A Little Bit of Fit

Fit Bit. Jawbone. Garmin. iWatch. Misfit Shine.
Fitness trackers are saturating the market, and consumers are eagerly purchasing their wares.

I have a confession. Part of me wants a fitness tracker, and another part of me loathes the very idea that they exist.

Let me explain.  I DO love physical activity. I personally engage in walking, running, biking, volleyball, strength training, and aerial silks. Moreover, I strongly advocate that other people should engage in physical activity. Not only is it advantageous for our physical health, but it is beneficial for our emotional and spiritual health as well. I believe that our contemporary culture is far too “heady” and that we become more grounded and connected when we engage physically.

I’m also aware that our current cultural arrangements make it easy to be sedentary. We sit at desks all day for our job. We work many hours so we don’t have time to be physical. We have cars that take us exactly where we need to go.  We are inundated with technology that mesmerizes us for hours at a time- Netflix, X-Box, Smart phones, iPads, etc.

Fitness trackers, therefore, encourage us to be physical. They remind us that we need to find breaks to walk around when sitting at our desks. They persuade us that we do not need to always drive to arrive at our location. They inspire us to work out daily when we would rather go home and watch TV. And they encourage us to stop consuming more calories than we burn.

So…there’s a part of me that wants a fitness tracker. Even though I’m already pretty active, I know that I can do better at driving my car less. I know that it would probably be beneficial to take more breaks during the workday to stretch and walk around. I would like to continue to maintain a steady weight. And…I’m gonna be honest…there’s a part of me that’s simply fascinated by the fact that fitness trackers exist, and that makes me want one. (Yes, the influence of American consumerism is certainly alive and well!)

However. (There is always, always a however! J ) There is also a part of me (and right now this is the larger part) that does not want anything to do with a fitness tracker.

Overall, I worry that fitness trackers and their numbers cultivate unhealthy obsessions. Should we work on being more physical? You bet we should. However, by quantifying our physicality, I’m worried that we stop enjoying activities for what they are, and we become more concerned with the final number that the activity will produce. Instead of enjoying a walk with a friend, for example, we start to think about how many steps it will add to our daily report.

Numbers, numbers, and more numbers

Moreover, I’m also concerned about the pressure we place on ourselves to reach a goal, and the potential guilt/shame that ensues if we do not reach it. Perhaps we simply had a lazy Sunday in which we just wanted to rest and binge watch Netflix. And we ordered pizza to boot. Because of our obsession with numbers, I’m worried of the guilty feelings that this might promote.  Obviously, a day like that would not yield the desired numbers, and I’m concerned that feelings of remorse will stop us from enjoying the simple pleasure of a lazy day. While I don’t think that we should have lazy days every day, I DO think that an occasional one is actually quite constructive.

Finally, I am also concerned about the “end goals” that are pushing us to track our fitness. I think that fitness trackers are often used primarily as a means of losing weight. And I am simply exasperated with “losing weight” as a goal due to its narrow, one-dimensional, superficial focus.

I want people to engage physically because they enjoy it. I want people to engage physically because they want to increase their strength and endurance. I want people to engage physically because it’s simply a habitual part of their life.

I don’t want people to engage physically because of the number they see on their screen at the end of the day.

Is it possible? How do we promote healthy activity engagement ? What do you think?

CELEBRATE!

 

Hello! Well, here we are again – having to explain our absence on the blog for yet another week. I feel a tad guilty as it was my turn to post last week and I just couldn’t get around to it. Truth is, I can barely gather myself and muster enough energy to post this week. I’ve had a whirlwind month of May. I legit have not been home one single weekend in May. If you couldn’t gather from the title and picture above, it’s mostly because I’ve been busy CELEBRATING!

