This. Is. 40.

To be honest, I've put a lot of pressure on myself regarding the Big Birthday Post. I'm not sure what my dear readers want to hear, and I always strive to share what I know will resonate with you the most. This has been a very complicated and layered year, all leading up to my life cycle beginning anew (as it does each day, but the regular days aren't deemed balloon worthy🎈😉). I grappled with the message of this post being one of empowerment, one of gratitude, one of struggle, one about being single. I know readers understandably love stories about divorce. About a woman grabbing herself up by her bootstraps, and going forth with strength and positivity, with honest difficulties sprinkled on top. I like stories like that too. We all find ourselves in places of despair, being held under water while trying so hard to claw our way to the safety and predictability of land. People who are on the precipice of crumbling, but don't. We like these tales because they are at once relatable and hopeful. Anyone claiming to live a shellacked existence is fucked; one day the slightest crack in their armor will send them flying into a tailspin. "Perfect" is a dangerous word. It sets you up for failure. It's those of us who can face shit that will break the surface and hungrily gasp for fresh air, reviving ourselves with a breath so furious that it jolts us back to Life. I have always known  that extreme joy cannot be understood without extreme sadness. I hate the idea that "ignorance is bliss". Ignorance to me is death of the mind, of the spirit, of the self. If you dumb yourself down, how can you possibly know what you need to live a joyful, wondrous, fulfilling life?

Having grown up in a family whose main purpose was to maniacally convey to the world how "perfect" they were, all the while covering up layers of poisonous emotional sediment that would eventually come to bite all of us in the arse, I went the opposite route. I will choose blunt honesty and vulnerability every time. I find such strength in admitting I sometimes feel lost, unmoored, bored, or just plain sad. That is what allows me to be bathed with the wonderful parts of life in such a pure state. From darkness to light, every time. I mean, how good is that first sip of orange juice after Yom Kippur?

I dated someone a couple times who works in the entertainment industry. Our brief relationship went off course when he became fixated on turning my life into a television series for netflix. I have heard this before, which is flattering but would cost my family its privacy. He tried to be all showbiz manipulative by saying ,"You don't realize how important your story is." He was wrong. I know exactly how important and interesting my story is, and I could write Season 1 in a week. I have envisioned every opening and closing credit, and every episode in my head. I know the soundtrack, I have casting ideas. He said, "You are a woman who would not live her life being ignored." I replied, "Well, you're ignoring me right now by not respecting my reasons for not doing this." I feel much safer sharing my story with you via this blog.

Judging by the growth of the blog and the increase of readers from exactly a year ago, it seems we are on the right path together. The blog and I have the same birthday (along with my brother and my dearly departed boxer, Roxy). Celebrating my birthday this year was also a time to look back and reflect on how far Lady Blaga has come as a brand. 40 for me, among so many other things, means I have my own business. Saying I never thought that'd be part of my reality is an understatement. I was raised to be a housewife and nothing more. No one ever wanted more for me, including myself. We believe what we are told. When I started rejecting the story others wrote for me without my permission, that set new paths into motion. Paths I wanted to stay on. Paths I must have always wanted to take, since they wouldn't have materialized without some measure of subconscious intention and desire. Uncovering all that blocks our own wishes and dreams is hard work. It's scary, it can blow your carefully constructed paper life to bits. I swear it's worth it. I am living proof. As I look back on what has unfolded since I'm 39, I am amazed by the power of the partnership between us and the world. The universe so organically wants to steer us towards our dreams, but it can't tell us what our dreams are. That's up to us. It's both daunting and empowering to know that our entire life is in our own hands. The past year I have occasionally wept with gratitude at our ability to heal ourselves. The level of freedom and love we have the potential to feel is infinite. I have learned I am enough, that I am my own home. Being married or single is irrelevant to that fact.

I was on the beach today, envisioning something I'll say to a man when I'm one day sitting on a beach with him. This was the conversation I imagined: after he asks me how I'm enjoying the vacation, I say this, "Everything else is secondary to being here with you." Then I quickly said the same exact thing to myself. I burst into an a thousand watt grin as I looked up at the sky. Oh man, do I want Love. I dream about it every minute of every day. I was built for it. It doesn't scare me, as I know it does many people. That to me is like being afraid of a butterfly, and who doesn't delight in watching a beautiful butterfly flapping peacefully about? However this year has been a lesson in learning to love myself. I am not entirely there yet. I need to remind myself constantly that I deserve the kind of love I'd so easily give to others. I feel sad for myself that I don't know that, that I have to re pattern by meditating on being worthy of receiving. Why wasn't that instilled in me before?? I had to be 39 before I started to fight for myself. It is my right. But as I said before, that sadness has led to tremendous growth, since it has taught me so much about myself. Every lesson is important. When we are happy we think everything is great, so we don't look to learn. Why search when all is peachy? It is only in a dark room that we feel around for the light switch.

I spoke to my kids last night about how though I want love, it doesn't mean that sitting in Mexico with them on this beach, at this exact moment, is anything but perfect. About how life is a constant balance of looking forward while loving the present. Always reaching while standing strong, steady, and firm. I said the speech with tears and snot pouring out of me.  I dreamt for many years about running away with my kids to a beach. I have laughed with many girlfriends who have had this same fantasy. To be mothers amongst Mother Nature. Well, here I am. With these four humans who were selected to enter the world through my body. Out of the billions of souls, these were given to me. They are the four chambers of my heart. This doesn't mean my heart can't fit in others. Two years ago the thought of boarding a plane alone would have filled me with anxiety. Today, at 40, I took my four kids with several suitcases to another country by myself. Zero nerves.  It was the calmest I'd ever been before a trip, and the least I'd ever packed. I feel beautiful and natural. I am wearing no makeup, and am taking about five minutes to get dressed. I feel happy and safe. I am awash with gratitude at my ability to grow. I am proud of how my kids know they are all I need to be loving this vacation. I feel strong, fluid, and cared for by the universe. I trust myself, while knowing I will make many more mistakes.

As Rogue, one of my DJ friends told me ,"Mistakes are awesome. That's how we learn." She was talking about DJing but her thought impacted me deeply. I had always felt the need to be perfect. I feared error. Now I embrace it. As I look back on photos of myself at 20 and 30, I beam. I have never looked or felt better in my life. I have carved a place for myself in the world, and I'm not putting that chisel down ever. I have a renewed zest for life that I feel every day. I walk around each day thinking that today could be the day I meet Him. I am alive with possibility. It's enthralling. Perhaps the most important lesson I've learned is that He isn't revealing Himself to me until I strengthen my own vibration. The right kind of love, the stuff of fairy tales I'm certain exists, will find me at the right time. It will be delivered to me, no signature required, though I will be waiting calmly by the door. Not because I need it, because I want it. And because I want it, it will happen.  And you, dearest readers, will get one hell of a story. So this is 40, eh? Education, strength, inner peace, trust, love, hope, accomplishments, proof, wonder, excitement. I didn't have most of those things when I was younger. I have earned my happiness, and I will keep fighting for it, sometimes peacefully and sometimes with force. We are born every single day. January 19, 1978 was the day my soul met my body, but that's it. I celebrate myself each morning with new breath. The reason the start of this decade is so major for me, is that every dark tunnel I crawled through has led me to this place of light. The past is always over, no matter how good or bad it was. Key word; was. Key word; is. This, Friends, is Me. I just happen to be 40 at the moment... You have no fucking idea how amazing you are, Lady Blaga

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

On any given day we can look back to where we were a year prior. This need not wait until New Years, a birthday, or any other calendar time marker. Every day belongs to a place in time where you were a year ago. Well, a year ago I was freaking the F out because out of NOWHERE I lost eight inches of my hair. It occurred within six weeks, start to finish. On thanksgiving it was long and luxurious. Right after that it started falling out and weakening, and by mid December it  was significantly lacking. The selfies I took on my way out the door to the club on New Years were alarming. I was baffled. What happened???

I was devastated. Having lost two thirds of my hair in high school due to a vicious case of psoriasis on my head, hair is a major topic for me. That time it took four long years to grow back. Like this time, back then it was ALL I thought about. All I'd look at on other girls. What I'd maniacally stare at in the pages of magazines. I was hair obsessed. We tend to fixate on what we are lacking, and so my brain was tuned to the hair channel 24/7. It was excruciating, being in the throes of adolescence. I had bald spots that I'd strategically cover. Damn, it was depressing. I never thought I'd have to go through that again.

Then I went through the typical post baby hair loss four times, but everyone does. It's so hard collecting drain piles while feeling helpless. So much of a woman's vanity is tied to our hair. For better or worse, we care a lot about our manes. This time around, just as I was feeling ready to soon explore the dating world, I was frantic. I was all set to embrace my soon to be single status and this derailed that. I had worked so incredibly hard to make sense of the next chapter of my life, had a positive attitude, and was in the right frame of mind. I felt robbed of a fresh start. The first question  anyone asks during hair loss is "are you stressed?" Um, no, I really wasn't. I was truly in a place of peace and contentment. My divorce wasn't public, and my ex and I were going through it together in a unified manner. It was the least stressed I'd been in a very long time. However, the several doctors I cried to all said that it takes the body six months to process emotional trauma. Bingo. My hair breakage was exactly six months after the summer, a period of tremendous anguish. I was certain this was the result of something massively internal. I know my body well. Living with ulcerative colitis since I'm 11, which is triggered by stress, seasonal shifts, and hormonal zig zags (pregnancy and post pregnancy), I've learned how to read my body's signals and reactions. Breaking eight inches of hair in just a few weeks had very little to do with the hair itself. It was greater than that.

It's very scary when we are faced with having no control over our lives. At a time when I finally felt in the driver's seat, the bus was once again forgetting to pick me up. My yoga teacher told me it's just external and doesn't matter. Um... I'm not nearly as evolved as her. IT KINDA MATTERED😫. I wanted my haaaaaiiiiiiirrrrrr😢.  I frantically did all sorts of research on hair growth. I'm by nature a very proactive person. I react. Strongly. I believe in proactively solving what I can. I can dwell, mull, dissect, and rehash with the best of em (a habit I'm unlearning since it traps us in the past) but I respond. I'm like this by nature, but it's also a result of my entire life; since childhood I've been on my own emotionally in every way. I've had to make things happen for myself. I have always had to be my own safety net. It's why I'm good in a crisis. It's why I can be that safety net for others. We provide for others what we ourselves lacked.  Shitty circumstances force us to rise to the occasion. Such as this one. I'd never googled this much in my life. I found all these Indian hair gurus on You Tube. Those women know what's up; their hair is their livelihood. The best wigs come from that part of the world. They are hair magicians, and I sought their secrets. I want to share with you some of what seemed to be consistent among the women I found. There are many hair bloggers, You Tubers, and experts from all over. I didn't spend too much time looking far and wide, I had no patience for that. I jumped on the first few I saw who felt right to me. I didn't question anything they said, from putting curry in my hair,  to all the vitamins I've since taken religiously, to rubbing my fingers together to activate stem cells in my head. My daughter laughed at the last one. She said when she did it she just got a headache. Aha! It caused some kind of reaction! All they said was law.

I dutifully listened, determined to expedite the restoration of my mane. The vitamins that they all seemed to swear by are: folic acid, B 12, A, E, D, and iron, which I take anyway. I also found VIVISCAL in my research and take that too. Why not throw in Biotin? Twice weekly I made a mixture of various oils and spices and slept in it. Sexy. At first I followed exact measurements but now once a week I'll make my own concoction. The ingredients in the hair mask varied, but the common ones were coconut oil, castor oil, avocado oil, curry powder, mustard powder, and peppermint oil. I also used this Indian plant powder my friend CR got me from her yoga teacher. As I said, I was all in. Today I'll throw in an egg for protein, honey as a humectant, and occasionally a banana for moisture. I no longer sleep in the mask, which was so gross, but I'll keep it in for an hour. It's insanely nourishing. Nothing grows if its not healthy. My hair was broken and uneven, but I had to restore its health if there was going to be any movement in the right direction. I also have myself twice daily head massages to stimulate the follicles.

