Sunday in downtown New York City. There are not many days when we can just linger without a plan; mama and her cubs in the big city. I mean the big city is home, but still, exploring a neighborhood which is not ours (anymore) always offers a fresh perspective. .
I was pregnant with the teenager on 9/11/2001 and the 8-year-old was born in downtown; blocks from the Freedom Tower. She watched it being built slowly, one story at a time. .
Last year for her birthday we all went up to the Observation Tower. It was stunning, but I clung onto the walls for dear life because I’m terrified of heights. But that view; all of our glorious city on display. I felt like Mufasa, showing Simba his land for the first time. “You see, as far as there, that’s all NYC…” All the boroughs and parks and bridges were on display like a miniature Lego city. .
Today was one of those days we’ll always remember because the skies were so blue and the sun was too warm on our bare legs and the kids jumped in front of freedom and we were grateful as hell.
There is so many things I see bursting from this photo.
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I see my son full of joy, wonder, and delight. I can feel the joie de vivre emanating form the image. The sky opened up and rather than seek shelter, he wanted to dance. To celebrate the weather, the earth, and being alive.
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I think he feels very alive at Buck’s Rock Performing Arts Camp. Maybe it’s because he was their Romeo. Maybe it’s because he became HIS (and her) Romeo. I’m vague and metaphorical; I’m a mother of a teenager. I’m allowed.
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Being a teenager is hard; how do you ride the wave when the surf is unpredictable, the world is watching you, and HORMONES are rattling your insides into confusion. Being a good teenager is even harder. I recognize this; I remember this. I am eternally grateful for this. .
Parenting is even harder than teen-aging. I know because I’ve done both and childbirth gives you the power to declare sweeping generalizations such as this. Just because we become parents does not mean we are perfect. We never stop growing as adults and all the situations are new and keep changing and we’re judged so damn hard and did anyone mention there are ZERO DAYS OFF? Like zero minutes really because once you’re a parent, your heart is off beating outside your body, making choices you may not agree with and interacting with other humans in the way you may or may not like, but it’s not up to us anymore. We released the krakens and now we witness their wrath.
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The point of these words? I don’t know. Love. Empathize. Forgive. None of us are perfect and parents trying to live up to an ideal is virtually impossible. We think our kids deserve the world with a cherry on top and we often struggle to deliver it on a silver platter, and when we falter we think we’ve failed. .
But we we think we’ve faltered but we haven’t. Sometimes we just leave the umbrella at home.
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Carry on, young Padawan; keep dancing in the rain. You can handle these puddles (and mother’s metaphors).
This is what most of 365 blog posts printed double sided looks like. In total I wrote over 250,000 words; roughly the length of 4 novels. In 2016 I wrote and blogged an autobiographical story every. single day. .
It was gut-wrenching, vulnerable, exhausting, exhilarating, infuriating, educational, and the biggest kick in the ass I ever chose to give myself.
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After the 365 project, I froze. I crossed the finish line of my self-imposed writing marathon and lingered in an unsettled moment. As if I had jumped off the cliff and while I didn’t crash on the bottom, I didn’t float either. I lingered in a weird middle aged writers purgatory quandary.
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I didn’t properly celebrate the project. Instead, I went off social media and did the opposite of the 365 project. .
The second picture (swipe) is printed blog posts from 2017 and 2018. If you can’t tell, it’s about 170 pages. I still have to go through it and … WHAT? POST IT? Writers can relate to writers block - but can you relate to perfection paralysis so badly it backs up for years? Yes? Oh good.
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I don’t struggle with content creation. I struggle with magically turning words into $$. This is the familiar artist’s plight and the cure for this is unknown but I’m not sure if a popularity contest on instagram is the way to go.
Last night I announced to my husband I don’t plan on watching the 9/11 coverage on all the channels this morning. .
“But it’s important to remember,” he reminded me.
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We both lived in NYC at the time. In fact both of us lived on the exact same block, and didn’t know each other yet. We lived across the street from the Park Avenue armory, the location the city used as a collections site for genetic material for missing people. In other words, people would bring their dead relatives’ hairbrushes and toothbrushes so they can document their genetics in case they were recovered - or for when their bodies (or what remained of them) were found. News vans covered our block and there was not a building not wallpapered with “Missing Person” flyers. .
In those first few days and weeks, I would walk my dog around the block, as if through a haunted living cemetery; the entire city was filled with ghosts in purgatory buried under the steel rubble of terrorism.
