handle. I have said "yes,'' to new experiences, career paths, friendships, and routines of being out when I'd much prefer to be in. I am still maintaining the "No" for putting too much on my plate, distracting myself from the real living that happens with others, and getting out there experiencing something new in life. It's been more about knowing what I can truly handle without going to the extremes, while being fully open to whatever experiences are coming my way. I've learned things about myself that I can see as "non-negotiables" and be proud of: I really like long meals with friends where we can talk and share. I'm not the introvert I thought I was. When I don't think for ten seconds before I say everything, I am usually a lot clearer. I am good at knowing when it's time to exit something, and when it's time to take a chance. I'm ready for new challenges. I can hem clothing. I don't HAVE to always be talkative to be out with people who are... and so on, and so forth. It's a subtle shift in energy that feels refreshing and exciting, and not in the least bit unhealthy.

It really goes on and on. But I do know that as I've managed to go into some of the less comfortable zones of my life fearlessly, I can only imagine where they might lead in the coming months. And I am very, very excited for Spring.

For Grandpa

Always making me laugh, playing with Grandpa when I was probably 2 years old.

Writing this, I'm aware it's going to be a very sentimental and possibly sad post. But, that's not my intention - it wouldn't be what Grandpa wants, or anyone else in my family for that matter. It's not sad to me, but it is realistic for my life right now, and I hope that makes it okay to write.

My Grandpa Allison (Bob), has been an enormous part of my upbringing for my entire life. From before I can remember, he's been the granddad to sling me over his shoulder, tickle me, nickname me and above all, make it abundantly clear that HE LOVES his grandchildren. In short: for all the negativity and fear of being "too soft" in this world, Grandpa A has always been there to fight back with a huge, beaming smile and an overjoyed, overflowing amount of love. When asked how he is, he has always replied with "I've been blessed! Look at my family! I've been blessed. God's been good to me."

Whether we were unemployed, struggling in school, recently dumped or rejected or on top of the world, he has always loved us with an abundance of affection and joy, never more or less. No matter what our dreams have been, he has always been there to believe in us firmly, with so much praise it would sometimes feel embarrassing. "I just ran on the treadmill a few minutes, Grandpa! I am NOT a future Olympics contender. I don't think." Maybe I am, actually, with his enthusiasm!

Above all else, Grandpa has always had an incredible faith in God. Every time I visited him growing up, I could be sure he'd talk about two things: fitness (he was a physical trainer for many years at the YMCA, and is still in great shape for his age), and his faith. I'd get the same question: "How is your relationship with God going?" (a question I wish more people would ask me about now, actually), followed by the same statement: "You've got a friend in Jesus, and a God that loves you. Don't forget that." He'd go on to say it was well with his soul. I never once doubted it was. In fact, "It Is Well With My Soul," is his favorite hymn, so much so that he would bring it up multiple times whenever I'd visit. My cousin Allison and I even sang it, wobbly voiced and emotional (on my part - Alli sounded awesome), at the surprise concert our family threw for my Grandma and Grandpa Allison's 60th Wedding Anniversary 2 years ago.

As I grew up, I questioned my faith a lot. I went to temple, read texts on Taoism, Buddhism and Reiki. I went to church, joined youth groups, went to bible studies, and sought after what was true in my soul. Sometimes I even didn't appreciate Grandpa's faith because it felt as though I was being told what to believe. (Anyone who knows me understands that there's nothing I fight against more than being told what to feel or think, or judged by either.) I also felt envious of his extremely unshakable belief. How did he know there is a Heaven? How was he so sure that we are loved by a God?? And, what about Jesus? What made him so sure that Jesus was the son of God, and not just another very impressive and inspiring man? I wanted to believe as firmly as he did. I constantly tried to pick his brain, to see if he would falter in his beliefs. He never did.