The most important thing I learned from this was to increase yoga. Until then I'd been doing once a week private healing sessions. Needing to increase blood flow to my head by being upside down was essential. Makes sense, but a yoga class is typically an hour and fifteen minutes, a hard time block to commit to several times a week. I've never been an early riser, but there was this 6:15!!!! Sunrise class that would not cut into the rest of my day. The only way to force myself out of bed at that ungodly hour was to stop going to bed so late. The only way to stop going to bed so late was to put down my stupid phone. Basically, I had to change my whole schedule. I was ready. I just did it. I didn't deliberate, I didn't complain, I just did it.  This was new as well; not deliberating or complaining and just going with the flow. Pretty much everyone I know bitches and moans about everything. It's habit. I never knew otherwise, so I never noticed it. I can barely tolerate it anymore. It's unpleasant on the ear. I also purchased a very expensive light stimulating baseball hat that I wore three times a week. I was hoping to resemble Doc Brown in Back to the Future. Instead it was a black baseball cap from Chernobyl. If I looked at it I was blinded. I hid it from my kids so they wouldn't hurt their eyes out of curiosity. Supposedly this hat is all the rage among aging Hollywood actors. Great🙄.

I started drinking a tbsp of coconut oil daily, wanting to nourish my insides and eliminate whatever toxins were lurking inside. I took numerous steam showers so I could just be enveloped in moisture. I wanted to become the opposite of dry and brittle, both literally and figuratively. I wanted growth, health, newness, a fresh start. I rubbed coconut oil into my skin (until I broke out in places I didn't know one could break out in). My sole focus was wellness. And it felt calm and right. It felt so nice to take such loving, educated care of myself. No one has ever tended to me like that. As I said, I've always had to provide for myself. That's not victim-y, it's just fact.   

Well, a year later my hair still needs to grow several more inches but I love its current length. It's shiny and healthy. I've never had shiny hair before! My vitamin regimen gives me a noticeable glow that people have stopped me on the street about. The yoga has impacted my life in ways I never thought possible. The morning classes are not always easy to wake up for, but fill me with energy, joy, strength, and flexibility. My studio has become a place of refuge. The notion of going to sleep at a decent time and not falling into the iPhone vortex for three hours at night was a needed change. I still do that sometimes, cuz I'm a girl in 2018, but it's a crappy feeling. At least now I know better. Then I didn't even think it was a problem.  I learned how to take care of my hair as I do other parts of me. I learned when to clarify and when to nourish, and I'm not just referring to hair. So many people lose the quality of their hair as they age. It thins, cracks, loses its luster. They give up on it, chalking it up to aging. Maybe there are other factors to consider besides getting older in numbers. Maybe it's indicative of a deeper drying up... That can be brought back to life... I learned that Spring always follows Winter. There are seasons for everything. There are times when the trees are bleak and barren, but then the leaves do grow back. It takes patience but it happens. For all things a season. We reap what we sew. Output from input.     

Because I'm Lady Blaga, I must leave you with an honest, self deprecating anecdote from this challenging time. One night I was sleeping in a shower cap covering my stinky curry oil mask, while wearing an adult diaper since my period was what can only be described as a "murder scene". I called my friend SF, described the scenario, and said, "Gentleman, take a number."   

❤️, the 🐝

A year ago I...

I lost eight inches of my hair due to residual stress (stay tuned on the blog).

I was no longer married but no one knew.

I was cracking under the pressure of how to tell our kids about the divorce.

I was trying so hard to hold things together while other things had deconstructed.

I did not have the blog.

I had no idea how I'd survive without a relationship.

I had no idea how to do anything in DJ lessons, though I had begun six months prior.

I decided to slam the door shut on certain unhealthy relationships in my life, social, extended family, and otherwise.

I had no Lady Blaga Instagram handle.

I was a colt getting up on shaky legs.

I was certain I needed a new version of my life, but wasn't quite sure what.

I didn't have yoga as a part of my routine.

I had never meditated, and therefore had no real means of coping.

I would sometimes go into my room and lose my shit out of uncertainty.

I had to bite my tongue from blurting out my secret to my best friends.

I was starting to believe in myself but felt I had to justify doing so, even apologize.

I hadn't yet met some incredible DJs in the Creative community, who have given me the truest form of encouragement, since they understand.

I was no longer trapped in a cloud of invisibility.

I felt new life breathed into me.

I started to smile for no reason, and for every reason.

I no longer felt angry and bitter when I saw couples together on the street.

I began to feel what I came to identify as pride.

I had a renewed sense of energy and life.

I had people stop me and inquire about my glow.

I finally proved to myself I am indeed a writer.

I felt certain in my value as a woman and an individual.

I let go of Jewish guilt.

I began to envision the version of my life I deserve.

I came up for air.

I felt my days and weeks were no longer identical.

I felt a hunger to maximize my time here.

I felt stronger and more sweetly vulnerable than I ever had in my life.

I felt safe being catapulted into this new space, though logic might dictate otherwise.

I stopped apologizing for growing.                 

A year ago, I shook hands with myself and said, "nice to meet you."

Rogue Got Soul

📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀

We all have dreams, whether we are aware of them or not. First off, if you haven't yet realized yours, start searching within yourself to drag them up from the depths of your subconscious. It's ok, you're not only entitled but OBLIGATED to go all Scotland Yard on yourself. Dissect your essence  and uncover the facts about your truth, so that you can begin to honor it. You have to coax open the mouth before giving it food.
 

It took me years to admit that one of my dreams was to be a DJ, and even more time to do something about it. I don't beat myself up about this; everything comes at the right time. But this post ain't about me. It's about a friend I've met through this journey that is the living embodiment of my dream. Blaga peeps, meet Rogue. She is the fiercest, cutest, hottest channel for music and emotion on the NYC DJ scene. Oh yeah, and she just beat cancer. That too. I met her through Instagram, thereby reaffirming that social media can lead to wonderful things. My instructor at Scratch Academy, @djesquirenyc has known her and worked with her. Seeing some posts on his account led me to click on to hers, @roguegotsoul. I'm fascinated by cool female DJs, since I clearly want to be one. I loved this chick on site. She emanated such passion, emotion, fun, and confidence just from her IG pics. Her parties, with her at the epicenter, looked like a fucking blast.

I love hanging with the guys, and she was this badass lady presence in the Land of Testosterone. The male NYC DJ scene cannot be that simple to penetrate. These dudes are selective! Rogue was accepted. I need her secrets. There was something about her that drew me in. I was looking at what I wanted to be. Rogue is freaking adorable. She is petite, with a beautiful face and big green eyes. I love all her tattoos. She wears her artistic expression permanently. She used to, and will once again, have long, thick black hair, that cancer borrowed from her temporarily (thanks, Cancer!). As all IG romances begin, I clicked onto follow her. I started reading about her gigs, as well as about her brutally honest battle with cancer. She's a wonderfully open writer, which isn't surprising since she's able to channel her emotions through other artistic means of expression. I reached out via DM, and we started a communication for which I'm deeply grateful. She was so responsive and encouraging of my own path. We seemed to open up to each other immediately. I'm so often the one to throw out warm, welcoming vibes, but with Rogue I felt I was receiving them as well. That's rare for me, and I appreciate it every time. Damn, did I like this chick.

I wanted to learn from her, hug her, and heal her before we even met. Over the summer I attended some of her parties in Brooklyn, which in my opinion, kicks Manhattan's ass as far as nightlife. Since we had been conversing via text before we met, it was super cool to meet in person. I walked into her gig, we looked at each other, and after two seconds there was that cool visual recognition. It was like,"heyyyyyy, I know you!" Awesome, sincere hugs ensued. How wonderful to share a physical embrace after you've already spiritually embraced someone. It don't matter which part comes first. A click is a click.

And then I got to see her in action. Emphasis on the word "action". She emotes, she dances, she smiles, she loves, all the while choosing the best music for her audience. At this point Rogue was deep into her battle with her illness. She had lost her hair and performed in a turban. I've never seen a more beautiful, more alive "sick" person. Her body may have been battling something, but her soul and spirit were intact. If I didn't know about the chemo I'd have just assumed she was a chick who dug the shaved head look. This was not a weak, ill woman. Like, at all. She was, and is, more alive in every way than most people I know. There is more life in her pinky than many folks have in their whole body. I sensed this before we met. A person's spirit, when it's clear and sure, is apparent at all times. We humans posses tremendous powers of perception. When we are open we are highly receptive to the pure energy of others.

I received Rogue at the right time, having just begun to open myself. Had I been in a closed,  bitter state I wouldn't have internalized her and her story to such an impactful degree. I'm so grateful to be her friend. She's quite younger than me, but I view her as one of my teachers. Age is meaningless when it comes to education. I really hope to make her proud one day. During her lowest, weakest points in her treatment, she played on. She didn't pretend to have everything under control, she just carried on. I'm sure there were days she was too zapped to work, but she stayed out there, Man. I once wrote to her, after reading a post about which she wasn't feeling so great but was on the way to a gig, that there will be someone in that crowd who needs her music. That her being there and giving people a home for their moods and emotions can change someone's life. Even save them. Music is a healer, we all know that.  And Creatives who feel and express, thereby giving others a safe place to feel and express, are our lifelines. There will always be someone in that crowd who feels like shit. Who is sad, lonely, confused, maybe even suicidal. And then they decide to drag themselves out for the night. And then they hear you play. And then it wakes them up somehow, and allows them to feel happy and free, even if it's for just a few minutes. And so they hang on, because when good music is playing life is a lot more tolerable. It's even enjoyable.

A great DJ is a messenger. Personally, that's who I want; not just the Shiny Happy People, but the ones who feel a little bit broken and need a home for the night. And that's all of us. I want all of us. What a fucking honor it is to soothe the soul of another. And Rogue Got Soul to spare. As of two days ago, she posted news of her remission. I was waiting for her victory, it was an inevitability. There was no doubt this lil Mama would prevail. She carries others because she carries herself with strength, grace, purity, and love. She shares all she has, and she has an abundance. Her wiring is iron clad. I have much to learn, and she has much to teach. The only place she's going is back to her lab 📀📀. Oh, and her favorite show is Rick and Morty so there was an instabond with my kids. She also has cats . If she were Jewish I'd call them Katz✡🐱🐱. 
 

Rogue, I love you. Thank you for being You. Thank you for being well, for healing yourself and for healing others. You is a Soul Sista.

So much ❤️, Lady Blaga.

I mean Jess. I mean DJ FRONT.   

PS: do yourselves a massive solid and follow her. Go to her gigs. Just show up, she will take care of the rest.  Stay tuned for pictures from her New Year's gig!  

Whoa

This was the first word that popped into my stunned head when thinking of a title for this post. First, thank you to the GURL SG for suggesting I blog about this. We were going nuts about something yesterday, and she wisely told me to use it as fuel for writing. Which reminds me to feel gratitude for having a vehicle for my emotions and opinions.

So here's the deal... I picked up my middle schooler early yesterday for an appointment. While in the car, my son began to tell me about a special program he'd just attended in school that really moved him. An 11 year old sports/video game obsessed boy getting a dose of inspiration; rad, right? He recounted the gist of the speech as this: there was a very religious woman, who used to not be, who kept having miscarriages. As soon as she began to follow strict Jewish observance to the letter, she was able to have children. Also, she is very rich. The End. Um..... SCREEEEECCCCHHHH🙀.

Where to start? Needless to say I was livid. I rarely react to what goes on during the school day. I really feel that kids and adults don't need to know everything about each other's days. The level of accessibility due to modern technology is unhealthy. We all need breathing room. Kids also don't gain important coping skills if they get upset by, and report, every little imperfect detail to their day. Those eight hours during school are for them to handle, like we handled our school days on our own. Hurt feelings, a lousy remark by a teacher, lunch table hierarchy, and too much work are all crucial parts to childhood. No app can fix that stuff. It's all part of the initiation process. Overprotection and oversanitization are a massive disservice. That being said, I couldn't not react to what my son was telling me. I was quite upset for several reasons. One, the topic of a miscarriage is a deeply mature and painful subject. Not appropriate for middle schoolers in the midst of enjoying a day of school wide Olympics. I discuss a lot with my children, but this is a topic I did not plan on him hearing about at this age.