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“I don’t need to watch the news coverage to remember,” I reminded my husband. “I remember every time I see a plane out my window. I remember every time I look out my window and see the new Freedom Tower, replacing the skyline which greeted me when I came to this country 40 years ago. I remember every time I see the flag. I remember every time I hear a siren. I remember every time I see a fire fighter. I remember every single I time I drive up 9th Avenue past Mr. Bigg’s, where my co-workers and I sat glued to a TV screen, mouths agape, tears flooding our faces. I remember whenever I eat a cinnamon raisin bagel, the same one I ate that morning.”
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No, I don’t need to watch the news coverage to remember.
I will never forget the moments, the days, this city - OUR CITY during 9/11. It is permanently wedged into my brain, tattooed onto my soul.
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#amwriting #Writer #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #LoveWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritingLife #WritersofIg #NYC #NewYork #NewYorkCity #NeverForget #911 #worldtradecenter #remember911
An a writer still waiting for my published book it’s a weird pride to actually see my name in print - only in a Marvel compendium! .
A dear friend and talented graphic novelist used my name (and personality???) as inspiration for the mega villain Crimson Dynamo, who my husband describes, for the lay, non Marvel nerd, is the “Russian Ironman.” I’m not sure if this puts me as six degrees from Robert Downey Junior, but if it does, swoon! .
Galina, the Crimson Dynamo, is the 13th character to wear the armor, but is the first female! Thanks, David!
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#amwriting #marvel #superheroes #crimsondynamo #women #writerslife #ironman #russian @olbcomic @robertdowneyjr #writingcommunity #unpublishednotunemployed
John Lennon stamps released September 8, 2018.
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I was a Beatles fan before I was even a music fan. I didn’t yet know the genius of John Lennon. In fact I first knew of the other Lenin, the one on my birth coin in lieu of my birth certificate, but I digress.
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My favorite quote is by John Lennon: “life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.” It’s from the song “Beautiful Boy,” which I played for my son every night until he outgrew good night rituals. .
I think back to some exhausting childhood days and remember wishing nighttime would hurry and arrive so I can get him into bed and we can both listen to the song soothe us; a melodic salve on the day. .
When I divorced my son’s father, the greatest struggle was NOT having my son sleep in my house every single day. I would lose him for half the week and one of my comforts was no matter in which bed he laid his head, he would be lulled to sleep by “Beautiful Boy.”
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This is what John Lennon is to me. Also I love a good ombré stamp.
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#amwriting #johnlennon #johnlennonstamp #parenthood #beautifulboy #writerslife #motherhood #bedtime #beatles
Asbury Park has a special artsy, colorful, rock n’ roll New Jersey vibe and we had a couple of quintessential days this summer. .
Here I am VERY LATE TO THE GAME (See: Lifelong Late Bloomer) attempting the @sir_twitch_alot #airsitchallenge in front of some very awesome street murals.
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I’m not a dancer or athletic, but here I pretend it doesn’t matter. I also learned flip flops are NOT the correct footwear for successfully landing such Olympic-quality jumps! Also I learned shorts would be good under a dress. Perverts, please do not zoom in. .
I continue to jump through life as if I have a trampoline and assume there is a safety net. Keep on, keeping on, right? .
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#writersofinstagram #writerslife #AmWriting
#LoveWriting #WritingLife #familytravel #Traveling
#Exploring #Wanderlust #FamilyTravels #TravelingWithKids #FamilyTravelTribe #familyTravelMoment #adventure #adventuregram
#iamatraveler #jumping #streetart #mural #asburypark #newjersey #jerseyshore .
@asburyparkboardwalk @asburyparknow @asburyparkpress @asbury.park
Body Image.
This is what my body looks like after 44 years, 2 kids, and some neurosis.
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Ten years ago I wrote something about how I viewed my body (https://heartseverywhere.com/2008/09/15/my-body-through-my-eyes/).
A decade later I feel differently, but not perfectly, about my body.
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Today I witness my teenager’s friends battle body image - and with my seasoned eyes, it pains me. They haven’t grown to see the beauty in a healthy body. They don’t yet have a life-filter to fuzz over their harsh criticisms of their reflections. .
So many women are me, with my eyes.
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We see flaws as imperfections, not characteristics. We see age as a negative, not as experience, which is ironic because in job searching, we strive to appear more accomplished, more mature, but for life, we long to be grey-free, wrinkle-free, cellulite-free. .
But that’s not how it works.
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Age is a gift. Time is a miracle. With days, there is gravity, there is a genetic programming, there is environment, there is living and this living leaves scars and imprints of joy and sadness and memory.
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All of this is evidenced on our bodies. .
