10

Every year has been difficult in its own way. Every year included a milestone, an event or a random Tuesday where I've reached for the phone to dial mama. There was the first year at the end of which I found out I was pregnant with Leor. There were Year 3 and there was 5. There was me turning 32, the age at which my mom had at me and the age at which, I lost my job, was diagnosed with cancer and somewhat found my shaky voice. Each year has had its often more than fair share of good - Leor and Zack were born (as were many of their friends and cousins), I've gotten great jobs, I've made many memories with old and new friends, to name a few. Yet, I've been dreading today for months and planning the day in my head for probably the last year.

The truth is, it's another day where the sun sets and rises and most of us are grateful for another day. It's a day like any other for most. I wish I wasn't as sentimental. I wish dates didn't matter to me. I wish my eyes didn't well up at the thought of it. I don't miss my mom more today than I did yesterday or than I will tomorrow. It's another day for people that knew me since the day I was born, that celebrated every birthday and every milestone until I turned twenty five. With my mom's passing, people have passed me by. I became a reminder - a reminder of who my mom was, what she stood for and how fragile life is. It took a long time for me to forgive them. Some days, I still get angry because I didn't die, because I still celebrate my birthday and plan to for a long, long time. I also know that pain isn't a constant. I know that remembering a person can come about while picking out beets at a farmer's market, because my mom asked me to buy veggies on my trip to Poconos 10 years ago so that she can teach me to make borsch. I know that memories can come flooding in in the midst of an unrelated argument or while brushing teeth. I know that people remember. I wish they understood my need to hear it.

The last 10 years of my life have been filled with both laughter and tears. They've been filled with many happy moments and occasions and many spent nights crying over. During this time, I became a mother, a role that leads me to question my every move and firmly believe that I'm not here to teach my children. They are here to teach me. I wonder if mama thought so too. I wonder what I taught her about herself. There are so many questions I'd love to ask her, not only about being a mom, but about being a human. My mom was an amazing human. She was kind and she was patient. She had the unique ability to listen to everyone's problems without ever sharing her own. She had a book recommendation and a quote or anecdote for every occasion. She also always knew just the gift to buy even as the world we live in became more materialistic and less sentimental. She knew how to live life. Whether it meant at 17 being a Jewish girl in the Ukraine and leaving her single mom alone to go to study in the prominent Saint-Petersburg State University of Culture and Arts via Chelyabinsk or going to see every theatrical performance of interest despite many health limitations and often having nobody to go with. My mom wasn't an extraordinary cook, but everything she cooked was so full of love that it translated in taste. Her signature was whipping up a cake as friends were on the way. Our house always smelled like cake and was always full with guests, even when I couldn't stay up past my bedtime.

My mom loved people. She loved good food and good books. She loved the arts. She loved celebrating. She loved to travel even though she didn't get to do very much of it. She loved life and above all she loved me. For 25 years of my life I didn't have to share that kind of obsessive and consuming love with anyone. And for the last 10 I've had to learn to live without it. I don't think that I will ever stop learning. I'm okay most days and other days, I'm consumed by it because my mom set the bar very high. I've recently started to wonder at what age do we stop idolizing our parents and start to see them as flawed humans. Everyone I've discussed this with concluded, "around adolescence." I don't know that I can ever stop idolizing my mom. She was human, but in so many ways she was superhuman. My virgo perfectionist (i.e. obsessive compulsive) personality strives for those same superhuman qualities and falls so completely short of them. I don't want my children to idolize me. I want them to know me as a flawed human. I hope to be around long enough to explain to them why and more so for them to learn it for themselves.

I digress. People react differently to death. Most of us don't know what to say beyond the basic condolences, paying respects at a funeral or at a shiva call. We become awkward because we are afraid of saying too much or not saying enough. Maybe we don't say anything at all and then too much time passes and it becomes that much more awkward to reach out to say, "hey, I'm thinking of you." I personally wish I had the courage to do it more often. I wish people in my life had the courage to tell me what my mom meant to them or when they think of her while food shopping, watching a movie or seeing yet another picture I post on facebook. I think that as humans, we would all like to make an impact while leading meaningful lives. The depth and breadth of our impact is as individual as each of us. Few of us get to revolutionize the world, but many of us impact lives, one child at a time.

Mind F*ck

As anyone reading my blog probably knows by now, I didn't start my job today, as expected.  The Universe decided to throw another monkey wrench my way.  Patience is a virtue, right? On Friday afternoon at about 5:30 pm, after running around for close to 3 hours like a madwoman to get the necessary paperwork signed & notarized, I was told that despite the fact that it is complete, I still won't be able to start until Tuesday.  The confirmation was one word, "approved," and it came at 10 am this morning.  The inefficiency of corporate America never ceases to amaze me, but back to the Mind F*ck.

As we sat down to dinner on Friday night, my body literally got sick.  I had a scratchy throat, runny nose, general weakness and I "didn't look good." I know my body well enough to know that this is stress related.  I can hear all of my medical professional friends snickering.  I also know enough to be "aware."  On Saturday, I made myself get up and tackle the day.  Sunday, I even made it to the gym, but could barely handle my workout.  As I moped around and "mariekondoed" my kids room today, I got the confirmation and miraculously, my sickness was lifted.  My nose isn't running, my throat isn't scratchy and I feel fine and ready to tackle the snowstorm tomorrow will bring.  If that's not a total mind f*ck, please provide the definition. 