I, like many women, had a miscarriage. It was a crushing, depressing time. I couldn't leave my NYC apartment for weeks since everywhere I looked were pregnant women. Two, having attended a fanatically religious high school that was super keen on the fire and brimstone fear based approach to Judaism, I react viscerally to any implication that we as a people are punished if we "disobey" God. To even hint to these malleable young minds that her personal tragedies were self imposed, due to her wearing pants and not wearing a wig is reckless and irresponsible. To plant seeds of guilt into the thought process of young yeshivah students is one of the chief issues with Jewish education. Judaism has so much warmth and goodness to it. Why taint that by scaring kids into believing their future problems are their own fault? I have friends well into adulthood that still fall back on these guilty reactions. It's Pavlovian. It's been ingrained in pretty much everyone I know, and I've done years of telling myself that it's "magical thinking" to retrain my mind. Teaching kids self blame is terrible on any front. God forbid one of the girls hearing that speech will conjure this up during a future miscarriage.

Three, there is nothing wrong with wearing pants and not wearing a wig. If doing those things brings someone closer to God, that's great. But they aren't necessary to be a loving, devoted, kind Jew. We aren't distanced from HaShem in our hearts if we wear a sweatsuit from Aviator Nation (sup, Clementine?). I loathe the focus on externals. It makes my skin crawl and my heart sad. I don't want my kids' yeshivah education being based on that type of irrational dogma. Supposedly there was also a great deal of focus on money and material wealth, placing blame on that as well for certain hardships. Money has no place in a discussion geared towards kids. My neighborhood gets a very bad rap in regard to such subjects. It's unwarranted. Most people I know who live here are incredibly down to earth. There isn't a Birkin Bag in sight. People are on scholarships, budget their vacations, and don't generally prance around on an overly groomed white pony. If they did they'd be laughed at. Listen, this ain't no hippie commune, but it is not the type of environment where materialism is routinely discussed with the student body. In fact most kids came home from that speech taken aback by the emphasis on 🤑. Which I'm proud of, that they were able to pick up on how off putting it was. I don't intend to detract from certain terribly painful situations this woman and her family lived through. I'm happy their family is large, safe, and healthy. However using personal tragedy to brainwash kids into thinking they are in control of everything if they "just follow the Rules" is wrong.

Which leads me to Four. In my community, the more externally observant you appear, the more you get away with. Had a non Jew (a term I detest, more on that another time) stood up in that auditorium and spoke of such topics, an angry, torch burning mob would have been let loose. Even a Jew of lesser "observance" would have been criticized. I don't see why the publicly devout have such license to say whatever they want. It's like this weird, narrow minded permission slip. Sign me OUT.

Epilogue: the school was quite upset about many of the points of discussion, and emailed the parent body, apologizing for the presentation. Prior to that I actually had an exchange with the principal suggesting they do that. Too many parents were upset not be  validated. It was a very respectful email. It's vital for parents to have a healthy platform for giving important feedback, and it's greatly appreciated when the administration receives it. Oy, I'm tired. I worked on this post intermittently throughout the night, while fielding questions from my seven year old about miscarriages, namely mine.

Sigh... Signing off, LB

Holiday Hell✨

Whether your holiday involves twinkly lights on a tree or eight candles on a brass base, I hope you're making it through okay. The holidays  are a notoriously tough time. Depression and suicide rates actually increase. There is so much expectation placed on Togetherness,
Joy, Family Time, and Merriment. If those expectations aren't somehow met, or if you find yourself surrounded by seemingly other "happy" people while you're in fact miserable, loneliness and sadness are compounded. The joy, both real and forced, can serve as a shitty reminder that you just don't feel that way right now. While everyone else is nestled happily in their little real life snow globe, you might want to slam that snow globe at the nearest wall. This is not unusual. It doesn't mean your life sucks. I kinda think the forced happiness is much harder to deal with when you put your head down at night...
 

Having said that, I am genuinely enjoying Hanukkah this year. I have been thinking about the symbolism of that highest candle on the menorah. The ninth one that's often raised above the rest. It's called the "shamash". It's job is to light the remaining candles. It is the chief source of light on the menorah. It isn't counted as one of the eight nights. It's not talked about very much. But every menorah has one. It's job is essential. It literally spreads light, fire, and warmth. It allows us to publicize the miracle of Hanukkah which is strength, perseverance, and survival. Jewish triumph aside, the shamash represents those qualities in each of us. We are all lit from within, no matter how dim some of our days are. Even in our darkest moments, we can always illuminate ourselves by coming home to our truth. By doing so, we have the power to light up the world. Every person who has ever impacted the world began as one little voice in the universe. They learned to crawl, speak, and run just like the rest of us. We all started out the same, maybe not with the same genetic talents or brilliances, but God put His light into the souls of all humans. It's our job to activate the switch. Darkness is never permanent. You're not as alone as you feel. You are more watched over than you know. You are not an accident. You indeed have light and warmth to give.

I've written about this before. I'll do it again. This idea is universal and infinite. It's not mine, and I don't claim to reinvent the wheel. But I'm turning it for you as much as I can, as I know you'd do for me when I'll need it. This year as I watch my candles burn, I'm not paying attention to numbers, or to gifts (ugh, I hate the gifts). I'm focusing on the shamash and using it as motivation to stay bright, so that I can lead with light. All we can do is that. It is the least we can, and it is the most.

I love you for eight days plus forever. ✨✨✨, LB

PS- you'll have your snow globe eventually.

Gotta Start Somewhere

I have been waxing nostalgic about my first paid blog related gig. Making any sort of income was not something I ever thought would be in the cards for me. This is not a complaint whatsoever. I am very blessed to have my family financially provided for. As I've written about, I say blessings before I eat. I know what a luxury it is to have a refrigerator full of food, constant running water, heat in my home, and education for my children. I have never lacked those things, which does not mean I take them for granted. The world is full of people with three jobs, struggling to make ends meet. I am in awe of those people, especially when they simultaneously manage to raise happy, well actualized children. Dinner time is hard enough without having to worry about whether or not you can afford dinner.

For almost twenty years I was a housewife (I hate that term) and stay at home mom, which I loved. However, I needed more for myself as a woman and as an individual. The monotonous routine and sameness of every single week was literally mind numbing. As in, my mind was actually going numb. Creativity always exists, but it is a muscle that must be flexed consistently or it will atrophy. People usually associate atrophy with the physical body. The same holds true for our spiritual and emotional beings. When the intangible is neglected, it starts to dry up. What's going on inside of us is a massive bouquet of wildflowers. If not watered and loved, we dry up, crumble, and disappear. If anything, nurturing and tending to our souls may be more important than taking care of our bodies, since our souls will outlive their physical encasements. It was always such a compliment when people would tell me I have talents. But with no proof of that, I stopped believing it. At a certain point it feels delusional to convince myself I can be more than what I am, when I've seen no evidence of that. I'm a results person. I make mental lists. My lists are less frantic since I'm calmer in general, in knowing that I'm now accomplishing so much. Which leads to excitement about what I will accomplish in the future.

For so many years I'd cling to past achievements, again, listing them to talk myself off the preverbal ledge. Ticking off memories such as reading poetry at my local NYC Barnes and Noble when I was nine months pregnant with my second child (cool, right?). Writing all the lyrics and assisting with musical direction for a children's CD when I was 24 (lol, CDs 💿). Two of my kids don't even know I did the second thing. None of them know I did the first thing, which just occurred to me. Past accomplishments lose their luster over time, because while time passes, the past is simply stuck. It's not real anymore. It may have been great, but it no longer exists. The future is even less real, in that it hasn't happened yet. What are we left with? The present. At any given second of any moment, it is always the present. We are enveloped in the NOW. Don't rely on past memories to satiate you. Enjoy them, but don't use them as a crutch. Do not assume future happiness based on imagined, hypothetical scenarios. They are pure fabrication. This is not easy. I am a huge visitor of the past, and an even greater imaginer of the future. The scripts I write in my mind for future conversations, scenarios, and assumptions could be motion pictures. What a waste of brain power! It's just noise in my head, and I'm much happier when my mind doesn't go off the rails in those directions. If my body is in my kitchen but my head is in Miami of 1999, or in Tel Aviv of 2030, I've got zero shot of alignment😂. Funny but serious.

The worst is when I envision highly detailed dialogues or confrontations with someone. So stupid. Human, but stupid nonetheless. A mantra that really helps me is "no expectations, no attachments, no assumptions, no analysis". It's wordy but I couldn't omit any of these ideas. I came up with this a couple months ago, and I hold onto it when I need to. Which means constantly. When I click with this, there is instant lightness. To over analyze is to set yourself up for failure. I'm a highly analytical person, so I needed this lesson. This is a lesson in mental restraint. It feels good to give your mind a break so it can be filled with other productive things. It's like cleaning out your closet; making room for useful, quality items by un cluttering that which you don't use or need. There's a reason closet cleaning immediately feels so good. Excess never serves us. It distracts from what we need to really be doing. Editing and un cluttering my life in so many ways has allowed me the newfound space to rediscover my buried creativity.

I have dragged out my dire need to create and express. It's like finding a prized, invaluable antique in an attic and dusting it off. Everyone is excited when they find something like this! Treasures must be polished and preserved before they are able to be enjoyed. In terms of finding myself, first I had to decide to open the attic door, open it, search, locate, dust off, unearth, and  shine myself up. Then I had to decide to maintain that shine! Why should I sit underneath a pile of useless junk?? No way. This is not selfish, which women are often taught. God forbid we direct our attention inward 🙄. The second we take our nurturing away from someone else we get criticized. Whatever. Giving myself permission to proudly display myself has led me to my original thought, that being my first paid blog job. It's not the money, it's the acknowledgment. It's seeing direct results from all the love and originality I've poured into the blog. Through this source I'm able to feed my inner source. Lady Blaga is so many things for me: a platform for my numerous ideas, a home for my feelings, a connector to both myself and others. It's given me concrete proof of my persistence and versatility. I'm so proud of how many topics I cover each week. Four articles is quite a lot of work, but I'd never cut back. It's good to push myself. It gives shape to my weeks.

Writing is a haven for me. I can always escape to my list of Blaga homework as a means of solace. The blog is a means of showing my kids I can do more than make grilled cheese and shop for school supplies. I've met amazing people and have been presented with incredible opportunities thus far. Opening my attic door opened my life to all sorts of experiences, the blog enabling that. For the blog I cook, I write, I style, I emote. I am on a constant quest for new ideas to share. I hope I inspire. Even if I have to write a seemingly superficial style post, I enjoy it. If you like reading it, I love writing it! I have deadlines, which keeps my mind on track and gives me a sense of importance. For creative types, our minds can feel like the Wild West. There's a lot going on in my little head! Blaga harnesses my wildness and directs me. It gives my life order and excitement. Writing and creating is therapy. Becoming a DJ will be my ultimate therapy as well.  When that happens, you'll know about it through this channel. It's all working together. All parts of us converge naturally when we honor ourselves.

The money I made wasn't much, but I couldn't have been prouder. I have a lovely photo to prove it. My smile is a thousand watts in that picture... That payment represents my decision to delve into my own life. There are always fears and excuses. Don't wait. Put money in your spiritual bank and reap the rewards of self discovery. Happiness and inner peace are indeed the riches of life. Invest in your heart every day, and the interest will grow. Peeps, that was a double entendre😏. ❤️, Lady Blaga 🔑🚪🔎

Great Expectations

Wow. Ok... So as y'all know, I was so excited to take yet another cherished solo jaunt to Israel. I don't go away that often, so when I do, I expect these vacations to fuel me for a long while. We all do, right? That's the point: a break from our everyday life. A reminder of the excitement and newness of life. A reminder that we are so much more than our mundane schedules and routines. A reminder that we are creatures with open minds, hearts, and eyes, who have a desire to explore new things (whether we know it or not). A reminder that we simply know how to have fun.
 Since this trip was centered around a certain event, a bar mitzvah, it was not spontaneous. I bought my ticket months in advance and made all sorts of plans. I knew there'd be many periods where I'd just wing it, and walk around alone (which I love to do), but the meat of the trip was definitely comprised of plans, assumptions, and expectations. We have all heard a million times how we should never have expectations. While there is great value in that philosophy, it's simply not possible all the time. For instance, if you planned a special day with your fam for Mother's Day, you damn well expect a special day on Mother's Day. If you planned to lose weight by going on a crazy strict diet, of course you expect to lose a few pounds eating all that air. You get the drift; while too many expectations fill our minds with imaginary realities (since we are expecting the future which hasn't yet occurred), thereby taking up precious mental real estate, we are indeed human. And humans want a lot of shit. We want it so much that we will it to happen with hopes, plans, and expectations. We use calendars to organize and control. To expect is to be human. I will not blame myself for thinking that carefully executed plans made meticulously in advance with a friend wouldn't have panned out. I had every reason to believe things were going to unfold the way they were supposed to. But, as is often the case, they did not. Capital D, capital N: Did Not.

