👩🏼‍🎓

As any parent of a graduate knows, a flood of mixed emotions can (and will) drown you at this momentous juncture.  My daughter is soon graduating from high school, and while I’m so proud of her blah blah blah🗣, I’m definitely sad and sentimental.  When I graduated, I’d never have guessed the adults in the room gave that much of a shit.  Aside from the flowers they may have brought, or the photos they took, as a typical teenager I wasn’t aware of the complex range of parental emotions in the smelly, poorly ventilated auditorium.  Perhaps had the ventilation been better🤔...

During times of milestones, the pride factor is a given.  However, the pride I feel is expected in my world.  As in, I’m blessed to not be raising a child in a low income inner city, where a high school diploma may not be an automatic part of the deal.  I never wrestled with fear that my daughter wouldn’t complete high school.  Education where I live is hands down taken for granted, and this has always bothered me a great deal.  We can’t ever apologize where we come from, or to what circumstances we are born into.  But there’s often a sense of entitlement that is attached to a more cushioned existence.  At the start of the year, I stopped to eat on the Upper East Side of New York, a planet unto itself.  The fancy private schools were letting out at this time in the afternoon, and the little corner cafe was soon swarming with glittering, privileged teens.  It was like the set of Gossip Girl.  I felt average, shlumpy, and incredibly lacking in my own horrendous high school experience (not over it).  These girls had musical instruments, the kilt and knee sock gig down pat, and nannies carrying their bags. Their hair was shining, their skin clear, and carbs were not an issue.  The biggest dilemma seemed to be deciding which slutty animal or professional to be for Halloween (slutty mouse or cop?🐭👩🏻‍✈️). I SAY THIS WITH NO JUDGEMENT, IT WAS JUST VERY FUNNY IN A SATIRICAL WAY. I loved the SNL aspect.

As I drove home through Harlem, a few blocks up, the high school dismissal scene was quite different. The colors and energies even changed. It was grayer and heavier. This was not Blair and Serena eating sushi on the MET steps. I assume nothing about the thoughts and feelings of the kids, they could have been equally happy (and who knows if the wealthier ones were??), but it was a glaringly different scenario. It made me really think about how vastly different experiences can be just a few short blocks away from each other, and how unfair it is for people to immediately inherit a certain life.  More so, how being born into a satin pillow removes so much of what’s required to succeed ; drive.  I see this in my own surroundings.  If kids fail a test, so what? The teachers are automatically at fault.  All info can be learned from an iPhone.  The list goes on. So little is required since they’ll graduate regardless. 

My daughter happens to have worked her ass off these past four years.  Not out of fear of remaining trapped in a tough social construct, but because she’s a good girl who loves to learn. She shines in art history, reading, and writing.  When she’d feel overwhelmed by the workload, and Yeshiva schedules are brutal, I’d have sympathy but also pride that she was taking it seriously.  Struggle leads to growth and competency.  She earned her diploma, though she’d have gotten it anyway.  On another note, I’m having a hard time processing that she’s leaving home soon.  Never again will her occupancy of her bed here be a given.  I truly can’t wrap my head around that.  It makes no sense that the little bean I breastfed while watching The Wonder Years, is leaving me.  Where is she going and why doesn’t she want to stay???  Is her excitement at leaving home an indication I screwed up as a mother?  I know that’s egocentric.  This isn’t about me.  She’s entitled to her journey, and thank god she is an adaptable, well adjusted child.  All I want for her now is experience.  I’m just experiencing life at 40; I’m thrilled she’s beginning now. Rack it up, Gurl.  Just live.  But please want to come home.  A lot.  Sifting through baby pictures for her yearbook ads was really hard.  I cried as I flipped through the albums I’ve always meticulously kept.  Now photos live in my stupid phone, not being touched or framed.  That’s another depressing story...

One of the hardest things for parents to do is remove ourselves from our kids’ experiences. They are individuals who need space to grow and figure shit out.  They are not extensions of us, they are universes unto themselves.  It’s not fair for us to insert ourselves in every detail of their lives, be it out of love, insecurity, control, or boredom.  I can’t stand when parents seek fulfillment solely through their children.  It’s too much pressure on them.  I mess up all the time.  I make mistakes I never thought I’d make.  I kick myself constantly.  However, when I look at my Wonder Years baby girl, I know I’m getting at least half of it right.  What a lovely, kind, sensitive, smart, polite, beautiful soul she is, on her own accord. Now if only those graduation caps weren’t so stupid looking...

congrats to anyone working hard for anything, and for starting new chapters, myself included. Onward.  Always onward.  The day we stop learning is the day we die. Love you so much right now.

Tree Pose

I’m going through a tough time now, and I need to call upon all the ideas that I’ve been prattling on about to you since the blog began. Ideas about acceptance, editing, being at peace with the now, breathing through hardships, protecting our energy, raising and sustaining vibrations. You know, all the good stuff. This is a time I need to follow my own advice, or my mind will go off the rails.

I was presented with an emotionally challenging scenario, that went from one extreme to the other in a few short weeks. Something I’ve wanted for a very long time seemed finally within my reach, however ultimately was unattainable at this time. I have been furiously working to clear space in my mind, body, and spirit, so I thought the Law of Attraction was thinking, "Ah! She’s ready!”.

Since my DJ gig a few weeks ago, if you’ve read that post, it’s clear how my level of trust in the universe has increased tremendously.  So I trusted that the universe, in all its wisdom and love for me (for all of us), was sending me what I’ve been manifesting for so long.  Trust is always rewarded, and I’m a good girl, right?  Read into that as much as you’d like. As hard as it is to accept that the outcome of this situation is not what I hoped for, I have indeed learned a lot from it.  But I had to claw my mind out of a pile of shrapnel to reach these healthy, appreciative thoughts. 