Introduction

At yesterday's inaugural event for JPA's 2019 cohort, we were asked to introduce ourselves through our children's eyes.  It was such an interesting exercise, to share with strangers how we think our children perceive us and what they know and would share about us.  This isn't verbatim, but as I haven't really written much in 10 years, I should probably reintroduce myself...

So, hi.  My name is Leor.  I'm 7 years old and my mom's name is Alla.  I have a younger brother, Zack.  He's 4 and a half and he's really annoying.  He annoys everyone.  He's also really afraid of dogs, especially of Ozzy, my best friend, Alice's dog.  My mom is always yelling at me.  She says she wants me to do better, to be better and that she loves me.  If you love someone, why do you yell?

At some point, when my brother was very small, my mom lost her job and then she got sick.  She had to go for surgery and I told her to be brave, because I had a surgery and it was fine.  My mom is very brave and she's always doing something, reading something and going somewhere.  What are all these meetings she goes to?  When my mom wasn't working, she chaperoned all of my school trips and all my friends would call her, "Leor's mom."  She's not spending as much time in school anymore but she's still my class mom and is on the PTA.  My mom is always pushing me to do better.  She says, I have to read a lot and I think that it's boring.  I already skipped a grade, what more does she want?

I love hanging out with my mom and dad, because we always go to cool places and my mom buys me treats.  When Zacky isn't being annoying, I like to teach him things and play with him.  He always brings me treats from his daycare.  Today, he brought two lollipops and let me pick which one I want. 

Chasing Unicorns

Sometimes in life you have to get off your high horse in order to find your unicorn; or in my case, fall...face down several times.  One begins to wonder about how you can find something that doesn't really exist and the answer is if you can think it, you can create it and ultimately you can manifest it against all universal odds or maybe because of them.

I cannot pinpoint the exact moment that my spiritual journey began.  I cannot say that this particular event or that particular person was the catalyst for my asking questions, but I can clearly identify those that have helped me find my voice along the way.  I do not have the answers.  On the contrary, I have a whole lot of questions that are no longer random.  In today's world of our carefully curated lives, there are three kinds of people - those that post the picture perfect, because life is full of garbage without adding things that are not visually or mentally stimulating; those that post everything and I mean everything - I don't care what your kid ate for lunch 7 days in a row to show the reality of life; and those that post nothing, often, only pretending to be invisible.  At different points in my life I've fluctuated between the three, sometimes bearing too much and sometimes nothing at all, always searching for the impossible balance.  For fear of sounding cryptic, let me start at the beginning, "a very good place to start," and try put on paper (computer screen) what's been whirling in my head for quite some time. 

It was Chanukkah 2015 and I had just gotten laid off.  I was in shock and devastated.  It's true that I wanted to look for a new job after the new year. The immigrant, Jewish girl from Brooklyn didn't fit the mold of a waspy hedge fund.  A 6'4" man was threatened by 5'2" me and six short months after receiving the best review of my career to date, I was let go, the job function eliminated, so that I wouldn't sue.  I looked at the world with a new wave of optimism.  After all, I was (am) young, educated, presentable and have a stellar resume, so I'm missing a couple of letters after my name.  It's the new year, I can finally try out that Equinox membership, take a gym class, read a book and find a job that I really love.  There was only one problem - I had no idea what I wanted to do.  I began to apply for job after job and start going to the countless interviews that I would endure over the next two years.  

I meet with many friends and colleagues for drinks, lunch and dinner. I start going to brunch, a practice that became instrumental to my wellbeing, not for the food but for the friendships that developed.  I start experimenting with different gym classes and find a couple of instructors that I go to regularly.  I go to visit mama - a lot.  I schedule the sonogram, the prescription for which has been sitting in my bag since October.  My sister and I decide to go to Israel and my doc recommends that I see a specialist as soon as I return.  On a clear and cold, last Tuesday of March 2016, my neck was biopsied.  I had no idea that I was going for a biopsy.  In the many waivers I signed in Dr. Minkowitz's office that day, something about a needle caught my eye, but I was too busy discussing Leor's school schedule to really pay attention.  I had 4 long needles inserted into my neck without anesthesia.  I didn't pass out.  I was even okay being there by myself, but I remember walking out and feeling violated.  I remember driving home instead of the city and putting on a snug turtleneck and a scarf, a permanent attachment to my body for the next year or so.