The first weekend I had to drill and stay down at Cape Cod. I was also simultaneously working on last minute wedding arrangements, details, and packing. The second weekend was our wedding in St. John (see Jill’s blog post from two weeks ago if you missed it)! The third weekend I flew to Iowa for sister Kristen’s graduation. The fourth weekend, this past weekend, we drove to upstate New York to spend Memorial Day with Larry’s family. Now, you may be thinking to yourself, “Well, you dumb bastard, no wonder you are tired and don’t feel like writing. Maybe you should have relaxed after your wedding. Did you REALLY need to go to your sister’s college graduation? I mean, a lot of people graduate these days. It’s not really that big of deal. Oh, and did you really need to CELEBRATE Memorial Day in New York with Larry’s family? Didn’t you just see most of them in St. John for the wedding?” Well, I have to admit, those questions actually crossed my mind as well so you aren’t a total A-hole if you, reader, are thinking them to yourself. Obviously though, I chose to CELEBRATE both events and can’t imagine choosing not to CELEBRATE them. I’m going to post twice this week so that I can talk separately about both Kristen’s college graduation and Memorial Day weekend so let’s start with Kristen’s graduation…

Coincidentally, one of our other wedding guests was also graduating the same weekend as Kristen, albeit from a different school in a different state. She is a good family friend of Larry’s. I had a conversation with her down in St. John that provided me with a new life motto and confirmed my decision that even though it seemed crazy to travel merely two days after our return from the wedding, it was absolutely necessary AND worth it. Anyway, on one of the last nights that all of our guests were in St. John, Larry and I met a bunch of them at one of the bars to say good-bye. I was talking to this particular family friend that would soon be graduating and saying how nice it was that her parents, sister, and Larry’s parents were going to be able to make it down for her graduation. I asked her if she was excited and she said she was not super excited because she didn’t “think it was a big deal.” I immediately responded with a gut reaction and told her that YES, it WAS a big deal! I explained that it might not have seemed like a big deal to her at the time because her entire circle of friends was also graduating so she likely couldn’t see outside of that immediate circle and realize how many people actually DON’T graduate from college. I further went on to explain that even if almost everyone graduated from college, it was still worth CELEBRATING. I specifically remember telling her, “life is too short- CELEBRATE everything.” It was a spontaneous quote at the moment, but I think I’m going to make it my new life motto.

Anyhow, fast forward to sister Kristen’s graduation. Yes, she was the fifth Alesch sister to successfully graduate from college. Yes, she is not an anomaly. But most importantly, YES, it was absolutely worth CELEBRATING. The thing is, I realized as I sat in the blazing hot auditorium listening to way too many names being called, when you CELEBRATE any event whether it be a graduation, a birthday, a wedding, etc., you aren’t just CELEBRATING that very specific accomplishment. Rather, you are CELEBRATING everything that has led the individual being CELEBRATED to that specific mark. In this case, we were CELEBRATING the mature, young woman that our sister had become. We were CELEBRATING everything that she both succeeded at and failed at over the last four years. From having a run-in with the police, getting that first failing grade, and rationalizing random college hookups to being brave enough to study abroad in Spain, making it through Army Basic Combat Training and getting accepted to Teach For America, we were CELEBRATING it all…failures and successes alike. And it was absolutely freaking beautiful. After all, “life should not only be lived, it should be celebrated.”

 

Speechless

It isn't often that I'm speechless and yet, today I find myself in such a state. I'm absolutely and utterly exhausted and simply lack the ability to dedicate my heart and soul to a post like I normally would. You see, all of the Alesch's-the assholes and the angels alike - and even a few of their friends and extended family descended upon St. John for middle sister Molly's wedding to a wonderful man named Lawrence. I spent a week in an alcohol - induced haze that seemed to be fueled by my very presence in paradise despite the activity of the day. Going boating? Grab the Corona. Going to the beach? Grab the rum.  Going to Skinny Legs for a cheeseburger in paradise? Order the guava special. Have to give a toast at the wedding? Down five glasses of champagne. It was a fun, relaxing, beautiful, romantic and love filled week.

It was not without harsh words and included a bit of drama but that is to be expected when you have 13 adults and my two children crammed into a five bedroom villa. It was also not easy to get 13 people to do anything much less to do it on time. Plus, St. John is an expensive place to travel to, to stay and to play. Oh, and good luck getting cell phone service there. So there were worries about money, worries about getting in touch with others, worries about who paid for what and how much and worries about who got stuck with the couch. I was constantly worried about my kids and whether I made the right call in taking them with us. They were exposed to cursing, drinking and sarcasm. But they were also exposed to real life, real love, real forgiveness, the ocean, the island life and so much more. In the end, I know I made the right call. My children have not been sheltered from the bad but they have also witnessed first hand the good, the beauty. They see the give and take in relationships. They see that an argument doesn't mean you cease caring about a loved one. They see conflict resolution and that no one is perfect. They see that right and wrong can be fluid depending on the situation. They see that life is meant to be enjoyed and lived to the fullest. They also see that there is a big world out there and hopefully, someday will understand that the sun does not rise and set on them, the local sports team, the local competition, or their job. I'm not downplaying the benefit of doing one's best and participation in activities or work, but what I am against is the rabid and often parent dictated importance placed on things that truly do not matter. We owe it to our children to expand their spheres of reality, not limit their focus to myopic levels of self accomplishments.