As I've alluded to on the instastories, that week in Israel was complex. Good parts, bad parts, and necessary parts. That's not how you want to describe a hard earned vacation. You want a one word answer; Great! Awesome! Rejuvenating! Pick a happy word, there are tons to choose from. Those are the words people ideally employ to sum up a vacation. I'm not one of those people who gets away with one word answers in general. People "expect" way more from me. I take it as a compliment that they really do want to hear my musings about random topics, however sometimes I wish I can give a succinct, concise response, not make eye contact, and call it a day. Someone recently told me,

"You're too engaging for your own good".

This is a challenge as a writer. I very much want to share, yet out of respect for my own privacy, I need to restrain myself a bit. That's why the blog has been a good lesson for me; engage, share, open up, but maintain sacred space for myself and my family. Crucial, necessary life lesson.             This is the thing about expectations; they often don't happen. Which is majorly important since we learn to reroute. There are literally two ways to react when things don't go "our" way; sit home, cry, and freak out. OR, adjust, move on, and make the best of it. I recently heard to not view these scenarios as anxiety provoking, rather see them as challenges we can indeed overcome. I also loved the Prince EA Instagram video about how life's hiccups are not boulders but stepping stones. Follow him by the way. These concepts took up permanent residence in my confused head last week. They saw me through a potentially disastrous week. No way was I going to let my precious  vacation be hijacked by unforeseen circumstances. I've been through way worse, I could handle this. Handle it I did. Not without sadness, not without some loneliness, not without frustration and disbelief, but I handled the F out of this trip. It was either work around this new set of facts I was given, or get railroaded by them. I think we all know I'm not the "get railroaded" type...     

Here are some examples. I expected to spend a lot of time in this beautiful apartment I was all jazzed up about renting. Instead, I was barely there, and therefore spent hours walking around exploring new parts of Tel Aviv. I navigated random streets and neighborhoods on foot. I learned where the good markets and shops were. Foreign country, by myself, 👊🏻👏🏻. I had expected to be occupied on Saturday.  Instead, I was not, and so I entered a synagogue I stumbled upon in my neighborhood. I went in on Friday night to say hello, promising to be back the next day. I returned with nuts and raisins for the community meal following services. I prayed, always a comfort to me. I met the locals, and ate lunch with them (there's this one older gentleman who cooks for the congregation each week. David. He was so excited to have a new customer). I felt so welcome. I loved the varied appearances in that synagogue. For example, there was a young man with long, curly payot wearing a huge, white yalkmuka. With an earring. All the synagogues I've ever known would be up in arms if a man attended services in a big earring. Dress, background, none of that matters in Israel. The focus is simply not about nonsense like that. It's very refreshing. I had expected to get together with a certain friend one night. Instead, I got my hair blown then watched the sunset with the hairdresser and his friend. The sunset in Israel is a valued, wonderful event. I almost missed it...

I expected to cook everyday in my apartment. Instead I found cheap, local places to eat delicious food that I hadn't previously tried. I expected to hang out with one group of people the majority of the time. Instead, I met other groups of people and we went to some super cool clubs and bars. If you go to TLV, go to Jimmy Who and Radio. If you're in Jaffa, hit up Akbar. New, new, new. I expected to be looked after. Instead, I looked after myself. It was a whole new level of resilience that was revealed to me. I expected to not want to come home. Instead, I couldn't wait. It's very healthy to want to return home. I felt so clear on my immediate goals for my life now. I smiled on the plane, feeling so grateful that I know what I want to do with my life. What a gift. Too many people never really uncover that in time. I had always expected to be one of them... My head was cleared of certain thoughts that had taken up most of my thoughts and energy for months. That is no longer, and so I'm clear to fill that space with things that deserve to be there. Ideas, dreams, and visions that are worthy of the front row in my mind. Out with the old, in with the You. While we can't always get what we want, we might just find that we get what we need. We are all just Rolling Stones. I expect today will be a good one for all of us. You are more adaptable than you realize. You should really start to realize it.

Love , Lady Blaga ❌❤️❌❤️

Where Home is

There is something in my neighborhood that pierces me whenever I drive past it. It's an empty piece of land where a house recently existed. This home belonged to a couple whose children and grandchildren lived directly across the street. For decades, this wonderful family, whom I know, lived in an idyllic cocoon of love and closeness. The kids ran back and forth to their grandparents, holidays and Shabboses were spent eating together, and downtime meant more hanging out as a whole. This family rolled as one, with many other assorted siblings and their children in the neighborhood too. Every parent's dream.

A few years ago the family patriarch died. I often wondered how painful it would be for their daughter to see her former home, that now just housed just one parent. That due to the physical proximity of their houses, the sight of where her father used to live was unavoidable. Fresh arrows of grief in the heart every time. However, life has a way of demanding that we constantly readjust by catapulting us into unfamiliar territory, so they all continued to live according to their new reality. Same homes, same street, same close bond. Holes from losing a loved one are never filled, we just learn how to navigate ourselves around them.

Then, the matriarch eventually sold her house. Her children sold as well and moved out of town. So now one house is vacant, while the other ten feet away was bought and bulldozed. It is this empty property that fills me with tremendous sadness and discomfort, as well as a little dose of fear. It's such a huge juxtaposition, to see what has become of that little family oasis of theirs. Their corner went from a private bungalow colony to vacancy and non existence. I always think about things like this. The family that lived in my house a hundred years ago, before we knocked down what they had built. The people who will knock down my house eventually, making the decision to do so by quickly writing us off without ever meeting us. It feels so dismissive, even though it's of course entirely not personal. You can't dismiss someone you've never met. All the laughs, fights, memories, and meals made here will become ghosts. Maybe, MAYBE, someone will say, "I knew them", but even that person will be dismissed; the new owner won't care, nor should he really. It's hard to care about those we don't know. How a family can go from existing in one place in time, to simply no longer being there is a harsh reminder of how temporary and fleeting life is. Our utopia that we've created can shift radically as quickly as the earth can crack in a quake. Nothing is permanent. We put so much time and love into maintaining our homes. It's hard to think one day they'll become a pile of demolished bricks. No one will care who your decorator was, and if you liked working with him. Or whether or not you had a pool. My brother in law once told me wisely, to never get too attached to a pile of bricks. This is good advice for obvious reasons. Don't wrap your whole existence up within a certain set of four walls, because one day those walls will be torn down. What you built within that house will move to another location, where it will continue to be. This isn't a post about how what matters is on the inside, it's a sad thought about the crappy passage of time. On the one hand each of us is a significant gift in the world, but on the other hand we are just minor details. It's About how our chapters often write themselves without consulting us first.

Yes, we have power over our own story. But there are things we simply cannot control, which puts us at the mercy of Life. And that is a hard pill to swallow. I can't clean this up and put it in a pretty box. There's no glossing over or filtering these realities. Thinking about it or not is irrelevant. It's happening anyway. All we can do is love and live fiercely in whichever space we are in.

Vanity Insanity

So here I am at my NYC salon, getting some much needed highlights. It's funny how my color will go from great to escaped mental patient overnight. It's like one morning I wake up to having more roots than a giant oak. I used to loathe sitting in the color chair for a couple hours, I was too restless. Quality hair color is a luxury; clearly my restlessness had nothing to do with the process, but rather my own state of being. It's a gift to be able to sit in a chair in a top salon and be pampered. What a shame I wasn't able to enjoy that back then. Now I look forward to taking that time to take care of myself. There are many aspects to wellness. Vanity doesn't  necessary negate spirituality. One can meditate then fix her hair or get a manicure. We are multifaceted at all times. I actually did walk to yoga at sunrise this morning, and it was a few moments of majesty. I'm usually doing carpool at that time, so it was a real treat to walk while the sun was just beginning to gently wake up the leaves on the trees. The trees looked dipped in gold, the air was soft and not cold, and the quiet in my neighborhood was calming. Due to a surgical procedure I had six weeks ago, I've had to refrain from my regular yoga. This has been a challenge, but I can proudly report that I handled it far better than I ever would have prior. I quickly learned to find other ways to maintain balance and pliability. The frustration at being limited was kept to a minimum. I did not miss a beat with making time for my spiritual and mental upkeep, and found ways to modify. You can never take a break from mental healing, even while the physical body takes the time it needs to do so. There's always time, even if it's only two minutes. Think about how much time we spend in the black hole of our phones🤔. This was a much needed lesson in restraint, patience, and trust. It came at the right time in my life. Readjusting those patterns take a lot of time and work, but it was a process I needed to start. It's just about having more tools in your box. Reading yogic and self motivational books, setting a timer for mediation, breathing exercises, and  keeping a meditation journal have all been extremely helpful. Life changing, actually. Each of those things are necessary ingredients for me to live the life I want. They aren't temporary additions to my routine, they are now a part of my life. There are many different routes to the same destination. We will get lost many times before gaining direction. It's all part of a never ending process.

How did we get from meditation to highlights? Ah, now I remember😉.  Every time I'm in the salon, I'm deeply unsettled by how many of the older women look. The awful injections and plastic surgery. The bleached blond hair extensions, lack of facial affect, and too trendy clothing cause me to reflect on the slippery slope of vanity. Am I going to keep "taking care of myself" until I look like a wax figure of Donatella Versace?  Will the need to cling to my youth supersede reality and rationale? Will I be able to eventually chill the fuck out and flow with the current of getting older? Will I envy younger, fresher women and be depressed that I passed my peak? These are uncomfortable questions. I most certainly do not want to walk around with a beak for lips, dressed in an air of desperation. However, as a person with a very human measure of vanity who has always taken meticulous care of herself, I might fall into that sad trap. Which would suck. I've invested way too much time in my appearance to have it be derailed by denial and a missing sense of what's age appropriate. When I say "appearance" I don't mean makeup and heels during the week. I'm more often in sweatpants and a t shirt wearing nothing but sunscreen, unless if I have somewhere specific to go. I have zero qualms leaving my house in pajamas. Sometimes my baseline for dressing is simply not to look homeless. The balance of Blaga is that it has injected my life with a hefty dose of glitz and glam, but I'm really a stripped down homie at heart. If my skin and hair look healthy and fresh, and my body feels lean and fit, then I am pleased with my appearance.  Honestly, a denim jacket thrown over pajama pants is cooler than pretty much anything anyway. This is where mental work becomes so crucial at this point of "middle age". So we learn and understand how few to no external trappings we need in life. So we don't confusingly morph into Blanche Dubois. So we appreciate our faces and don't pump them with chemicals to alter them.  I will always take care of myself, it's part of the framework of making myself feel good. But it comes from a place of maintenance, not alteration. Let's have each other's backs with that, yeah? As a society of women who have all means of beautification so available to us, let's just have increased awareness of who we want to remain. Not some freak show version of who our culture tells us we need to become. Those women look crazy and unhappy, and those decisions are irreversible for the most part. Stay beautiful, which means staying You.

Love, the 🐝girl from the Blind Melon video.

Hello, Sunshine☀️

I recently finished a great book: "Hello, Sunshine" by Laura Dave. Not to worry, I'm not giving anything away in case you read it, but it's about this woman who became a culinary internet superstar. Her fame was built on fraudulent pretense, and her empire gets torn down in a matter of days by a hacker with a vendetta. Sunshine, the title character, who is actually a super cool person, is forced to reevaluate her entire life. Facing truths, owning up to her mistakes, finding out who would want to hurt her like this. Since her entire fake identity was detonated overnight, Sunshine has to rebuild her life from the inside out. Her outside in veneer was shot to shit. This book is so cleverly written, with a snarky, acerbic undertone. Don't be fooled by the title; this novel deals with hard hitting relevant issues. The perils and poison of social media. How easy it is for us to lie, even to those we love. How a selfie with duck lips is used to create a certain impression, ignoring whatever else is going on inside or around us. People photo bombing the unfortunate situations of others. The entitlement we feel in videoing other people's lives, then posting it. The utter lack of respect the world has for privacy. The fear we carry that some nutcase will hack our phone, finding out intimate details about our lives and our children. Cyber bullying is just another means of punishing others for our own misery. It's so easy for us to construct a lie with the touch of a couple buttons. The underlying topic of the book is the NEED to lie above all else.