I would sit at his feet in their house in Pennsylvania, the mountains looming nearby in their living room deck windows, on the soft carpet as he rocked and talked to me about the bible. I'd listen closely as he went on and on about Job, a story he told so well and lit up when he thought of it (and now, I understand more about why). He would recount the stories he liked, laugh at verses that rang particularly true to him, and suddenly punctuate what he was saying with an inspirational quote summing it all up- sometimes his own. He would grow serious, warning of what temptations lay in the world I was trying to make my way in. He would get lost, staring over my head in thought, rambling on about our current political climate (often with opinions I disagreed with but bit my tongue about ;) ), the problems with youth these days, and how to apply the teachings of the bible to our everyday relationships and health practices. Then, he'd remember I was there and his eyes would twinkle with his unconditional love as he reassured me that I was going to do great things in my life. I never got The Answers I was seeking in his certainty, but I was always comforted.

Grandpa was diagnosed about 2 years ago with Alzheimer's, a disease I am more and more desperate there'd be a cure for. It all started, really, when we noticed he could not remember who my boyfriend at the time was, though they'd been introduced a few times. Now, he doesn't recognize me and we have to meet again and again each time I visit with him. He has continued going to church and continued to be a loving, wonderful grandfather and man in life, but his memory has deteriorated significantly. Alzheimer's is so complicated, with one minute seeing the person you've known your whole life light up, and the next having to meet a complete stranger. To talk too much about what that's been like would be a bit too painful right now, and wouldn't be how he'd like to be talked about anyway.

One thing that fascinates me, is that his loving heart and faith have not faltered in his condition. He doesn't know me as well by name; he doesn't have the same vivid memories I do (right now!) of our time together, but I always sense that he knows me somehow. His hugs are still as tight and long, he still calls me "sweetie" and says he loves me, and I believe him. And when we ask him how he's doing, he always still says "Life is good. I've been blessed."

And because I know that, it truly is well with my soul.

Friendship.

I try not to ever complain in public posts, because I feel as though it diminishes the difficulties so many people are going through, and I just never want to sound like that person who isn't grateful for my awesome life. I'm not that person - I like my life a lot. That being said, we all have tough weeks and last week was very tough for me.

It was one of those slippery-slope weeks where I just had this sinking feeling every day, even though I attempted a bright attitude and worked hard, that each day was going to be a challenge. So many things fell apart, mistakes were made, arguments were had, and overall I ended Friday pretty deflated and miserable. I needed uplifting, big time. That, coupled with severe homesickness for my family and a lot of other family-heaviness I discussed lightly in my last post, made it difficult for me to maintain any semblance of my cheery self. Last night, I was all but fetal by the time 1am came around, and quite frustrated with God, the world in general, and myself.

So today when I finally let myself get up (late), I anticipated a day of being a loner in order to get my head back on straight without biting any innocent bystanders' off. I felt content punishing myself with hours of practice and organizing and budgeting, and hoped I could just be left alone to my own devices to "solve all my problems," like I constantly, stubbornly, attempt to do.

I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling and plotting out my plan of "attack" when I got a buzz from my cell on my nightstand. It was from Amanda... who lives under my same roof. "Want to get brunch with me? I know I am just a room away right now, so it's probably weird I'm texting you, haha." (Not her exact words, but you get the picture). My initial impulse was to say "No, I really cannot afford it. I need to save my cash." But, my own thoughts intercepted this before I sent it via text saying, "maybe getting out of your own way needs to be the mission today." Amanda is like a sister to me; after years of friendship and living together, we are able to handle one anothers' highs and lows, moods and crankiness, and even momentary pauperism. So, instead, I said "Yes absolutely, give me 30 minutes!"

I'm so grateful I did. Brunch wound up being the most therapeutic 2 hours of my week, filled with reminders of who I am - who we are as friends - who she is as such a wonderful person in my life - and what being in New York City is even about. We laughed at the rough moments from the week. We laughed at the probable future rough times to come. We outlined better days for our individual selves. Two passion fruit mimosas later, we were heading into the city to do some shopping, wound up buying new things for our apartment, came home to leftover Indian food, a Netflix queue and completely lifted spirits.

From beginning to end today, I was never allowed a moment to feel down about the events of the week, or stressed for the week to come. Sure, I never made it to the church I planned to try tonight, and I owe Grandma Bee a phone call tomorrow, but I feel like myself again before another unpredictable week.

At least I know at the end of the days this week, I've got an apartment filled with new rugs, shower curtains and pictures, and above all a really amazing friend to laugh at it all with.