We all returned to general chaos...Amy stranded in Texas for what seemed like an absolutely ridiculous amount of time due to weather and flight attendants not showing up for work, Kristen taking a final the next day, me driving all night to start military school, and John losing a bag that never made it out of St. Thomas. My son had to go to school the next day after going to bed at 11 p.m. Anne was the only semi-smart one of the group who took the next day off work.

But...none of that mattered. I would do it all again in a heartbeat in order to see any one of us get married by Anne with the rest of her sisters standing up as bridesmaids. Yes, I could have bitched. Yes, I could have made people pay me to the penny. Yes, i could have let someone else plan a boat day. Yes, my kids got sunburnt and so did I. But all of these things simply didnt matter to me. What mattered was that everywhere I looked, there was love. Love between Molly and Lawrence that simply emanated between them...love between five different sisters, love between two families, love between friends, and love between my kids and their extended families. Sure, this is probably present in any wedding but the fact that we had all traveled so far to share in this experience really made me see so clearly what a lovely gift Molly gave us in giving us the reason to travel as family and friends, and to enjoy a week in paradise--a gift that most of us would have never bothered to give ourselves unless we were made to. So Molly got married, and yet, I was the one who felt like the richest person in the world.  It made think that is really funny how that works. The more we give, the more we receive. The more we refuse to accept a mentality of scarcity, the more we get back. And the more we embrace all of our emotions, the less power negative emotions hold over us because we begin to see they are just a small part of the whole. Whatever I spent in money, gained in pounds, and lost in liver functionality, I do not regret a single moment we were there in all of our dysfunctional yet beautiful glory. That's how an Alesch rolls.

Owning Our Stories...Every Day Bravery

"Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do." --Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

I'm stymied right now because when I read this quote, there is no way I can, in words, adequately express the power behind this statement. I feel there is no way my words can sufficiently express the amount of pain, self doubt, self hatred, shame, hiding and fear that manifested in my life before I started to understand and practice the two intentions expressed above: owning my story and loving myself through the process. I have struggled with both of them and I have gotten better at both of them...and if I am completely honest, I am better at owning my story, for myself and to others, than I am at loving myself through the process (though neither is ever complete...they are both decisions we make every day for the rest of our lives).

For me, at the root of both of these intentions is honesty...honesty with ourselves and honesty with others...but first and foremost with ourselves because if we aren't honest with ourselves, we can't be honest with others. There was a time when I was not open with others about seeing a counselor for most of my adult life. There was a time when I kept my struggles with depression and anxiety under wraps so no one knew (at least from my mouth) about them. It is so empowering not to be in that position anymore and to own those qualities without shame or fear. 

Comparatively, it was much more difficult to begin to be honest with myself. It was a difficult moment when I had to admit to myself that I actually did give a fuck about romantic partnerships and men weren't just good for one thing. It was difficult for me to admit that I don't function well when I have too many things going on...I'm not a person who can race from one thing to the next, constantly busy (the type of person who has often been revered in our society), and maintain mental and emotional stability. It was hard for me to admit that I need to be deliberate and practice loving myself because it is not something I was ever taught or given the tools to do.

A large part of this process is forgiveness. To come to love ourselves throughout the process, I feel we have to forgive ourselves for things we're not proud of and have compassion for ourselves when we need to start over or have a difficult self love day. For me, and maybe for everyone, those concepts-honesty, forgiveness and compassion-are intertwined and gladly entangled. I think love requires all of it,  and maybe they all require each other and are all part of the same whole of love. I'm sure someone else has stated these thoughts more eloquently and less convolutedly than I...but I think you know what I'm getting at.