When Sunshine comes clean to someone in the big shot culinary business about how she was a fraud, the response was that out of all the cookbooks, blogs, shows etc, only maybe two of them are real. The celebrity food business is just as dishonest as any other avenue of fame. Who cares, Honey, take the pic, post the caption, and just say it's yours. This really made me think, and what I thought about made me proud. It would never occur to me EVER to be inauthentic. In any area of my life. Anything that I've shared with the precious Lady Blaga audience is 100% real, true, and original. I would never buy followers. It's just not for me. I have no problem copping to when I can't do something. I can admit vulnerability. It jives better with me to be at a plateau in growth on social media, than it does to use smoke and mirrors to gain popularity. No, I don't like it when a beautiful photo that I worked hard for doesn't get as many likes as something vulgar or mean on IG. But that's just the way this cookie crumbles. There's no sense in letting it get me down.

What I CAN do is just keep creating in a vacuum, and keep my blinders on so that I can just go forward. I promise that every recipe, fashion concept, inspirational message, and musical selection is all authentically mine. Any personal experience I share is pure truth. I know you feel that, which is why you read.  I pour my heart and head into Lady Blaga. It's a wonderful challenge to constantly come up with material worthy of your eyes and ears. I take that seriously. We have clicked on this Blaga community; because it's all real. I will never lie to you, bullshit you, or disrespect you with mediocrity. We are above that. It's not what I want, and it's not what you want. Anyone who manipulates the masses is not doing the right thing. It may be the common and popular thing, but it's wrong. We should never try to deceive one another, or dumb each other down. Naw, Dawg, not the Blaga philosophy. In my private life or my "public" life. LB is not a persona or a character. It's who I am. I have many facets, just like you do, and they're comprised of actuality. As I wrote on the site's home page,"there's too much great stuff out there, we don't need to make shit up". Well, it seems I've just made my first official book recommendation. How lovely is it to be able to share literature with each other😀📒. No technology required. Just eyes and a brain.

Goodbye, Sunshine☀️.

Pink Cadillac

This past Sunday, my son had a basketball game at an ungodly early hour. Previously, this would have been reason to bitch and moan, but I'm proud to have noted that I didn't react that way. I didn't love dragging us both out of bed so early on a Sunday, but big deal; the weather was crisp, sunny, and glorious. I enjoyed the drive, watching the leaves begin to turn. My son was going to get physical activity. I had surgery three weeks ago, and felt grateful that I was able to move my body with ease to get out of bed. I was tired but calm, no foggy morning grumpiness. It's continuously gratifying to notice my increasingly relaxed responses to situations.

Recently, I was invited to a small birthday gathering for a close friend, that was being planned by someone else. I didn't want to go, so I politely declined, having in mind how I'd alternatively celebrate the birthday girl, whom I love dearly. I again noticed my appropriate response, which felt good. Rather than listing all the reasons why I didn't want to go, but probably going anyway lest the others in the group think ill of me, I simply said, "no thank you, I'll do something else, but have fun". That was it, no fuss no muss. I would have given a whole whiny song and dance in days of yore. No mas. Simplicity feels good.

 On the way home from the basketball game, we passed a little local museum that honors this quaint Jersey town. Chicks dig quaint! The museum was having an outdoor vintage Cadillac show. No way we weren't going! We jumped out to take a look. There was no charge, and there were sweet volunteers offering coffee and bagels. Local car enthusiasts were pulling in to proudly show off their collectors automobiles. People with a passion who just wanted to share their beloved hobby with others. No technology, no hashtags, no snapchats. I made my son and his friend leave their phones in the car, promising I'd be the photographer. I hate those phones, Man. Seeing my kids with them drives me nuts, especially since I know they enjoy life without them. I mean, so do I, and I have to pry my phone out of my hands also, which fills me with self loathing. I'm so much happier without it, but my music is on it, I write on it, blah blah blah, so there's always reasons to keep it with me. Still, I'm calmer without it. The pull these devices has on us it poisonous. Which is why I was so thrilled to partake in this wholesome, interesting, historical car show.

Of course the boys loved it🚗🚗. Men and cars😎. They loved the history, seeing cars from different eras. It was funny to hear them talk about how the 80's and 50's are interchangeable. Any year beginning with a 19 is just foreign to them. But we looked at the evolution of the vehicles, noting size, design etc. They got to sit in one. My favorite part about this activity was that it was spontaneous. There is no one that doesn't get a thrill from the unplanned. It's moments like these that can boost your entire mood, and make your whole day feel genuinely  productive. Had I been so focused on the early hour, or any other point of kvetchy negativity, I'd have missed this little gem of a display. Enjoying an outdoor activity on a beautiful Fall day is such a gift. What a way to start our morning🍂🍁🌞. I'm naturally a spontaneous person, who had been living a life utterly lacking in spontaneity. It didn't jive with me, but we get stuck in routine. That's over with. Freedom of mind, something I'm always working on, means freedom of being. Free to explore life's unexpected joys. At one point I squeezed my son and said, "with mommy it's always an adventure, right?" He looked at me sweetly, giggled, and agreed. I thought back to how I promised myself a year and a half ago, that I'd be the most interesting woman my kids ever knew. I'm proud that I am now living a life that honors that promise. With clear eyes, we are able to see what opportunities life has to constantly offer us👀. Try not to miss anything. Sight that brings spontaneous simplicity is so special.

Have a great day,

LB 🍂🍁🌼🌰🌻

OMG, I'm on IG

It was exactly one year ago, the afternoon right before the first nightof Sukkot, that I first posted on Instagram. As usual, I was very late to the tech party. I resisted any form of social media, viewing it as a vacuous hole of self aggrandizing white noise.

I am clearly a creative person with a lot to say. I have always been that way, thankfully. What I lacked was the right kind of audience that would be my sounding board for self expression. It was very stifling and frustrating. I felt stuck in that my channels for sharing were nonexistent. Yes, I love to cook for my family. I love to dress for myself. Play music for my own soul. Write for my personal needs. But it wasn't enough. I had a burning ache to share, and I didn't know how to do it. Looking at my drawer full of notebooks became stressful. Poems, lyrics, and ideas locked away, without the prospect of being known by others. Aspirations and goals fading with each year, as they tend to do if they're not nurtured. Dreams turning to fear that my life would never take further shape.  People have always told me I should do things with my talents. It took me a long time to admit I had talent, since it ceased being definable in my head. I would have done anything given the opportunity. I wanted to write greeting cards. I wanted to help people write custom, clever invitations, funny songs and poems for occasions. Anything just to write and dust off that muscle.

My dream was always to write song lyrics, as well as to hang with the Seth Rogen gang. I swear; I had vivid visions of just being with that group of friends and coming up with mischievous,  whip smart plots and witticisms all day. We'd just riff and see what happens. I even wrote a poem about it three years ago. On carpool line. After listening to Seth on Howard Stern, and crying in my car that all I did that day was get groceries and do some cardio. What was once enough for me was no longer enough. Speaking of Howard, and I still do this; nonstop fantasies about being a Robin type of cohost. I knew exactly what I'd say to Benji (that offensive idiot), Gary, and JD. I love Gary, btw. Ba Ba Booey forever. I'd continuously seek approval from Fred, the seemingly most elusive and hardest to please. I'd get it too, because of my quick wit and propensity towards the utterly ridiculous. Howard, the true King of all media, would silently knight me. That studio has been the only place I've wanted to be for decades. I've been a listener since I'm 15. Howard was an escape for me in adolescence, and continued to be throughout my entire life. He gave me a sense of belonging when I felt adrift as a grownup. If I wasn't yet aware of any real sense of purpose, at least I could laugh. I could pull over and piss my pants, listening to Howard impersonate his parents. I could listen to the super intelligent Robin reporting current events. This is admittedly my sole source of news. If there was a shitty evening at home, I'd seek solace in my mom van and just lose myself in wit, sharp observations, and belly laughs. This has always been my home. I dream of writing those spoof songs that rip apart certain staff members. I've got the Jewish humor thing down pat. The dark humor, the silly stuff, the self deprecation, the imagination. I'd sit listening to Sirius radio and feel my wackiness wasting away. I still want to be in Howard's club, except now there are so many other things I want to do too. Things that perhaps, are a tad more realistic.

It's very hard to have your dreams remain trapped in the tiny circumference of your own brain, because they aren't meant to stay there. I likened my thoughts to prisoners trying to escape, but if they were successful, to where would they run? This Shawshank comparison contributed to my Ambien addiction. I'm trying to ween that now, which I've only just begun to attempt given my increased amounts of inner peace. Peaceful, satisfied people do not need pills to fall asleep. It's those of us that cannot shut down or turn off our minds that can't drift off naturally. I've never smoked or tried any sort of drug. Truth. This was my only vice. I knew why. My head would pound every night knowing what should be bursting but couldn't. Ideas boiling over with nothing to catch them. Our entire beings are meant to be open and release. Muscles, tissues, our hearts, and souls, our bodies themselves, are designed to be in constant states of release and expansiveness. What we trap within us will eventually begin to erode. We are human beings, not dark, dusty attics built for storage.

My dear personal guide to life, a fellow LB, convinced me to start an Instagram account. I admire her tremendously, and would sit in Times Square and bark like a dog if she instructed me. She was like, you are an artist. You must express pronto. I was very skeptical. I didn't believe in myself enough. Bad conditioning and things I won't write about are mostly the reason for that. But some friends just know. I recall with a pounding heart and shaking fingers, pressing the keys that would start to send my stuff into the vortex of social media. I needed my 14 year old to do it the first few times. A good friend of mine who is a successful businesswoman advised me to pick one lane. That I could not do. I am too passionate about too many things to suffocate any avenue. We must give in to every area in which we are able. First to ourselves, then to others. It's not egotistical to understand I have gifts and talents. It's simply self awareness. You wouldn't go to someone who considers themselves a mediocre gastroenterologist, would you? Let Kanye talk about his gifts. He earned it. The instant you've decided you aren't worthy, you have already surrendered. It's over before it started. And that feeling sucks. "I gave up on discovering my own dreams years ago, and now I'm in a great place" said NO ONE EVER.

Instagram, my little fashtunkunah private one, gave my mental prisoners their first place of refuge. And it felt good! It was gratifying to write poetry that meant something to a follower, or share a recipe with friends. Sharing soothes the soul. Yes, it's too easy to plummet down the rabbit hole of time sucking likes, accounts, followers, blah blah blah. But it teaches us balance like all else in life. The inspirational sayings I read on IG sometimes get me through my day. There is so much uplifting material to be found. If this is the means of finding it, so be it. The day I went to hear Norma Kamali lecture, she, who built her career decades ago without all this stuff, told the crowd that using your iPhone to get yourself out there is simply and factually essential nowadays. If Norma could embrace this, so could I. It was almost permission from someone I so deeply admire. We follow each other, btw. When she likes or comments, I do a major happy dance. I'd never have connected to her otherwise. My little IG became a stepping stone to what has taken shape as Lady Blaga, in just a few months. I am blown away by the speeding train that my first, frightening post set on the rails. It led me to being more comfortable and confident in sharing. It led me to Tzvia, who zeroed in on my potential. It led me to dig, to delve, to divulge. It led to all of you reading this. Which goes back to my original dream of being seen and heard. It is not bullshit when people say when you want something badly enough, the universe will help you get it. It's alive via Lady Blaga.

I have been told I provide a voice for various things, especially within the Jewish community. One friend was inspired to finally pursue her dream of singing and recording. Another finally filmed the pilot she's been cooking up in her head. It blows me away that I have impacted anyone. It's proof that we are all roots on the same tree. Help, climb, support, reach. This applies to both ourselves as well as others. When I try to remember the timid, shaking leaf who didn't think anyone would care about her words, I see it's getting harder to remember her. That wasn't me, it was just a hollow version of me. It's ok, we have phases just as the moon does. We all have our barren winters and blooming springs. We are never just one thing. To view yourself as the same way means it's your time to shift. To create an idea, to choose a location, to press SHARE. Releasing with purity is like a boomerang. It will come back to you. Don't ever not give yourself credit. Work for it, be proud. People will listen, and the first and last person will be yourself. Bookend your own life, for no one can do that better than you can. It's ok to be trepidatious. Opening up isn't easy. But as the lotus emerges from the mud, so will you. What's not ok is not to try. Ignore anyone who tries to convince you otherwise. Delete their account from your life. The right followers will come. I love and appreciate you all very much. Thank you for finding me. 🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓 Lady Blaga

Fish People

I recently watched this documentary titled "Fish People". You can find it On Demand. My kids were off from school, it was one of those much needed pouring rainy days, and my little one and I were lying in bed. Bliss. He wanted to watch a movie, and I was cranky about it since lately I find tv so noisy and invasive. In an ear shattering way. I didn't think we'd find something to agree on, and I didn't want to watch ten annoying Lego movie trailers before vetoing the whole attempt. I should have given my son more credit. He's an extremely bright seven year old who loves nature documentaries. We happened upon Fish People. It was 49 minutes, so a minor time commitment.