As long as we’re alive and pain-free, we need to remember the miracle of our beating hearts, expanding lungs, purifying kidneys. As long as we’re alive, we have to remember that our bodies are perfectly imperfect.
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Lucky for me, this is NOT how my husband sees me; he just sees me as perfect.
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Cheers to 44 in a string bikini on a beach on Montauk and letting it all fly.
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#bodyimage #bikinibody #loveyourbody #embraceaging #montauk #beach #stringbikini #amwriting #Writer #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritersOfig #WritersCommunity #selfesteem
This is at the 3rd Annual Rock and Roll Car Show at Overpeck Park in Leonia, NJ.
There were hundreds of very diligent car owners flaunting their shiny cars. This was a middle-aged sausage fest, with men drooling over hot rods under the hot sun to the tunes of Classic Rock.
I took 96 pictures (in landscape rather than portrait because I apparently use a cameraphone like it’s my 35mm film camera from 1996) in hopes of sharing them in my inaugural batch of Instagram Stories. However, when I wanted to share the photos in Stories, they’re all cropped on the sides. So here are some which fit a square.
Incidentally, red lipstick and short jean shorts were well received by car enthusiasts young and old.
#rockandrollcarshow #q1043 #Writer #Writers #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #LoveWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritersOfig #WritersCommunity #ILoveWriting #AuthorLife #WritersCorner #WritersCommunity #NeedAnAgent #WritingLife #instagramstories #instagramfail #cars #car #classiccar #carshow #hotrod #antiquecars @q1043
My husband is a real life superhero. Not metaphorically, literally. For the last 23 years he has made at least 5 hospital visits a week, bringing the pain-numbing magic of laughter, to thousands of children a year. This is not a high-paying job, as most superheroes aren’t fortunate enough to garner wages from their generous services. “With great power, comes great responsibility.” My awe of this work doesn’t fade, it only intensifies. The colors he spreads become more saturated; his work even more poignant.
Last night we watched one of my favorite movies, “Mr. Holland’s Opus.” If you haven’t seen it, it’s definitely on my Top Ten. The final scene, which has me sobbing EVERY SINGLE TIME, reminds me every time that one day I dream of creating this moment for my husband. A grand opus where his symphony is the laughter of healthy children all around him, celebrating his genius, his unique style of medicine, and the life of a clown.
These pics were at an event overlooking our alma mater, NYU. I thought my pictures were ho-hum when I took them, and upon further reflection, I realize they’re nothing but magic.
#Writer #Writers #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #LoveWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritersOfig #WritersCommunity #ILoveWriting #AuthorLife #writerscorner #WritersCommunity #NeedAnAgent #WritingLife #clown #clowns #clownlife #nyuhospital #healingchildren #laughtermedicine #looneylenny @hammermania #nyc #washingtonsquare #magic #laughter #superhero
What is a writer? Ask me on any day and I’ll spew a dozen random answers. ——-
Here’s today’s list: ——-
• The phrase from Hamilton: An American Musical, “why do you write like you’re running out of time?” makes you cry.
• When you reread your written words, you occasionally can’t believe you wrote that. You never cease being amazed by the magic of how words magnetically attached themselves together, formed sentences and made you stop and say, “Holy shit, I wrote that?!” • You tattooed the word “writer” on yourself because for the rest of your life, if you cannot support yourself financially with words, and have to sell your soul to someone else who will buy your time, you will forever look down at the banished mark on your skin and remember YOU ARE A WRITER.
• The phrase, “you bleed words onto a page” does not feel like a metaphor. • You write dialog for silent people at dinner. And on the train.
• You thought you sat down to write a few words, but look down to realize it’s 2,000 words - or ten documents. • Your heart lives in perpetual state of heartbreak that your words are not valued financially - or else at the economic situation of writers. The concept of supply and demand apparently applies to writers and artists and it feels like too many talented people is a problem.
• You spend eternity hustling because you cannot imagine doing anything else.
• You have to be your own Fairy God Mother (aka Public Relations Machine.)
• Doubt will never ever leave your shoulder; it will exist like a perpetual fictional animated alien disguised as your conscious, like Kazoo from the Flintstones.
