Tri hard. 

My family is all staying at the local motel in Lake Geneva getting ready for a relay triathlon in the morning. 

It’s me swimming, my dad biking, and Bill running on one team vs Scott swimming, Mara biking, and Ben running on the other. 

After much debate, departure time from the hotel is 5:45 am. I’ll keep you posted on the winning team!

How we love each other.

I read this article a couple days ago in the NYTimes: From He to She in First Grade.  It was in the Modern Love series, and was a parent writing about her six year old child — born in the body of a little boy, but seeming to identify as a little girl.  The mom handled the discovery and interactions with her little girl with such self-conscious grace.

The lines I particularly loved were as follows:

“The question I couldn’t stop asking myself was: Do we love our children best by protecting them at all costs or by supporting them unconditionally? Does love mean saying, ‘Nothing, not even your happiness, is as important as your safety’? Or does love mean saying, ‘Be who you are, and I will love that person no matter what’?”

 

Working Title.

Why did I promise you that I would write everyday?  This is hard.  It’s almost 9:00 pm and I just got home from work and haven’t thought about a post at all today. So what I write in the next 10 minutes will not be particularly good.  And I suppose that’s why I promised to write you everyday.  I have things to learn from putting work out into the world that isn’t perfect.  That I haven’t triple checked and thought about from the perspective of each person who might see it.  I need practice with what that experience has to teach me.  To feel the pinch of vulnerability in my chest, the fear of judgement.  And to still push “publish”.

Gina and I have been going back and forth writing each other about Glennon Doyle Melton’s new book Love Warrior.  She sent me this passage today: “Maybe instead of slamming the door on pain, I need to throw open the door wide and say, Come in. Sit down with me. And don’t leave until you’ve taught me what I need to know.”

I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.

The Journey of the Warrior.

Sometimes it feels like it all comes back to Pema Chodron.  Why does this wise woman keep popping up in my life?  Glennon is quoting her, for God’s sakes, Amy Poehler is quoting her.  I am ready.  I am listening.  Preach.

“So even if the hot loneliness is there, and for 1.6 seconds we sit with that restlessness when yesterday we couldn’t sit for even one, that’s the journey of the warrior.”

Friends.

Tonight I had dinner with friends.  Wood fired pizza, red wine, and conversation.  We talked about careers and wives and the bird flu and vulnerability.  We talked about Donald Trump and extraction strategies.  We ate burrata and nutella and red pepper flakes.  We talked about writing and an audience and deep fears and money.  We talked about moms and dads and love and dreams and loneliness.  We practiced how to say arugula with an Italian accent.  We stood afterwards on the sidewalk and talked about loyalty and purpose and being a grownup and New York.

I wish you had been there.  You would have loved it.

She let go.

My obsession with Tara Brach continues.

At the end of one of her recent podcasts, she read this poem by Rev. Safire Rose, “She Let Go.”

I was moved by the poem and then reminded of it in yoga class this morning, with David, one of my favorite instructors.  After coming out of a long series of Namaskar As, getting deep with our breath, he had us drop down onto our stomachs and cradle our heads in our hands.  Let go of something physical, he instructed.  Let go of something in your mind and let it sink into the earth.  Let go of something emotional.  Let it all go.

 

Hello again.

It’s been more than two years since I’ve posted.  Well that is quite long enough.

Once again, I’m going to attempt to post everyday for 30 days.  Why?  Because it’s hard and doing hard things makes me feel good.  And as my friend Jody reminded me this morning, we can do hard things.

I’ve been busy the last 2 years.  I fell in love with my job.  I fell in love with a man.  I fell in love with my funky apartment on the south side and my Moroccan rug.  I learned to meditate.  I learned to run.  I learned that putting fresh flowers in my house makes me feel really good.  I peeled back many many layers inside of myself and saw some stuff that was scary and some stuff that was amazing and some stuff that was surprising and some stuff that was sad.  I took some things out and shined a little flashlight on them.  I took some things out and held them in the sunshine with a tender heart.  I took some things out, let out a little yelp, and put them right back on the shelf.  I grieved and laughed and breathed and cried.  I drank wine in Portugal.  I read about chakras.

How about you?

Love,

Jessica