It intrigued us both. It's about six or so different people across the globe, each who in their own way have devoted their lives to the ocean. There were surfers and divers from Hawaii, a pro ocean swimmer from California, an ocean photographer from Australia, to name a few. It was riveting. Listening to these people describe in detail about their lifelong love with the sea, one of the most powerful forces of nature, was deeply impactful. In a crying, thought provoking, I hate my life kind of way. You should know (though it's major TMI) that I had my period, and I made the mistake of listening to "Walking in Memphis" a couple hours prior. This song and my menstrual cycle are not compatible. Every time I hear it when "my friend visits" I can't stop crying. The film was beautiful. To watch how people could be so one with the elements. How they use nature to excite themselves, to soothe their pain, to use the ocean as a therapist, a best friend, a lover. The water as a means of giving to others.

One pro surfer in San Francisco dedicates his life to teaching inner city kids how to surf, as a means of healing and escape. His name is Eddie. I happen to love that name, and he was so handsome. I swear I wanted to fly to California, hunt him down, and marry him. Eddie, would you consider converting to Judaism? What a good person he is. I was so drawn in by the symbolic tide of observing how humans partner with God's earth to sustain each other. It's exactly how it's meant to be. I felt so sad. Living in an urban environment that's so centered on material things, coupled with restrictions in organized religion, makes me feel so removed from how life is supposed to be. It made me question how we raise our kids in such a materialistic atmosphere. That has always driven me crazy, but the drawer in which I put those concerns had been pulled open. I don't want to take my kids to the mall, I want to take them to the beach or on a hike. It pains me watching them play video games, when I'd be so much happier seeing them delight in nature. I know they'd be happier that way too! Yes, I try. And my children do love nature. But it doesn't govern our lives, and it should. I felt both inspired and gutted.

I called a friend crying about this. I said, "we are all making a mistake. We are wasting our lives, living so removed. The value system is off." She didn't disagree, and she and I have discussed this before. Anyone who knows me knows I often think and feel this way. The depth of appreciation these Fish People have for the deep, mysterious, vastness of the ocean was fascinating. They are not afraid. They embrace whatever lies beneath. They adjust to the tides, to the rhythm of the water. They may get held under but they always come back up for air. They trust themselves, and they trust the ocean. If this isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is. By not being afraid, they are free to explore. Diving into the sea makes them see inside themselves. The water is their home, not the enemy. The pro ocean swimmer swam in the 80's from Alaska to Russia, thereby improving political relations at that time. Her thinking was, if I can swim from one country to the next, we are not as far apart as we all think we are... Literal deep thoughts. This movie pierced my core, which is what good movies are meant to do. It gave me more ideas about how I can apply my passions to helping kids. It was a reminder that in order for me to feel happy I must constantly make nature a regular part of my life. I don't want to feel sad about this, rather I'll do something about it so that I'll feel happy. What bigger gift has God given us than all the wonders of nature? How dare we not receive those gifts graciously. Telling myself I could write about this immediately calmed me down a bit.

So thank you for reading this. Writing, like immersing in water, is healing and self soothing. I'm so grateful I can do it. It has always been there for me. Words are my waves. They move me, comfort me, excite me. Words are so precious. They are one of the chief ways we communicate. The ocean has its own language, one that is wordless. All languages are sacred. All are important. This film gave me a dose of mindfulness. I thanked my son for insisting we watch something. I highly recommend seeing this documentary. Please let me know if it moves you. There is no end to how much nature has to teach us. We only have to want to learn. 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Uncovering Hair

Thinking pink! The bright, neon color of this party dress is cause for celebration 👛🌂👑. A smooth, bold, clean burst of fun girlishness. I bought it a couple years ago and never wore it, since as I've mentioned in other posts, pink is definitely not my go to. However, just like I sometimes crave a gloomy, cloudy day, it's also occasionally nice to to be awash in a bright pop of energetic color.

I adore these shoes; they look like a watercolor painting. Giuseppe Zanotti shoes are more comfortable for me than most other heels. It's easier to be in a party mood when you don't feel the need to amputate your feet. There's actually never a party I don't bring sneakers or flip flops to. I love to dance, and just can't do it in heels. I always have a diaper bag of sneakers and socks to change into, even if it's a black tie event. Treating your feet well and enjoying the rhythm of your body is cause enough for celebration. Every woman groans in envy, and I always think; at what point did it become mandatory for women to have to balance on foot long needles in order to look good?? Don't get me started on laser hair removal, which I'm convinced was started by Dr. Mengele during his wild experimental days during the Holocaust. I mean, I do it, but there's no question it should have been a medieval torture tactic. Sigh; chicks, Man. Still, I'd rather be a girl and have methods and tricks for how to look nice. Men just get to change their ties and socks 👔,and no one really cares. I seriously always felt bad if a guy had rings under his eyes, a zit, or a gut, and it's deemed socially unacceptable for them to do something about it.

Everyone should have the gift of illusion. When I'm not loving what I see in the mirror, it calls for some other kind of smoke and mirrors. Up to the situation on my head. This is one of my all time fave accessories, duh. It's a straw headband from Magnetic Midnight. I had to own this, for obvious reasons! Bright, beautiful, and super bold; this creation belonged on my head. It fulfilled the fantasy I didn't know I had, of auditioning for "The King And I ". Or, attending Carnival in Rio. This piece is so fun and majestic.

The mood has got to match it; no sourpuss vibes here, or you'd look ridiculous. When I was married, I wore this to "cover my hair" at the Western Wall once. The point of this is to achieve modesty and symbolize your married status. Um... You wanna take this one or should I? Me? Ok, fine.

First, there is clearly nothing modest about this piece, which is why I like it. It screams "LOOK AT ME NOW OR ELSE‼️". So often, all these tulle, feathery concoctions that have landed on the heads of women in synagogue are the opposite of modest and demure. Believe me, I don't care, it's just an interesting social commentary...

Second, I am not married anymore. Which I guess means that when I now wear this, perhaps it symbolizes divorce? Wouldn't that be funny, if all divorced women all of a sudden were issued specific outfit instructions? I never understood why in synagogue, that a tiny doily folded into eighths pinned to the back of a head, should mean a lady is in the married club. It's kinda mean, if you think about it from another perspective of "if he liked it than he should've put a ring on it"💍👒.

What if someone never met the right guy and was still single in middle age, and therefore not only doesn't have a husband but also no children? Or if a woman was just abandoned by her husband. Or widowed and therefore unattached. The need for so many lines drawn and all these categories can feel insensitive. I'm perfectly comfortable showing up to Shul with my bare head, and I'll keep wearing an accessory if I want to for no other reason than I like it. Having something on my head for an hour a week didn't make me feel more married, just like not having something makes me feel divorced. It's all a state of being in your head and heart. Yes, religion has many rules that I'm not changing, or looking to change. But that doesn't mean we can't observe and discuss.

It isn't fair that a woman's personal business is on display for the whole congregation to witness and evaluate. People have pain and complications in their lives. A place of worship is meant to be a house of solace and comfort. I imagine it's very difficult for some people to show up and feel so exposed and visible. Prayer is a highly private endeavor. I know many married women who don't seem happy. A hat doesn't cover that up. Just like there are single women who are perfectly comfortable with their lives. Being single or divorced in the orthodox community has such a condescending, terrible stigma. It's undeserved. It does not mean we are broken people. It does not mean our children will be messed up. In fact, I'm certain that my kids are wonderful, kind, and well adjusted. My not wearing a doily doesn't change the fact that they have two loving, devoted parents who are working together to raise them well.  The goal of Jewish adulthood is to get married and have children. Reproduction to contribute to the population. Otherwise known as "family".  I said "family" I didn't say "partnership"....

What happens after synagogue when the fascinator comes off? It's seems like it's an illusion of security, which is dangerous. Covering up is a very slippery slope for humans. Little acts of external covering most likely leads to internal closing up as well. In high school, I wasn't allowed to take a final exam because it was 95 degrees outside so I didn't wear socks, therefore exposing my ankles. I assumed my floor length skirt would be sufficient, but alas it was not. I just can't see how this could be healthy; to transmit to anyone that the sight of an ankle is a bad, problematic thing. Didn't God give us those ankles? They're not sexual, they're actually bumpy and the bones protrude. Listen, I'm not saying buck the system. Places are entitled to their own ways of doing things. If a synagogue has rules, and we elect to attend, we must respect our environment. That being said, we must also wake up and be aware of what we are doing and why. If people center their lives around religion and don't give it much thought other than robotic movements, then what's the point? It can't enrich our lives that way. The more we connect to our actions, the more they'll resonate in our hearts. But there should be an increased level of sensitivity as far as the whole head covering.

Chicks shouldn't be singled out for being single.

Nothing good comes of that. It poisons the well of thinking in our daughters. The goal isn't a headband. The goal is love, truth, and contribution. Married or not, everyone can add to that intention. Even as a child, I was always the vocal one sticking up for my friends. Yapping on about schoolyard injustice. I write this not for myself. I'm very content with my station on life, and my ex and I indeed have a solid partnership that has been poured into the foundations of our lives. I say this because no one should ever walk into a Shul and feel unworthy, unwanted, and subpar. Bottom line, I love this freaking headpiece. I will wear it alone. I will wear it married. It covers nothing, nor would I want it to. It sits on top of a head that is filled with thoughts, questions, and ideas. Ain't nothing to hide about that.
 

Yo, DJ, Pump This Party 📀📀

I know I haven't written about this in awhile, but rest assured I'm still in DJ school. I think I have a harder time writing about it because it's so incredibly important to me. Out of everything I'm currently doing, and out of everything I'm going to do, this is really my dream. All roads for me lead to standing in a corner in a little club/ bar in Brooklyn, just playing music that is meaningful to me. Showing people a good time, making them move, making them feel. Helping them leave their lives at the door, and just release into lyrics and melody.

I get so lost in my music, whether I'm working out, cooking, or standing on a line. I can be in traffic forever (except if I have to go to the bathroom😝) as long as I can hear music I love. My headphones instantly create an invisible force field around me. I feel all tension in my body melt. Being a giving natured person who has tapped into her need and love to share, it makes perfect sense that I'd want to give others the same musical experience.

A DJ friend of mine recently told me that sometimes after a gig, people will just come up to him and hug him. I GET THAT COMPLETELY. Music is one of the most visceral, honest gifts we have in the world. It has the power to unite people across the globe, in all walks of life. Music doesn't judge. It cares not about your emotional issues, your weight, or your financial status. It loves you and will hold you up if you are dying, or have suicidal thoughts. It sheps nachas as you kiss someone for the first time. It memorializes and celebrates your life throughout every single moment. It's there for you if you are deaf. Through heavy beats and sign language, it finds its way into your body, though maybe not your ears. It pumps us up and calms us down. I could not live without it. Could not.

Like all things that excite me, my love for a heavy beat and a brilliant, or even just an honest, lyric are meant to be transmitted. A great DJ has the ability to heal and spread joy. Oh man, I can't wait for that. I won't care whether or not two people are listening, or two hundred. If I feel what I'm playing, then I will go to bed happy that night. I feel this way when I write. If I write something I'm proud of, then the process stops there. It doesn't matter how many hits, likes, or views it gets. It's gratifying enough putting out something of quality. If you shoot your arrow in the right direction with the right intention, it will land properly.

One of my favorite things about this particular journey is all the really nice people I've met at school. I see my instructors at Scratch every week. I love the encouraging, supportive, educational, and FUN vibe they consistently send me. It feels great how much they're rooting for me. IT IS HOW EVERYONE SHOULD TREAT EACH OTHER AT ALL TIMES. Recently I dragged SF, the Bert to my Ernie, clubbing in Crown Heights and Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Um, we came home at 6:30 am. It was wild. We felt like Thelma and Louise, minus the part about killing someone and covering it up. There's always next time!

