On Where the Wild Things Are

Later in Life.

As we get older, the carelessness of our childhood (in which stuffed animals accompanied us to the grocerystore / doctorsoffice / kindergarten and looking both ways before we crossed was literally/unheard/of) is quickly replaced with Fear and Loathing for the unpredictable. As adults, we double check locks, stand on the traffic-less curbs, and cringe at the prospect of staying up past bedtime. Until our birthdays come around, which we use as opportunities to regress, adult-style, to our uninhibited pasts by bungee jumping off cliffs in far/away/places, wearing silly birthday hats in front of Perfect Strangers, and annihilating wrapping paper with the gusto of the 60's/70's/80's/90's(?). But only for 24-hours, after which we return to the calculated path of precaution and prospect. Enjoy!

On Living Each Day As If

Easier Said Than Done.

Living each day to the fullest and actually doing so are two very different things. Perhaps it's the potentially infinite number of hours and minutes of a lifetime that makes savoring all the moments (as if they were the last) a recipe for our cups (overflowing with nostalgia and sentimentality) to runneth over. But then, and thankfully so, moments appear in which loss/joy/fear/love is frightening close and we are reminded that our pulses are not everlasting and eternity is just another riddle about the "letter E."

(The beginning of eternity,
the end of time and space
The beginning of every end,
and the end of every place.
What am I?)

Enjoy!

On Our Alter Egos

Online and Off.

Perhaps our divergent selves, ridden with various levels of self-consciousness depending on where we are or who we're with, is simply just that: the person we choose to be in that given moment. In this regard, the internet - facebook, twitter, blogs - is no different than, say, a Halloween costume or masquerade mask (for all those balls we go to) in which our alter egos are free to break the mold of our daily responsibilities, or a business suit worn on the rare but occasional job interview during which we sit up straighter and make sure to groom our nails beforehand. What these moments have in common is our awareness of being scrutinized and judged, a hope of being admired and accepted, and a secret fantasy of lying on a beach with a martini and a good novel. Enjoy!

On Emerging Adulthood

And Theories About Life.

Did you know that the creation of Junior High School was the result of the addition of Adolescence to the human stages of development in the mid 1900's, when psychologists realized that the pangs and frustrations distinct to teens deserved recognition? Today, psychologists are back at the drawing board to contemplate the pangs experienced by, well, us. And by us I mean the early and late 20-somethings who move in with mom and dad instead of buying their own home, who break up with their boyfriends and girlfriends instead of walking down the aisle, who feel bored and uninspired by theirs jobs and, so, leave for a brief stint in South America, and who cringe at the thought of being thrown their own baby shower as they puruse their college roommate's wish list with simultaneous adoration and disgust. Read this article and find comfort in the fact that you're not alone, unless you're turning 30, in which case you need to brace yourself for "the age 30 deadline" which will make you feel about as good as you do when you're 20-something friends talk too-loudly under their breaths about "so and so who just turned 30!" with fear and disbelief that the person didn't drop dead immediately. Enjoy!

On My Grandmother's Bat Mitzvah

Grandma Paula: Second from the Right.

You can hear all about it tomorrow on NBC news, when all the grandmothers will be interviewed. Ironically, I was the only member of my family who did not participate in this coming-of-age ceremony back when it was age-appropriate (and, yes, I still get grief about it), or so I thought until now. Not so ironically, Grandma Paula was also the bearer of bad news in the late 80's when she confessed (not so politely) that Santa Claus was a myth, but made up for it with first-class matzah ball soup and chocolate milk at breakfast when mom said no. Mazel Tov, Grandma, and good luck tomorrow, but maybe save the myth-busters for your great (unborn) grand children. Enjoy!

On Not So Sur(e)Names

Pick a Name, Any Name.

Although it sounds strange when the syllables roll off our own tongues, hearing our names said aloud in a non-perfunctory cadence is music to our ears. Our names define us in consistent and relevant ways as our physical features evolve, our relationships change, and the world around us abandons. So when we feel betrayed/discouraged/orevenashamed by our names, the implications date back to our ancestral roots and the consequences can be fierce. Alternately, the potential for connectedness is equally powerful, to the strangersinthephonebook / popstars /keychains-toothbrushes-licenseplates (or, in my case, math/science/history class) with personal shout-outs. To say I know a lil' something on this matter is like saying Einstein was the worst math student ever. Enjoy!

On the Kindness of Strangers

A Little Goes A Long Way.

There are some people in this world whose eyelashes hardly flutter when called upon to lend a helping hand, and our gratitude knows no bounds, especially since it's not necessarily in our own nature to volunteer without hesitancy or skepticism. For instance, in my case, when I spent four years working with homeless families in a shelter and relied solely on volunteers to do, well, everything (sort through hundreds of donated books during happy hour, play with toddlers on their days off, chaperone after school trips to local museums, serve food during holidays), I was baffled by the generosity of my family, friends, friends of friends, and perfect strangers, all of whom jumped at the opportunity to lend a hand. The truth was, I'd never volunteered a day in my life! And yet, I soon learned what they yearned for in return, and to express my thanks, promised them the smiling faces of children whose life circumstances were replaced by absorption of a great novel, melodies of sesame street songs, big, red fire trucks, and endless turkey feasts. To them I say Thanks for teaching me that the kindness of strangers goes a very long way. Enjoy!