Ink by @mnsantanatattoo
#Writer #Writers #WritersLife #Writing #AmWriting #LoveWriting #Words #WritersOfInstagram #WritersOfig #WritersCommunity #ILoveWriting #AuthorLife #WritersCorner #WritersCommunity #NeedAnAgent #WritingLife
#tattoo #ink #finelinetattoo #floraltattoo #writertattoo
“The miracle is not to fly in the air, or to walk on the water, but to walk on the earth.”- Chinese proverb
——- My daughter shared this quote with me because I doodle quotes compulsively. Also to remind me what needs remembering. Children are more than our purpose, they are eternal teachers; we just have to remain open and lifetime learners. ———
I love Central Park and have spent countless hours walking its paths, getting lost, and photographing thousands of flowers. I never take for granted the complicated, intricate beauty of nature’s blossoms - but yet I don’t do anything with these images either. ——- I’m collecting these images, which are really just jumbled bits and bytes on some electronic device. But when I scroll through these colored, silky petals, I remember of the miracle of being alive, of walking through a park, of taking pictures of fauna. ——- Carry on and do your best to remember every day is a miracle. ——- #flowers #floralfauna #photography #nyc #centralpark #amwriting #writing #writersofinstagram #lifeisamiracle
So now I’m playing Instagram “catch-up,” which other (cooler, hipper) people refer to as “TBT.” I’m going to be throwing it back for a while, catching up on ten months of being an Instagram ghost. You know why? Because “Instant” gram isn’t really that anymore. —— It’s “Later Gram” and “Flashback to Baby Pictures Gram” and “I’m a Movie Maker through my Stories Gram” and “I make Memes Gram” and “Let Me Rally My Followers to … Gram.” So the medium has evolved to match the masses and I beat to the rhythm of my own drum anyway. (Sound familiar, @snowjedi6?) I have wanted to see COME FROM AWAY since it came out early last year. —— THIS SHOW. THIS CAST. THIS MUSIC. THIS STORY. For anyone living in NYC during 9/11, this show will make you weep no fewer than five times. To anyone alive during 9/11, this story will make you feel better about humanity (AND CANADA). For anyone who wasn’t alive during 9/11 (both my kids), but who have beating hearts, THIS SHOW IS FLAWLESS.
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There are stories within stories; a glorious heart in them all.
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Jenn Colella, who plays Beverley Bass, the third female commercial airline pilot hired by American Airlines in 1976, and went on to become the very first female captain in 1986. The song “Me and the Sky” will have any female weeping for our gender and saluting this actress who so beautifully tells this story through song every single night. Also thank you for posing with sweaty me.
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These pictures are not great or filtered but the memory of this show will live vividly in my mind, heart, memory. THANK YOU, Come From Away.
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@wecomefromaway @jenncolella #comefromaway #broadway #broadwaymusical #nyc #theatre #theater #jenncolella #911 #canada #gander #newfoundland #tbt #instagramghost #amwriting #writersofinstagram #writing
One of my proudest moments all summer. All life, actually.
My son, the Actor, spent his second summer at Buck’s Rock Creative & Performing Arts Camp, (which is, for artists, a magical Haven, and which deserves a dozen other separate posts). So my son was Romeo and OF COURSE he was phenomenal. Of course he was.
#actorslife #actor #romeoandjuliet #romeo #shakespeare #teenactor #bucksrockcamp @bucksrockcamp @snowjedi6
This is 44.
This is my first post in 295 days.
I’ve always been such a perfectionist that when too many days elapsed between posts, I decided I had failed at Instagram and wanted to scrap the whole medium. Screw it all! (How’s that for an “all or nothing” person?”) I figured it was just a matter of time before I'd delete the time-sucking, brain-squeezing app altogether. Only, I didn’t.
I stopped posting, but I continued to be a voyeur. Then I ceased commenting too because I thought without posting photos, am I really entitled to post comments? (NOPE, I told myself.) Then, I stopped clicking the HEARTS. (Of course unless it was my son, who, within minutes of posting, would harass me, ‘Mom, like my post!’) I was an Instagram ghost, and to make that official, I went and made myself PRIVATE. (Because clearly I don’t abide by the DGAF rule and I still somehow CARE if a random stranger stumbles upon my profile and sees I haven’t posted in 300 days.) Furthermore, this Instagram ghost, who at one time was an avid amateur photographer, stopped taking photos altogether. I’d snap one or two out of societal or self-posted obligation, but never posted (because I’m never good enough). Please note this was a solely, self-imposed ridiculous Insta-ettique rule I created for myself.
But this also felt fake. Like a concert goer who doesn’t stand or dance or scream. Or worse, a wedding guest who doesn’t dance!
That wasn’t me. That isn’t me.
So, with time, distance, and little forgiveness - and a grand urge to document (journalist major), remember and be able to play in the same field as my teenager - I’m dipping back in.
However infrequently. However imperfectly.
#WritersofInstagram #AmWriting #WelcomeBack #InstragramGhost #Latergram #SocialBreak #FuckPerfect