A Memory

So, without going too deeply down the road of emotions (if that's possible), today is the 6 month marker of the day my cousin Lynn passed away. For some reason, no matter how hard I have tried to sort of...be careful with how much I allow myself to think of that and miss him, it continues to be a present thought. Partially because I adore and admire his siblings, my cousins, very much. :) Partially because I adored and admired him so much growing up, and used his influence in a lot of what I decided to do with my life (and continue to, of course).

I try not to think of and describe him as something "tragic", though it's always hard not to focus on the pain of loss too young. When I think of how Lynn used to explain away loss, death, and fear to me -- I remember it being with a certain kind of simplicity that infuriated me, because I liked to complicate everything growing up. For Lynn it was very simple: God had a plan. He was going to follow that plan. Therefore, life was sweet and there was nothing to fear.

We used to fight all the time growing up. Correction: I used to get angry at Lynn and my sister Kate, while HE would stand by and "chortle" (his word!) at my frustration. Kate, my sister, would join him in pointing and laughing while I stomped my feet and huffed and puffed, and eventually I would be forced to stop my pouting because they would win me back over or my Aunt Cyndi would insist I stop the fuss.

I always wanted to be included in everything Lynn and Kate would do when our families would visit. I was the dreaded MIDDLE CHILD of the family. The tree went (in oldest to youngest): Benjamin, Lynn, Katie, ME, Kaia, Allison, and then Tom. Tom, Kaia and Allison would have their playtime, Ben, Lynn and Katie would have theirs. So I was smack dab in the middle wanting to be like the cool older cousins and generally failing and making a spectacle of myself. Lynn was hilarious, always coming up with alter-egos like "Mortimer Snerd", a nerdy personality he'd put on that made me laugh for hours and demand for more. He'd crack himself up with foreign languages. He and Katie once gave Mom a heart attack while she was driving by screaming for her to "LOOK OUT!!!" in the middle of the road. I can still hear their laughter like it was yesterday.

One of my favorite memories, that I keep thinking back on today to laugh, was when we were all in Delaware visiting our Erskine family and we'd been on the beach a lot. I had sunburned my nose, which looked hilarious to Lynn and the entire week he kept tweaking it and yelling "JuJu's NOSE!" which, because I was a sensitive 14 year old, made me angry and annoyed every time. We went to the outlet mall one day when it was rainy out, and while our parents went to shop on their own, Lynn insisted that we go to "Socks Galore", thoroughly delighted by the title and the theme.

"We can't go to the outlet mall without going to SOCKS GALORE!!" he shouted and then charged to the store ahead of us (or, probably, silly walked since we had watched about 8 hrs worth of Monty Python that week). I ran behind and grumpily tagged along throughout the store, bored by all the socks. Lynn was excited about the argyle socks and was piling his arms up with them when he noticed I was pouting (still). "Jujuuuuu!" he yelled and then tweaked my nose particularly hard, causing it to bleed. (I won't get too graphic, I promise).

In my memory, Lynn threw his socks in the air and shouted "OH NOOO!!! NOT YOUR NOSE!! I MADE YOUR NOSE BLEED IN SOCKS GALOOORE!!!" And then insisted I buy new SOCKS, IMMEDIATELY!!

I just remember him telling my Mom, in this high incredulous voice, "Aunt STARR!! I made Juju's nose bleed in SOCKS GALORE!! It's all my fault!!" And she, always on his side, started to laugh. Eventually, so did I. The truth is, I don't honestly think I was ever for a minute actually mad at Lynn growing up, but I always wanted more time with him.

My hope, as I consider all of these memories and laugh, (and cry, and pout), and miss him so much... is that he knew in our last messages to each other long distance how much all of our memories always meant to me. I'm sure he did, and of course I always hope that my cousins know that I can recount all the same kinds of memories for each of them, with deep descriptions of why I wanted to spend time with all of them too growing up. I was "middle child", worried about being left out, and very sensitive. I loved my time with all of them, and always (still) want more.

Here's to the memories we want more of, and the memories we will make in the future, still loving and including Lynn no matter how much time passes by.

Lynn, always mischievous, either peace-signing or giving me bunny ears when we were kids. (Probably the latter.)