On the Mayorship of the Nets

And, Yes, I Do Mean Foursquare.

My first 'serious' experience with Mayoral status updates was on facebook last week, when I noticed a (real) friend (whose preoccupation with the iphone, especially at the dinner table, often tests the limitations of our friendship) post her recent political accomplishments: she was finally elected Mayor. I debated about whether or not to care, to understand what this meant, to indulge this internet preoccupation with an application I was nearly sure wasted valuable brain cells, and in a quick moment I moved on. After all, to indulge would be to give in. And then this article came along. While reading the first few paragraphs, my blood boiled with animosity towards the people who would rather play mind-numbing internet games than pay attention to the world around them, and isn't enough time spent in front of a screen these days anyway? I wondered how many of my own conversations (with friends/family/colleagues) are interrupted by the importance of mayoral status amongst strangers (unbeknownst to me), and felt an impulse to cancel all my upcoming happy hour plans as a preventative measure. But then, something changed. As the psychology behind this application unfolded (in the article), my innate tendency for competition took hold (the one that banned me from family board games), and all of a sudden my long-standing, purposeless rage against technology was replaced by a new innate need to become Mayor. Do you have to be voted in? Can I pay someone off? If you vote for me, I'll rescind all my technology-bashing blog entries to date and buy an iphone today. Einstein for Mayor, I'm serious. Enjoy!

On Believing in Fate

Until You Don't Have To.

Remember the excitement and anxiety of that good ol' day when the details (land line and home address, to be exact) of your faceless, pre-determined (without technology, of course) college roommate(s) arrived in the mail within weeks of your first days away from home? Perhaps you rushed to the telephone, only to leave a message with the unknown voice on the receiving end, the first of many clues (father? brother? step-brother?), and then obsessively checked the counter for post-its in the afternoons that followed, searching for the letters that resembled the name-or nickname-of your future best friend/child'sgodparent/frenemy (only time would tell). When you finally did get in touch, you exchanged lists of dorm necessities (I'll bring the tv if you bring the blow dryer, since the college version of myself like totally blow dries her goldie-locked, unmanageable curls) and, in your mind, planned the details of your first year away together (the soggy Ramen, the hot twins across the hall, the clothes you would share). And when the year was over, you'd look back on the memories that did-or did not-happen and marvel at fate's tendencies to bring together the closest-or farthest-of companions, which would stay with you well into adulthood (even if only at heart). Today, however, fate's hand is limited, as technology has allowed us to manipulate the endless possibilities of chance in a world that has become unromantically predictable. Yet another strike against it. Enjoy!

On the Challenges (and Benefits) of Unwinding

Read this Article and Prove Me Wrong.

Within the span of one month, both my new and old roommates admitted to an oncoming, major life change: upgraded cell phones. They are, in my humble opinion, abandoning me and my internet-less, service-weary, thorn in (our) side, pathetic excuse for a (cell) phone for instant access to email, gps, and (give it time) Foursquare. And when theyandothers assure me that they are different from the masses (yeah, sure), my response is simple: Prove Me Wrong. Until I can get through a meal in which even the simplest cell phone doesn't nag at my dinner companion's back pocket, or their "work" email doesn't trump our heated happy-hour debate (is there even such a thing anymore?), my anxiety about a future without uninterrupted conversation or sans meaningful eye contact will continue to fester. If only the urgency to be needed/desired/calledupon on the nets could be replaced by the urgency to be lookedat/listenedto/andreallytrulyheard. The Times, They (sure) Are A'Changin'. Enjoy!

On Summer Camp Traditions

For Camp and Non-Camp Folks, Alike.

Summer camp brings an indescribable sense of self, gratitude, acceptance, and joy understood only by other camp people. And we'll incessantly attempt to explain the unexplainable, to our loved ones / friends / anyone-willing-to-look-at-or-listen-to-hours-of: camp photo albums filled with sentimentality; lyrics of cheers sung in dining halls during, oh, just lunchtime because that's what camp people do; trips to the infirmary in which being sick is just as fun as the missed cabin-activity; and stories of the moments in between where unexpected friendships are forged, secrets are shared, first kisses are had, people fall in love, mohawks are shaved, shirts are tie-dyed, swim tests are avoided, camp fires are burned, scavengers are hunted, and penpalships are maintained out of obligation because, let's face it, who has time to write letters? There are few milestones in the lives of us camp people that mirror the anticipation felt on the drive towards camp at the start of the summer before our newest memories are forged, or the heartache shared during the inevitable tearful goodbyes, weeks or months later, in which lifelong promises of friendship and love are exchanged and, even if they don't work out, the sentiments are the most sincere and honest as any other promise to come. Enjoy!

On Making It Work

Same Destinations, Different Destinies.