I think about all of the families with secrets (mine included) and how that makes it so the people with the secret probably never feel truly accepted and loved-like they are always hiding and playing the imposter, the poser, struggling not to be discovered. And it makes me sad. There are so many things we all share and can relate to and we may never know if we never share and remain in the shroud of loneliness and masking. Someone may be saved or supported or encouraged and not feel so alone and scared if we shared our authentic selves and owned our stories. I think Molly stated it so simply and beautifully in her last blog...we all need to hear "Me, too." sometimes and if we don't share, we won't hear it and feel the support, encouragement and love that accompanies that simple statement.

It also makes me sad because I think people's capacity to love and accept is so much greater that we give them or our own selves credit for. It may not be immediate and we may need to make peace and confront some uncomfortableness but I do think those people who truly belong and deserve a place in our lives have the capacity to love us so much more and more fully love us than we give them credit for. We sell them short and, in turn, sell ourselves short. Speaking from experience, when I have shared my internal and external struggles with friends and family and realized they still love me and are willing to support me, I have felt liberated and blessed beyond belief...shame sloughs off revealing a stronger, deeper relationship with others and myself.

Another reason I feel sad and frustrated is that our "shame", our desire to control situations, perceptions and reactions, inhibits our loved ones from becoming who they can be. I'm not saying blast your story to everyone, because not everyone is worthy of every part of your story, but I do think our immediate families (unless they are complete aholes) and others we want to be intimate with deserve our authentic story-so we can confront challenges, fully, together and fully love one another. Parents who shield their children do not allow their children to confront reality, to confront imperfection, to learn the lessons of acceptance and love that can only be taught through accepting imperfections. 

By hiding one's shame and being dishonest, we teach others to be ashamed and dishonest. The message is that we must fit some definition of perfection to be loved and lovable and TRUST ME-we internalize that message as members of a family and community in relationship with one another. I'm sure many of you are familiar with the story of the struggle of the caterpillar to become a butterfly (if not, click here)...this is the story of all of us, struggling to overcome and become something more beautiful. When we hide ourselves in shame, we take that opportunity away from ourselves AND our loved ones. To me, left unaddressed, this is an unforgivable curse.

My life has only become more beautiful since I began owning my story. I have connected with so many more people, been supported, encouraged and loved when I thought I had none of those things and I have been blessed to offer the same to others by way of owning and sharing my authentic self. These blessings help with the self love part that I am not as good at...yet :)

The Beetle

Stone cold,

No one has yet broken her mold

The mold in which she hides behind,

A forbidding attitude guising a heart so kind

One too many past mistakes,

Always had a little too much to give and not enough to take

No no, only physically; not with a feeling

Anything but the surface would be too revealing

Respect for her is what they’d lack,

But don’t forget with one pointed finger, there are three pointing back

Vulnerability is a toxin & to it she would not succumb

Pain, love, emotions? No thank you, I choose to be numb

Living with her flaws and living with her fears

Only to lash out when someone came near

But then suddenly she let someone in

They talked and they laughed over a shot of gin

She still had her fears, she felt insecure,

Hurt she would not get and that was for sure

Time went on and she began to trust,

She finally knew it was more than just lust

However, she realized that fear never went away,

The deeper you fall the more that it stays

To love and be loved is a frightening thing,

But many lessons along with it definitely brings

In that state of “I do not know,”

Where I’ll end up or where I will go

Will you be with me or will we part ways?

The inevitable future is only moments away

With fear and some pain, my life must go on

I must finish the lyrics to an incomplete song

So my dear friend, it pains me to say

Goodbye, farewell, and maybe one day

We’ll meet again or maybe we’ll be one beat shy?

Our rhythms may be off until the day we die

In all of this, one thing is certain,

Sometimes life’s an open stage and sometimes a closed curtain

People enter and leave your life for many reasons

They can come and go just as quickly as the seasons…

Healthy Humble Pie

I have always been passionate about sports and exercise. However, during grad school and residency, I did not have the mental or financial resources to pursue much beyond running and lifting a couple of times a week. So when I finally started my first “grown-up” job over a year ago, I was excited to have the time and energy to return to my love of physical activity. Therefore, I decided that I was going to run a half marathon.

And so I did- I ran a half marathon last May! I even made a neon tutu to celebrate this momentous occasion. Nevertheless, something “funny” happened when I crossed that half marathon finish line. And that funny thing was- I didn’t really feel anything! I didn’t feel that sense of euphoria, or accomplishment, that I had heard so many other people describe. I just kind of felt something like, “Oh, okay. Guess that’s over now. I sure am tired.” I thought that maybe the euphoria and desire to train for another race would return in time, but they did not.