We went to see a couple of Scratch DJs play in different venues, unintentionally meeting up with other fun DJ peeps who I know from school. The music was insane. Rogue, Noumenon, and Esquire are wizards! Everyone we met was so nice, so chill, so cool. No one was dressed up. No one had a shred of pretense. Just people out to have a good time. Living in a homogenous neighborhood can really bring one down. It feels stale and stifled. It can be a hard place to live, which is why I've retreated so much, burying myself in my true friends, my family, and my passions. Many DJs I've spoken to claim to be very antisocial. Despite performing in public spaces, it's a very solitary endeavor. You've got to be super focused, on your toes, aware of the crowd, and exact with counting beats. No wonder they loathe requests! By the way, loathe. Don't. Do. It. They'll put a hex on you. You live in the music, which lives in your head. When I'm interrupted while listening to something, it drives me crazy. It feels so invasive. It's like someone barging in on you while you're getting undressed.

A few months ago, I went alone to an event at my school. Different guest DJs were spinning. It was a room full of all kinds of people standing on common ground. We all knew why the other was there. Friends, strangers, colleagues, students, battle champs, it didn't matter. Everyone just showed up to hear, learn, and teach. I realized I was happier in that room full of strangers than I'd be if I was at a bar mitzvah knowing every person there. Just because someone knows you, it doesn't mean they recognize you. It was wonderful and unfamiliar to be in an environment of creativity and encouragement.

I'm 39 years old. It's crazy it took this long to experience. It shouldn't be that way. This is how things should be all the time, and I felt a bit sad that I've never lived within that. I simultaneously felt grateful that I finally had this revelation. From that moment on, I decided it's that or solitude. I like myself way too much to feel I'm surrounded by the wrong people. I always say I enjoy my own company, and I do. I don't need people as white noise. Silence is so beautiful. It's underrated. I'm not afraid of my own thoughts, I can be alone with them. And eventually, I will play them for you, and we will connect while most likely never exchanging a word. Music, like love, is universal. Sing in the shower today, or in your car. Dance while you cook. Bust a move in front of your bathroom mirror. Send a friend a song you love, like I do every week on this blog. If you listen closely, you'll feel me saying something. Just no requests please, it's super annoying. In the words of Jay Z, "If y'all got love for me,I got love for y'all. And if y'all go to war for me, I'll go to war with y'all". Oh, and watch The Defiant Ones on HBO. Tonight. 📀🎧🎼❤️, LB

The Chosen Ones 🤔

So we just finished Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. My restructured family of six had a thoroughly enjoyable few days. It felt great to be back in my kitchen, making requested family favorites that I save for special occasions. Even though it was just us, I busted out my best china and silver. The flowers, food, and festive mood were all on point. Despite my wanderlust and large eyes for the world, I'm a true homebody at heart. There was great table talk, lots of Monopoly, focus on family, and synagogue. I have mentioned many times about my deep connection to synagogue and prayer. I was really looking forward to enjoying that dose of spirituality with my daughters (in our orthodox synagogue the men and women sit separately).

Growing up, synagogue on the High Holidays meant three hours of trapped boredom. You were not allowed to leave unless your bladder was bursting, and everyone's breath was terrible. Boredom would lead to gossip and chatter, which clearly was counterproductive to seeking a state of higher being. I, as well as my kids' dad, am much more chill with that. I believe in quality over quantity, so as long as we've showed up, communicated with God, and heard the shofar a few times, we can exit on a high note. We aren't the first nor the last to be there. I'd rather, as a parent, transmit a feeling of enjoyment for Shul , rather than a sense of entrapment. I want my kids to regard it as something they want to do. However as a child,  I learned how to sit and exist in a state of boredom, something most kids today simply don't know how to do. Being bored and un entertained is an important skill. Life does not owe us constant stimulation. Sometimes you just have to wait and be quiet, end of story.

Usually, when the Hebrew words in the prayer book don't grab me, or when I just want to learn the content from a different perspective, I read the English. For the first time, a lot of what I read was upsetting to me. First, the hundreds of pages devoted to guilt really struck me as tremendously manipulative and wrong. Fire and brimstone isn't loving or inviting. I love God, and I know God loves me, so please don't threaten me with the details of my impending, excruciating death in order to get me to comply. Who the heck wants to sit there reading that all morning? Having been conditioned to trust this as normal my whole life, I never paid attention. Judaism prides itself on being a religion where questions are encouraged, so I'm asking; why make religion about fear and guilt? I'm not asking to get answers, I'm asking just because there's no reason not to. I know the answer, and I'm certain it's the wrong approach. I want my kids to be good people because they know in their hearts it's the right way to be, not because they fear punishment.

Second, the amount of people in the synagogue on the High Holidays is famously quadrupled. This is not a comment on regular attendance; that's not of interest to me, nor is it my business. It's what it represents; we are taught that if you sneak in to this building before Yom Kippur is over, you juuuussstttt may make it into the Book Of Life. It's a loophole that is, once again, highly manipulative. It's like the teacher himself telling the students to not bother with studying all semester; just use the cliffs notes before the final and you'll pass. It all goes back to escaping illness and death. It's like a video game of how to outrun the Grim Reaper.                     

The content of the prayer book that really bothered me this year was all the mention of how Jews are the Chosen People, another notion I never questioned. I'm in the club, I felt special and superior to the rest of the world. Feeling that way is something to savor, not question. If you're fortunate to be born amongst the selected, shut up and go with it. As my eyes are opening up, taking my heart with it (perhaps it's the reverse), I'm increasingly uncomfortable with that idea. If God created every single person on earth, do we really believe He bothered with making MOST OF THE WORLD substandard?? That a tiny minority is truly better than everyone else? It's so elitist, snobby, and obnoxious. In yoga the knowledge that each one of us has the same beautiful, magical spirit feels so right. It's what connects us all. It's what makes each one of us a root in the tree of life. Learning this has given me such an increased gratitude for life. A dear friend of mine, who isn't Jewish, recently said, "you all live so sectioned off, and then wonder why most people don't like you". This person has many close Jewish friends. He said it from a place of love, not antagonism. It struck me in its correctness.

I was discussing the idea with my yoga teacher recently, how Jews are prohibited from getting tattooed. It will keep you out of a Jewish cemetery. I'd always felt I'd be the perfect candidate for a tattoo, since I love words and using the body for expression. However, I probably would have chosen something stupid that I'd regret later, so I'm not entirely sorry to have the threat of being separated from my children in eternity looming over me. Plus, no 75 year old woman looks hot with a tattoo. Men, of course🙄, seem to get away with it better. Quel surprise. I recall learning the reasoning behind this prohibition in high school. That since Jewish people are One, we can't do things that mark us as different from one another. I always liked this concept of unification. However, my teacher responded to that with, of course our bodies are all so clearly different; it's our souls and our spirits that are One. The exterior doesn't matter. The bodies are so temporary. What's INSIDE is what matters. This was so clear to me. I felt bathed with revelation, which is always a yummy feeling.

A friend of mine recently got a dog, after many years of thinking he'd never want one. He loves this pup. His wife, in telling me her husband's change of heart, said something so great. She recounted how in learning he loves his pet, he said,"it feels good to be wrong." I loved that, and I can relate so much. It indeed feels wonderful to be wrong because when we clear our heart of wrong, of untruths, we then make room for right and truth. Being open hearted and filling that space with other views, different thoughts, new experiences and understandings, is what makes us appreciative to be human. Which is why I no longer believe in the elitist Jewish club. Everyone is special, not just us. How can we teach genuine kindness to our kids and instill superiority simultaneously? It's contradictory. It isn't nice. And it's not respectful of God, to assume most of His creations will be left in the dust one day. See ya later, REST OF THE WORLD, the messiah only has room for US. I'm not comfortable with that anymore. It feels good to be wrong. I also always used to love the reverence of the service in which a small section of the congregation, descendants of the high priests, bless the rest of the community. This holy act is so serious, one must not glance upon the priests during the blessing. It occurred to me that this was even more exclusive still. That even amongst ourselves, we are dividing and deciding who is higher up on the totem pole. This was always my favorite part of the prayers. This year it turned me off. This is what I thought about during services this year; not begging and pleading that I don't get hit by a bus this year, or that lightening won't strike me if I "do something bad". Rather, I kept my palms turned upward, receiving newness. Not of a new year, but of a new day.

Every day signifies a new year, not just these two or three of the holiday. I contemplated the turns my life has taken, and how I'm ready for more. I thought about how proud I am of my family and it's unconventionality. Because after all, we are indeed the same inside. I gave myself over not to fear written in a book, but to my trust in God and His universe of support. The grounding in the ground, the limitless sky. The changing of the seasons that will soon occur. The flow of life. No punishment, just belief. It's a gentler approach. We need more softness in life. I love being Jewish, but I like being human even better. All of us were chosen to have our spirits catapult through space and timeand land on this planet for however many years. If you have ever lived, you have been chosen.  Best wishes for a happy and healthy life, The B 🐝                             

One Year Later

It's the start of another Jewish new year. As I reflect back on the course my life has taken since last Rosh Hashana, I'm amazed. New Years are just that; an entire year of your life that can be brand spanking new. Most people live their whole lives doing the exact same thing all the time. One of my favorite IG quotes is "how dare you do the exact same thing for 75 years and call it a life". This can be hard to read, since it calls you out on your shit. I mean, with all the things out there to learn from and experience, there is no reason at all to not take advantage of the gift of a whole new life cycle. God is like, wake up people! He literally commanded us to use that shofar as an alarm clock. He even instructed us to listen to it a certain number of times to ensure we don't just keep hitting snooze. The shofar holds power, not the actual horn of the ram, that's magical thinking, but in what it symbolizes. Of all the nutty things Jews observe, this is one of the good ones. The piercing sound of anything causes us to stop and take note. An ambulance leads us to be momentarily grateful for our health. A police car causes us to pass judgement and take stock of our morality. A fire truck makes us feel relieved our home isn't in flames. Another kid crying or throwing a fit gives us a fleeting air of superiority ("my child doesn't act like that"🙄).

The shofar isn't meant to just jolt us two days out of the year. It has the message of "Dudes, feel this way every single day. PAY ATTENTION". You cannot make any sort of changes without first paying attention to what needs to be altered. Acknowledgement is first and foremost. Chances are, if your life is entirely linear and stagnant, there's something you aren't dealing with. It doesn't mean there needs to be a constant restructuring of one's life in drastic ways, but there is ALWAYS room for major improvement. We are never to stop going forward. Years bleeding into years is a red flag. People wishing each other a Shana Tovah, a Good Year. How does one define a good year? It's pointless to define "good" as "same", then people would wish each other a "same, uneventful year".  Good has got to mean really, truly good. Not that no one got sick or died and that you once again outran the Angel of Death, but that you maximized your time here. It's like that saying "everybody dies but not everybody lives". Drake sings that line on Nicki Minaj's "Moment for Life". It gets me every single time.

Last year, I prayed for certain things as we all did. I've watched in wonder as many of those things have come true. It's as if I'm watching my life in a film, as an objective observer. Its a fascinating and humbling thing to see your life take shape. It can't just be luck or Mazal, that's too haphazard. We accomplish only what we set into motion. Not with empty words once a year in synagogue, but with persistence and a clean heart. This morning in yoga, as tired as I was from holiday cooking (which I enjoyed so much), I wanted to mentally prepare for the New Year. I no longer place such emphasis on these dates on a calendar, since every single day is the start of your life all over again, but such is the nature of tradition. My thought in class was this; with each yoga position we change shape, take on new motions and physical and spiritual formations. We keep flowing, keep breathing, doing our best in that moment. We are so aquatic, and water never stops moving. As we take on new shapes, we learn that we will achieve newness no matter what. We are safe to keep going. We are more pliable than we give ourselves credit for. We are supported by air and earth. We are meant to move with the cycle of the atmosphere. The more we realize what's out there, the more exciting life becomes. Pray for new, be new, create new. Don't just rely on God to give it to you; He is very busy. He's given you all the tools. Let's get to work 🔧🔨🔩🔑🚪

so you had a bad day

I recently sat in a group circle at a healing yoga workshop.  It was comprised of a lovely group of women, most of whom were new to me. When it was my turn to say how I'd come to be there, I briefly described my fairly new relationship with yoga. I never thought of it this way, but I heard myself saying, "there are no more bad days". This choice of words was so interesting to me, and it seemed to really resonate with the group. Everyone nodded and understood. I gave it thought after the class. I wanted to delve into those words that accurately tumbled out during an honest moment amongst strangers. It's really true though; while there are and always will be, difficult days, I can't recall a time I labeled an entire day as "bad". Believe me, I've had many one could sum up as such. Divorce is no picnic. Telling your children about divorce is one of the scariest, worst things you may ever have to do. It was easily the most terrifying moment of my adult life. After I did it, my whole body crashed for four days. The weight of the pressure of revealing that truth, absolutely pummeled me. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. There are difficult days dealing with a marriage too. No relationship is always totally smooth. Married couples can have bad periods that last months. Loneliness and strife will find us all, married or not. It's part of life. We have been given a vast spectrum of human emotions, half of them super shitty. This most certainly includes raising children. Hard days at work, a lousy moment with a friend. The list goes on. And it always will. To daydream about reaching this fantasy state in our lives, when all will be aligned, thus allowing us to finally be happy, will never happen. Even if all your circumstances are in sync, emotions and situations change minute to minute.