The results came back positive.  There's nothing positive about cancer except the way it changes your perspective, for which I'm certainly grateful. Tests, doctors, interviews, playdates, gym were the next several weeks of my life.  The surgeon was selected and the surgery scheduled and I needed to make it to the gym, which I was per my usual modus operandi beginning to neglect.  I decided to try the Equinox at Columbus Circle because I was in the area and for the first time in a long time, perhaps ever, I found my voice.  It wasn't anything dramatic, there was no music playing in the background and no voiceover, but something in Mindy's class moved me - perhaps it was her soothing voice or the palpable energy of the room, maybe it was the liquidity and physical difficulty of the flow, or maybe it was being in the right place. Perhaps, it was a combination of all of it that made me get up from my mat and come up to a then stranger and tell her not only that this was the best yoga class I've ever taken but also about my surgery.  There's a saying that "people come into our lives and quickly go and others stay a while and we are never ever the same." I started going to Mindy's classes religiously. Eventually I began to help Mindy with social media and she taught me to meditate and we became friends.  

Meditation became instrumental in my treatment as I underwent Radioactive Iodine (RAI) and had to be isolated for a week and then do several full body scans, which literally had a lid being put on top of you, while laying still on your back and trying not to freak the f*ck out as the doctors made bad jokes.  In under a year and a half, our family went through four surgeries and fully met (and paid) 3 deductibles. I got laid off and then suddenly Danny's contract ended the week of Leor's tonsillectomy.  I remember buying Jello and yogurt in Fairway and getting a call from the doctor's office confirming both the surgery and the copayment.  I remember bursting into tears in the middle of the supermarket.  I remember meditating as my then 5 year old child was in the OR.  I remember feeling grateful for health insurance and asking a lot of moral/ethics questions of the doctors administering my iodine.  

This isn't a story about either pity or survival.  The background is for context only.  It's my story, one that for some reason (or many), today, I feel compelled to share.  Maybe it was reading my blog posts from 10 years ago and maybe today isn't a random Tuesday.  Then, I was 32, the age I was so afraid of and of course, some of the worst things happened and in ways I couldn't have imagined, if I tried.  I should have imagined.  I should have done a vision board of my life.  I should have written about my dream job, I should have set intentions, but I wasn't yet ready.  I wasn't ready to dream of unicorns.  I was grateful for yoga, theater and miscellaneous opportunities that kept springing up out of nowhere.  I got involved in Leor's new school.  I helped a friend launch a grand opening event of his new showroom.  I did a lot of soul searching, whatever that means. I traveled.  I found a job.  I was settling down again.  I went to Israel again, for my cousin's wedding instead of an epic trip to Iceland.  I was learning to let go.  We went to Disneyland and Spain, to Portugal and Napa.  We celebrated Danny's 40th and my 35th.  We welcomed a bunch of babies and celebrated.  I was reading more than usual and less than I would have liked.  I was toying with the idea of taking some sort of an exam to further my career but had trouble deciding on the direction, therefore accepting the status quo.  I was back in the gym.  I was learning to fall in love with my life as it is.  So what's this about a unicorn?

Following dinner and wine at Eugene's, a person who has always helped me in every capacity, who's been a mentor and a friend, a tough critic and confidant, he asks me point blank, "what are you looking for?"  My response? - "I'm looking for a unicorn." I described my concoction, but nonetheless I wanted a unicorn.  Mindy scolded me when I told her.  "You need to know what you want", she said, "if you're looking for something that doesn't exist, you'll never find it." Within a month's time, many phone calls, texts and synchronicities later, I found my unicorn - a unicorn that incidentally, I very clearly defined in a notebook I found from two years ago.  Unicorns, as you may know, aren't easy to catch.  First of all, one must be ready for it and they also come at a steep price.  

They need those damn letters, I need a credential. I have to take an exam.  Neither an extension nor an exception is possible and with less than two weeks left to the year I take a huge leap of faith - I give two weeks notice and in the first week of the new year begin to study for the "easy" PMP exam. There are no more than five people that know that all of this is happening.  I'm afraid to share the news as I don't really have an offer, I'm a nervous wreck and I'm not doing so well on the practice exams.  I fail miserably.  Suddenly, it becomes a lot easier to share.  I start to tell my friends, who are beyond supportive.  I call my future employer and share the grim news.  It isn't exactly pleasant to tell someone you'll be working with that you've failed at a task that's a prerequisite for the job.  I try unsuccessfully to collect myself to start studying again.  I go on another interview for a job that even a year ago would've been perfect, but now I want a unicorn.  I return a bunch of newly purchased shoes and then after hours of discussing the synchronicities of the universe with a childhood friend, I get an ordinary call.  I start next week with 6 months to take and pass my exam.  

I hope you're rooting for me and writing down your dreams.  Our unicorns are all within our reach.  We have to define them clearly.  It surely helps to know the exact shape, size and model - it's not a one size fits most. The truth of it however, we seldom know exactly what we want.  If we haven't got the exact specs, we need to define, most importantly, how our unicorn will make us feel, where this unicorn lives and who do we want to introduce it to.  We must remain positive even when our world seems to be crashing around.  We must remain grateful for the lessons we are learning.  We must ready ourselves and we shouldn't be concerned with the how or the why, which is naturally, the most curious thing of all.  We need to draw this unicorn in our minds and keep adding brushstrokes till the image becomes more and more clear.  We need to visualize ourselves riding the unicorn while being grateful for every obstacle that life throws our way.  I assure you, this is no easy task.  Falling hurts and getting up is extremely difficult, but I want to ride unicorns.  Do you?