I felt kind of stuck in a rut for awhile- I didn’t know how to find an outlet for my desire to physically engage my body. I still enjoyed running, but only about 3x a week (and not at half marathon lengths!) But then something amazing happened. My friend, Krystal, invited me to go to an aerial silks class with her. I went with her to one class, and I absolutely loved it. So I signed up for six months of classes.

Aerial silks is incredibly fun and beautiful. Here is a video of what it can look like-

…But I am really far from this. Here’s the thing that I’ve learned since taking aerial silks classes- they are really difficult. And I’m…ready for it? I’m.Not.Very.Good. Not just- “I’m not good because I’m a beginner.” I’m talking- I’m really just not very good at them. Done. The end.

Yes, Yes, I know. It’s not about being good, per se.…It’s about self-improvement…challenging yourself… celebrating your own victories, and all that. Aerial silks are difficult for everyone to a certain degree, and there is always room to grow…yes, yes. I understand. I really do. If I were to be more precise with my words, I would say this- I personally do not have very much natural aptitude for aerial silks.

It was actually kind of hard for me to admit this at first. Like I said, I’ve been physically active for most of my life. I played 4 sports in high school, and I’ve always been gifted with athletic instincts…hand eye coordination…etc. Tennis, softball, volleyball- those came relatively easy to me- or, at least, I had an aptitude for them that could be developed with practice. And I guess I didn’t give it much thought, but I figured that I would do all right with aerial silks.

It turns out, however, that aerial silks classes is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. They are relatively difficult for most people, but I’ve discerned two ‘handicaps’ that seem to make them even more challenging for me:

1)   I have very little spatial intelligence. And what little I may have had was pretty much depleted by grad school when I learned to hone and chisel my analytical and writing skills. Consequently, this means it’s really hard for me to learn new aerial moves because I can’t process how someone is able to move their body into new and unique shapes. And in aerial you are continually learning new and different ways to intentionally move your body.  This is different than other sports- to a large degree, the sports I am accustomed to playing are based on either repetition (like perfecting your shooting form), or else moving your body instinctively (such as diving for a ball). And so it’s really hard for me to learn new shapes every.single.week. I often joke that I’d probably learn aerial easier if I were able to read the instructions. #onlyhalfjoking

2)   I’m tall for a female, and I also carry the majority of both my weight and strength in the lower half of my body. Additionally, aerial takes a lot of upper body strength, and I do not have much. It is very difficult, consequently, to haul myself up the silks. Some girls are able to climb the entire length of the silks within their first couple of lessons. I’ve been at it for awhile, and I can climb…like a foot. I’m definitely improving each week, but it’s also definitely slow-going.

Ironically, I can analyze why aerial is difficult for me (yes, this is an area where I am gifted!), but that doesn’t necessarily make it any easier, except I’m trying to learn to how to best work with these privations.

Sometimes I do feel a little embarrassed at how difficult aerial is for me. Like most of us, I’m accustomed to primarily performing the tasks in which I excel, and so it’s really humbling to do something that is soooo challenging. I remember learning a new move in class one day, and I was (once again) slow at learning it. Our instructor was trying to help me, and before I knew it, the words, “Oh my gosh, I swear I have a Master’s degree” flew out of my mouth. I meant it to be funny (and it was), but I also have the self-awareness to know that this comment was coming from a place of insecurity. I felt stupid for how slow and difficult it was for me to learn a move that everyone else was getting.  I felt the need to defend my intelligence by asserting that I had achieved a culturally acceptable symbol of success- the Master’s degree. How ridiculous!

Finally! Some success!

And yet. Despite my occasional embarrassment, and very slow progress, I still keep coming back to aerial class every week. Why?

1)   It’s fun as hell. Plain and simple. It’s fun to twist and move my body into shapes. It’s fun to hang upside down.  It’s fun to climb and fly in the air (even if it’s only a foot!)

2)   It’s fantastic exercise. I’ve noticed so much improvement in my flexibility and strength since starting aerial. And it IS really great to be able to see improvements every week- to have new achievements, reach new milestones, etc. I feel so empowered to be able to attain each success, no matter how small.