We can control almost nothing in our lives. Energy is constantly flowing in all sorts of directions. Take a mood swing. Blissful one moment, enraged the next. Your mood can be consistently cheerful one day, but your child's can be bitchy, therefore causing drama that you hadn't factored into your day. The plan you had to be happy that morning, despite your purest intentions, has been derailed by any of a number of things. Accept that as a possible looming reality. You're really never at the wheel, even though you cleaned, detailed, and gassed your car like a good girl should. Wanna know why I think I no longer have crappy days? Purpose. When you aren't certain and clear on your purpose in life, even seemingly great days feel shitty. Feeling adrift, even under a veneer of togetherness, is an extremely unsettling feeling. You may try to distract yourself with shopping, errands, putting down someone else, but the subconscious gnawing continues. Many mothers jump to the silly martyr excuse, that their purpose was to have kids. I did that, and it's lazy bullshit. First of all, then how do you account for the years prior to giving birth? Second, what an insane amount of pressure to put on your children, for forcing them to provide you with a reason for your existence. It's like expecting a baby to heal a marriage. It's actually the opposite of a selfless mommy martyr. It's selfish to dump your purpose onto any other person, especially a little kid. Find it yourself. Yes, that's a scary prospect ,but so what? It's our responsibility. There's no way around that. Out of basic gratitude for having been born, we simply must. We owe it to ourselves, to God, and to everyone we love. Some of our purposes are the same, some are vastly unique. Everyone can give and receive love, but not everyone will be a talented painter. We can all use our bodies to physically hug and kiss, but half the world shouldn't be legally allowed in a kitchen to cook for others. We can all smile, but we all can't teach math (I sure as hell can't). Some of our purposes are highly specialized and individual.

There was one Michael Jackson and one Stephen Hawking. But every single human being has the ability to be nice to someone else. To love. To support. I'm not talking about a sociopath with faulty wiring. I mean typical humans. We can all share, we can all receive. Often these abilities can be buried under years of emotional sediment, but the capability is indeed there. Many years ago, I did do some yoga regularly when I lived on NYC. It drove me crazy that during shivasana, when we are meant to lie still on the mat at the end of class, sealing in our practice, that I could not keep the palms of my hands facing upwards. It was an awkward, intensely uncomfortable feeling. I couldn't articulate what the issue was at 23 years old, but I never forgot about it. It was this: for whatever the reasons were, I was not able to receive. An upwards, open palm is receiving of the energy of others,of welcoming what the environment and atmosphere is trying to give you in that exact moment. In order to fill yourself with that, there must exist an opening in which to do so. I was closed on certain levels, so even the small act of positioning my hands a certain way was difficult. I tried but then would flip them back downward. I would recognize the same bodily discomfort when my stomach would clench, or I when I would wake up with a locked jaw and my fists balled up. I would literally pry my fingers open. This is how significant a closed palm is. If you can't even be receptive while you're asleep in a subconscious, relaxed state, certainly you'll be closed in a conscious state. Our bodies are not what we are comprised of, they are just the external part of us. However, our bodies are our most important messengers. The human body is so complex; if one of the thousands of things that make it work are off, everything feels off. The physical pain we get used to is staggering. Instead of tapping into why we get migraines, we usually just accept that we have migraines. Back pain, inflammatory bowel disease, a curved spine, headaches, the list of how stress manifests itself goes on.

 In yoga, not only do you elasticize and become aware of your physicality, but of your emotional and mental state as well. All parts of you are forced to, as they always are meant to, work together. People feel safe on the mat because things are finally starting to feel aligned. The trick is to keep the feeling of safety and openness with us all day. This is not easy, but it becomes easier through intention, purpose, and awareness. Denial perpetuates problems. Facing shit gets rid of it. It sometimes is just that simple. Uncovering and discovering my inner parts had brought me tremendous joy. We are made in god's image, therefore we are infinite. There is literally an entire world inside you waiting to be looked at. If you don't uncover it no one else will. No one else can. In the above mentioned yoga workshop, the gist was that we fatigued our muscles, then lied down on our backs and just shook. We just all lied there, silently quivering, releasing years of built up pain and trauma. It was wondrous. I softly cried with gratitude at the sheer ability we have to heal ourselves. It is so sad our children are not being raised to know this, and even sadder most people grow old and die without ever knowing their own power. This went on for about twenty minutes. No one wanted it to stop. It was incredibly humbling to have been introduced to this gift. It felt like possessing a magical power, which it indeed is. This, folks, is why I no longer have "bad days"; because I know this. I cannot not know it. At every miserable, disappointing, irritating moment in life, you can steer yourself to a safe port. Bad times, yes. Always. It's unavoidable. Expect it. But understand there's a way out of your own pain. As my teacher Betsy says, "You are all you need." I've referenced that before, but I say it to myself constantly. This notion brings me comfort. Comfort helps get rid of bad days:).

Seek and hold onto those you find comforting. Eliminate those who bring discomfort. Open your palms, receive what it means to be soothed by those people. Receive what it means to take yourself down from a ledge. An open heart, together with open hands and an open mind, make so much room for good stuff. You are incredible because each one of you is all you need. Retracing back to how I started to speak about purpose... To heal yourself, to heal others. To comfort yourself, to comfort others. To open yourself, to open others. Knowing I can do this, understanding the reason for my existence, is a sure way to wake up smiling every day. Unclenched jaw. Open fingers. A relaxed belly. Open eyes, open in the real way. Many people with perfect vision cannot see, just as many blind people are deeply intuitive. I will keep honing and discovering channels in which I can honor my responsibility. It feels awesome.

Love, LB

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Emotions

I have always been a gal that loves photography. All aspects of it. The creativity, the precise capturing of moments, the ability we have to elasticize time. Decades later, we can snap ourselves back to that exact second in time by looking at an image. Imagery is so powerful, in that one glance can evoke deep, sometimes buried, feelings. With all the talk about how vital it is to live in the present moment, it's still important to look back on our past. Your present is a result of your personal history. Go ahead, look back. As long as we don't rely on the past to keep us happy in the present, it's safe. When we attach to the past too much, it can mess with our head, and alter our current perceptions. Missing the "good old days" sends the message that new days aren't as good. We cannot change the past, no matter how many times we mentally rewrite certain scripts. As long as we know this, and focus only on how we can change in the now, then by all means, reflect away.

Cameras are one of the greatest inventions of all time. They document and capture entire life spans, leaving invaluable treasures to be discovered by future generations. One of my favorite things about this blog, is that I'm documenting my life for my children and grandchildren. And please God, all the many generations that will come. I want them all to have a strong, clear, and vivid picture of who I was. Who I am. I love being on both sides of the camera, taking the photos and being in them. Being such a detail oriented person, it's the tiny things in life that capture my heart and attention. I love spotting the less obvious. It makes one appreciate and absorb the beauty in everything. My favorite photographer is Diane Arbus. Many years ago, the New York Times magazine featured a famous, old photo of hers. This was the first time I'd heard of her. The photo, which remains my favorite to this day, was of young identical twin girls. While the girls had the exact same mirrored features, clothes, and haircut, there were startling subtle differences. One was neat, not a hair out of place, stockings straight. A calm, complacent smile on her young face. The other twin had messy hair, her headband was askew, her stockings wrinkled. She did not look at serene as her sister. Rather, she looked annoyed and unhappy. The imagery struck me; how despite the obvious mirror imagery, these children were clearly so different. That underneath a facade that looks one way to outsiders, all kinds of shit is bubbling and percolating. I wondered if twin B was jealous of her more perfect sister. If she was sick of being compared to her. If she felt she would never be as good as her, would never be the teacher's pet. I felt resentment through the page. I remained curious if their lives had diverged into different paths, one easy and happy , one fraught with struggle and feelings of inadequacy. I wondered if twin A was aware of the differences, and if she was secretly pleased to be the "better one". If every little annoyingly sugar coated move was a passive aggressive🖕🏼to her sister.

Everyone likes to be in the lead, at any stage in life. I saw this photo pre Internet, so I took my copy of the magazine to Barnes and Noble so I could locate the coffee table book I figured it had to be in. That book still sits on my living room table, in a stack of other artfully arranged books that hold significance for me. Diane Arbus was known for capturing and honoring many ugly sides to life. She paid very close attention to that which most people turned away from. The unattractive, the sexually deviant, the mentally challenged , the freaks; they were not inconvenient to her. She was a visionary. Her imagery burns into one's mind. You feel her power through her lens. How dare you look away from certain aspects of life, simply because they don't subscribe to your expectations...

Since starting Instagram this past year, I've been really experimenting with photography. I love posting and sharing. I love the editing, filters, and coming up with witty captions. Since I'm a bit averse to technology, I used to stand on a soapbox about this. I didn't think it was philosophically healthy to need to control our memories. To alter images to make them look perfect felt phony to me. If someone was blinking, or turned their head, then that's the reality of what happened. Leave it be. I thought it was a negative indication of modern technology; how the need to shellack everything becomes obsessive. I can whine about this forever, but it ain't changing. I may as well join the party, even if I have to be coaxed onto the dance floor. It didn't serve me well to stand on ceremony about this. In fact, it held me back. I really do love social media, since it's given me a platform to express, share, and connect with all of you!

One of my favorite things to photograph is beautiful,  fresh food. When I do a Lady Blaga food shoot, which is always super fun and challenging, I pour all my creativity into showcasing my JESScipes in the prettiest, freshest, yet natural way. I prep before, during, and after shots. It takes a lot of work, since Tzvia and I will bang out ten recipes at a time, but I'm always on such a high during the process. In Israel this year, I took a lot of food shots I'm really proud of. I got to combine my love of marketplaces, fresh ingredients, color, and Israel. My family was always 🙄 because I'd lag behind zooming in on a pile of dates or something.

I do a lot of photo work with Sky Frame in NYC, with the ultra talented homie Frankie. We've done various projects together, and I blew up a series of food pics, poster size onto metal. They came out awesome. I hung them up in my kitchen, and they look so sharp and vibrant against a stark grey wall. A clean line of bright, delicious beauty. Most of all, as I stood back absorbing my "work", I felt like a true artist. I have expressed myself more this year than I ever have in my entire life. I've seen projects come to fruition. I have proof of my personal growth and artistic evolution. It feels freaking great. I had an extra shot of gorgeous, juicy 🍓that I didn't have room for. I joyfully gifted it to SF, who hung it in her kitchen as well. The fulfillment in adding beauty and happiness to my friend's home is huge for me. I decided that will be my gift to loved ones, rather than buying an impersonal hostess gift. No one needs another set of lame serving pieces. My yoga teacher recently had a baby boy. I gave her another enlargement I'd made, of turquoise hearts painted on a wall, in the city of Zfat. This city in Israel is the birthplace of the Kabbalah, the book of Jewish mysticism.

This special woman required a special gift💙. Again, the feeling of pride I had when I gave the photo was deeply gratifying. It's a piece of my heart. I had some other images I hung in my sons' rooms too. I couldn't wait to tell them that mommy was the photographer. It's amazing how that little four chambered organ can keep giving and giving of itself, and always regenerate. There's always more to give. Always more to share. Always more to see and capture. We are so blessed to have an innate hunger to want to remember. The more proof we can gather of the wonder of the world, the happier we will be. It certainly works for me📸.