A few years ago, in an effort to dispense wisdom on relationship challenges, my father shared one of his secrets to a successful marriage-"The first ten years are 90% work and 10% play"-which made me wonder, How much work is too much work?, especially considering (according to him) the amount of work needed in the first place. And then throw in the complexities multiplied by diverging careers, contrasting religions, and/or potential babysitters in the form of in-laws located on opposite sides of the country, and all of a sudden singledom takes on a new glow which sharply contrasts with wedding vows and baby clothes, and vanishes from your memory (in a near single moment) the dating horror stories of your 20's and 30's which made cleaning your apt/house/car/clothes a preferred alternative on a Friday night. And, yet, we do it anyway because sharing a life with another person-to grow and change together, to create and learn, and to support and love one another-makes the rest of the 'work' feel like a walk in the park. Enjoy!

On Beauty

In the Eye of the Beholder?

When we feel attraction, we can't deny it. Sometimes, though, the people and things we find ourselves attracted to contradict our norm and we end up feeling more disconcerted than delighted. Here's an explanation on why we crave and cringe the things we do, which, not surprisingly, relates to our we see ourselves in the world. Enjoy!

On Epsicles and Dubble Gum

A History Worth Noting.

RIP Cheez Doodle Inventor Man. When I recently asked a friend to pick up Cheez Doodles for my BBQ, he showed up with Cheetos instead. (The horror!) I acted graciously, of course, but my disappointment was difficult to kick, especially since i was a 'puffed' doodle devotee and the Cheetos, if nothing else, attempt to imitate the 'crunchy' kind. Nevertheless, I spent the following week going through all three party-sized Cheetos bags and, on occasion, closed my eyes to enjoy the thick layer of cheese encrusted around my fingertips as if I was back on my stoop with my twenty-five cent Cheez Doodles bag, savoring the moments before homework time. Enjoy!

On the DMV Blues

Worst Story Ever.

My own dreadful associations with the DMV date back to vocabulary drills when I employed images associated with each word to better designate them to memory. I'm reminded of a 'tacit agreement' when greeted with a wink or nod from a stranger or otherwise. 'Indelible ink,' the color of (vampire) blood, destroyed my beloved, over-priced, off-white jacket last fall and, no, I'm not over it, can't you tell? And 'perfunctory desk clerks' soullessly greet each exacerbated patron at the DMV in [insert city of your choice] as if following the same script that instructs them to 'be the worst person you can be.' In a more perfect world, I'd rewrite that script, replacing 'worst' with 'ostentatious','omniscient', and 'euphonious' and then stay at the DMV just because it made life better. Enjoy!

On the Case of the Funky Furniture

Problem Solved, Case Closed.

As a child, our fastastical adventures around treasure island (aka the backyard) to rescue the kidnapped princess (aka younger sibling, gender irrelevant) and find the hidden treasure (aka dill pickles) was totally acceptable, until one day it wasn't. Just as we outgrew trick-or-treating and exchanged the world-of-make believe ('college','office', 'house') for the real deal, playing detective stopped being appropriate, and the small pleasures in (real) life took precedent. So when the infrequent mystery presents itself, the detectives in us teachers/artists/game-show-hosts jump on the opportunity to rediscover our roots, in spite of the inevitable dead ends at (nearly) every corner or the uninspiring truths we occasionally do discover. Enjoy!

On the Things They Carried

Together and Apart.

A son's mother is a force to be reckoned with (by the wife/to-be) no matter how many recipes are exchanged and trips to the mall/museum/sharedapartment are had. Navigating her ins and outs is more gray than any other rainbow shade, and often a solo adventure in which even the guiding light of your partner can create more dark than illumination. Until that tiny gesture finally arrives, perhaps in the shape of a family secret recipe accompanied by a promise that the secret will be yours, too, one day, or a hug every-so-slightly warmer than the previous one. And the mutual understanding felt becomes the things you carry together, rather than apart, no matter how small or indispensable. Enjoy!

On Proving Your Age

Even When It's Obvious.

Being carded is flattering up until the moment it becomes an inconvenience. But rules are rules and without them, people would be lost (no matter how nonsensical they are). For instance, where would the Kansans be today if they served wine from tea cups? (Yes, that's actually a law.) And if Californian women wore housecoats while driving, the roads would surely crack wide open. And what about the theatre-going lions (and I do mean the animal) in Baltimore, Maryland? Kick them out before someone calls the McNulty! (aka the cops) And so it goes with the world's silliest rules-a huge waste of time but thoroughly entertaining, until that dreaded moment of inconvenience. Enjoy!

On Wanting What We Never Had

And the Magic of Flying Kites.

Sometimes we meet people who make the world around us seem that much less ordinary. Colors appear brighter, music is more profound, and the words on pages we never noticed all of a sudden come to life. To make these moments last forever is unrealistic and yet we search tirelessly for ways to trade them in for eternity. Until one day we look back and feel gratitude instead of heartache for having seized the opportunity to experience life as if it won't last forever. Enjoy!