3)   I work in hospice. Bereavement, to be specific. I spend my days listening to people talk about the heartache of missing their loved one. I spend my days listening to people question the nature of why we exist and why we die. It’s heavy, and it’s draining. So the last thing that I want to do when I leave work is to do anything emotionally intense. However, I DO still have strong social needs. And going to aerial (and other classes at TGR) is a fantastic way to meet my social needs while also replenishing my emotional reserve.  I can be around other people, but for at least one hour, I’m entirely focused on how to hold onto a piece of fabric so that I don’t fall. Sometimes I act really silly while doing all of this, and I’m fairly certain it’s my way of trying to achieve balance in my life.

So there you have it, folks. I eat humble pie every single week. And I love it, I enjoy it, and it is life-giving for my soul. I actually think that it’s important for ALL of us to find ways to eat humble pie on an ongoing basis. For me, it serves as a continual reminder I am not perfect and that I am not God- nor am I meant to be. I am human, I am broken, and that is okay. There is beauty in struggle and challenge.

Additionally, I also think that it has given me more grace with others. For example, I admit that I grow frustrated when other people's writing is filled with grammatical errors. Writing flows easily for me, and so I’m irritated when others cannot present their ideas coherently. However, the more I embrace my own shortcomings, the more I’m able to give grace to others for theirs. Conversely, it also helps me celebrate gifts and successes- both mine and others.  Struggling and succeeding are not either inherently good or bad; both are significant and vital aspects of shaping who we are.

Do you ever eat humble pie?

Telling Stories

 

Greetings! So here I am on a Sunday night after a holiday weekend thinking about all the different things I’d like to write about while I simultaneously think about how I really don’t want to write about anything at all. I’m tired, I’m stressed, I’m anxious, and I’ve got a billion different things on my mind making it difficult to focus. I feel like somewhat of a failure because I was supposed to blog last week and totally blew it off because I had a hectic week at work. In doing so, I feel like I let my sisters down. L

I want to write about how our lives are too busy and jam packed (using my own as a prime example). I want to write about some of the sexist things I’ve experienced over the last month. I want to write about finding my voice and speaking up about some of those sexist things. I want to write about how I’m not losing weight just to fit into my wedding dress. I want to write about how I think it’s ridiculous that we still work a 5 day work week. I want to write about all those things and maybe I still will write about them in a later blog. But right now I cannot. I’ve been running around for the last couple of months trying to plan a wedding and trying to define myself in a fairly new position in the military all the while still keeping up with family and friends, Crossfit, volunteering, etc, etc. To write about the aforementioned topics would require too much concentration from me right now and I just don’t have the energy. So instead, I’m going to write about something fairly easy. I’m going to tell you about my weekend. Of course, I can’t make it THAT simple and just tell you what happened in a linear fashion. I’m also going to link it together using the common theme of connecting through our stories.

I believe weekends start on Thursdays. Maybe this stems back from the old college days with Thirsty Thursdays and no classes on Friday! Or maybe it’s because as I mentioned above, I think it’s ridiculous we still work 5 day work weeks. Anyhooo, like all of my weekends, this weekend started on Thursday night. I went straight from a stressful day at work and drove through horrendous traffic to get to one of my girlfriend’s house to have dinner with her. I was scattered when I pulled up to her house with my blood still boiling as I knocked on her front door. She answered the door with her one-year old in her arms and two energetic dogs that couldn’t wait to jump on me. Upon entering her house, she asked how I was and I immediately went into my speal about how busy I was, how badly traffic sucked, how stressful work was, and how I still had stuff left to do before the wedding. She simply replied with, “well, it will all come together,” and then immediately apologized for the basket of laundry that had been sitting in her living room for over a week, for the piles of clutter on the dining room table, for the dog that had just eaten the remote before jumping all over me, and for the potentially botched dinner she had made for us in the crock pot. And all of a sudden, I magically settled down. It was as if she had indirectly said to me, “I get it. You are dealing with a lot right now. ME TOO.” We proceeded to have dinner on a cluttered kitchen table with a somewhat fussy (albeit ADORABLE) one-year old and two bouncing dogs rambunctiously waiting for us to drop a morsel of food on the ground for them. Someone looking in the window at us might think it was a messy scene but in that moment, I was at peace. My work stress, wedding planning anxiety, and traffic struggles seemed to wither away as I CONNECTED with another human being who was inadvertently telling me her story and saying, “ME TOO.”

As a side note, I TOTALLY understand that the “stressors” (wedding planning, work, traffic, etc) I have in my life are absolutely first-world problems. I am extremely fortunate and blessed to be planning a destination wedding with the most amazing future husband in the US Virgin Islands where I will be surrounded by over 70 loving family and friends. I have a job that I absolutely love and have the honor of wearing the US Army uniform every single day. As for traffic, I am fortunate to have a decent car in which to commute and regardless of how bad the traffic is every night, I still come home to a safe, warm house filled with food, hot water, and most importantly love. As my best friend Naomi consistently has to remind me, my “stressors” ARE ALL GOOD THINGS! Speaking of my best friend Naomi….

On Friday night I celebrated Passover with her and her family. I have done this every year for the past 5 years or so and I love it even though I was raised Catholic. There were 14 people in attendance as well as no less than 4 dogs. Even though Naomi had rented out the community room in her condo building, it still resulted in a lot of people and animals in a small space. At multiple times throughout the evening, Naomi and her sisters would conveniently excuse themselves to go back up to Naomi’s condo because something was “forgotten” even though I know that for most of those times, they simply wanted a breather from all of the action (as did I). The Seder dinner preparation probably lasted over two hours. Some of the kids complained that they were bored and others just couldn’t WAIT until the chicken was served! However, complaints or not, we had to finish reading the Passover story from the Haggadah before we could eat. Even though most of the family members present had heard the story every year since they were born, we HAD to finish it in its entirety for yet another year. Finally, we were able to eat, everybody was happy and full, and the cleanup for dessert started immediately as it was getting late. As I waited for dessert, I witnessed my favorite moment of the evening. Naomi’s eldest niece, Rafaella, at 18 years old was lying on the couch with her youngest brother and Naomi’s youngest nephew, Mandella, at about 7/8 years old. I went to sit by them and listened to what they were saying. I could hear Rafaella doing most of the talking and when I asked Rafaella what she was doing, she told me she was telling Mandella a story. Apparently, the break to talk to me was not authorized by Mandella who ordered “Rafi, keep telling the story!” I managed to sneak in another question and discovered that Rafaella was telling Mandella the story of Passover. Upon hearing this, it was like I was hit with an emotional sledge hammer. I found it riveting. We had JUST finished the telling of the Passover story during which Mandella complained a majority of the time because he was hungry or bored. We had JUST finished the telling of the story for yet another year in a row and it hadn’t changed and here Mandella wanted to hear the story again. Maybe it wasn’t the story he wanted to hear though. Maybe it was the closeness he felt as he lay on top of Rafaella listening to her soothing voice. Maybe it was the connection he yearned for by hearing a familiar story from someone who is like a second mother to him. I realized watching those two in that moment that THIS IS WHAT LIFE IS ALL ABOUT: TELLING AND RETELLING OUR STORIES AND USING THEM TO CONNECT WITH ONE ANOTHER.

This brings me to Saturday. Saturday evening Larry and I went to dinner with his parents and his aunt who was visiting from New York. His aunt had never seen our house so they came over a half hour early to our place so that she could get the tour. Our house is small and obviously didn’t take the entire half hour so we had some time to sit on the couch and chat before leaving for dinner. During this time, Larry’s parents did some story telling. One story in particular about when Larry was two years old, I have heard about 10 times since meeting Larry’s parents. After his father told the story for the 11^th time, Larry turned to me and asked how many times I had heard that sorry. I told him the truth- that I had heard it over 10 times and his father immediately started to apologize. He affirmed that he would not tell that story again. My heart somewhat sunk. I never want to give somebody the impression that just because I have heard a story before means that I never want to hear it again! No! Quite the opposite! Telling and retelling, even if we are in the double digits for retelling, our stories is what keeps our traditions alive. As I mentioned above, it’s what keeps us CONNECTED. So at multiple points for the rest of the evening I made sure to tell Larry’s father that he must continue to tell that story in the future.

And there you have it folks. It’s a messy blog. It’s kind of all over the place. But hopefully you can glean something out of the mess. Hopefully my sisters enjoy being filled in on my life through these stories. Hopefully our readers can connect with something here. Maybe you are inspired to tell or retell one of your stories… Maybe you are inspired to connect with someone today through a story…