My mediation lately has been of me being symbolized by a bright pink cherry blossom tree.  My gig came on the first nice day of the season.  We here in the tri state area have been waiting for things to bloom.  So a couple days before the job, when I was practicing my ass off, I saw a gorgeous cherry blossom in the middle of Manhattan, and I thought,  "ok, this tree is you. This is your time. Roll into your season. Nature waits for no one.” So I’m represented by this tree right? Obvious symbolism.

At first during meditation the tree stood alone. I clung to the cleanliness of that image. Then I meditated on sitting naked and content in a carved out hole in the trunk, patiently waiting for whoever is meant for me to come get me. I’m calm and peaceful sitting in the trunk, because the tree is Myself.  Therefore, I’m at a place where I’m at peace in my increased alignment.  I feel proud of this.  You can’t force meditative images, they come to you naturally when you’re zoned out. It clicks in my heart that this is what I’m picturing.  Now, since reeling from the cards I was dealt recently, my image is of me lying peacefully on cool, refreshing mossy grass at the base of my tree.  I’m resting.  I’m waiting.  I’m content with entering a state of just being. I’m always near my tree because we are one. A strong, beautiful trunk that sprouts vibrant flowers.  I’m always nude in these images, because I’m comfortable with emotional exposure.  This too indicates a level of trust.  Always having to force things in my life must stop.  I don’t need to resort to that anymore.  It’s coming, it’s all coming, and I know it.  So I can rest now.  The work never stops, and our monkey minds will always try to hop around frenetically.  The ego will always try to trip us up and convince us that things are terrible because they didn’t work out the way WE wanted (who are we to script things for others??? We don’t like it when they do it to us.) Taming the mind is a constant process.  And so is letting go.  Letting go of expectations and predictions.  Letting go of any notion of permanence.  Relaxing into the fact that energy is always changing.  Hopes and dreams are vital.  Manifestation  works.

I grapple with the difference between those things and expectations.  But I think it’s that expectation is attached to control, so we go crazy when we lose it.  We really suffer when we expect, but we flourish when we hope and dream.  If I exist under the umbrella of Trust, then I can finally lay down my head with a smile on my face.  And who doesn’t love that feeling?  Call it a spiritual hammock.  Even the shitty things in my life have given me tremendous growth.  I either recognize that or I go crazy.  The choice is mine.  I choose to rest.  I love you very much. That’s not bullshit.  When I write I feel open and mushy, and I’m flooded with warmth.  Writing makes me feel good, so I can tap into emotional generosity.  It’s not shtick when I tell you I love you.  Take that and turn it into whatever you need.  Verbal generosity helps me function.  I erode when I can’t share.  If you love someone, don’t wait to tell them.  There’s no point.  It will be so heavy on your heart to strap that feeling down.  Give yourself a gift by being open, in whatever way feels right to you. You’ll never regret operating from a place of love. Risk involved?  Sure.  The greater risk is stifling yourself.  Remember, you are nature. I challenge you to look around, find an image in nature that you identify with, and use that to symbolize yourself. Hold onto that image, and follow its changes. Barren, dry, cracked, brittle, blossoming, it’s all part of you. Change, fluidity, breaking down and rebuilding. Rooting to rise.  Every damn day, rooting to rise.

Smells Like... my feet

Actually, I can say with grateful relief that I don't have a foot odor problem (Gentleman, take note). But since this post is about Nirvana, one of the greatest rock bands ever,  I had to give a nod to their most famous song. I'm of course referring to "Smells Like Teen Spirit". This song fuels me just as much today as it did when I first heard it in my youth. The guitar opener stops me cold each and every time, then rips me open to the point where I willingly spill forth all my guts and emotions. Kurt Cobain still holds space for us posthumously. I always felt permission to feel or think whatever the hell I wanted under his unintentional direction. Whether or not what was/is going on inside me makes sense to the outside world is irrelevant. Many of Kurt's lyrics are like WTF, but it somehow never mattered. There was something bigger happening than phonetics.

If you never saw the video to this song, I strongly suggest looking it up. It completely encapsulated the dark, teenage, human angst roiling up inside of a misunderstood generation. Is there even a thing as an "understood" youthful generation? I don't think so. It's part of adolescent development to be confused, sad, angry, alone, adrift, frustrated, and unable to understand or explain why. Which is why teens cling so manically to musicians that can explain and feel more clearly than they can. Think about how many songs from that era you still respond to do viscerally. Chances are those songs aren't necessarily musical masterpieces, but they reached inside you, grabbed hold of your emotions, and set them free. Four and a half minutes of freedom is sometimes all we need to get through the day. All the video footage of Beatlemania, or hot early Elvis days, showing women fainting and literally tearing their hair out; that's all so real. Music makes people crazy because at the root of all of us is this deep longing to be understood. When we feel understood by a musician, a guitar riff, or a set of lyrics, it's this burst of energetic relief. It's more satisfying than popping a water balloon. 

Kurt Cobain, despite all his demons, lifted up (and continues to lift) an entire generation, a generation that felt crushed by his suicide. Going back to the gothic cheerleader in the video that I am dying to dress up as. Can someone please make a not nerdy Purim party?? The whole squad looked like this, but the one I couldn't take my eyes off of had braided pigtails, a little Catholic girl skirt, piercings, and major tattoos. There was something about the way she moved and how her hair flew that mesmerized me. I listen to that song all the time, and always think about her. She obviously represented a part of me I wanted to release. An F U boldness that was impervious to all else. Twenty five years later, I still want to emulate her. The cheerleaders moved in this deliberate slow motion, that was fiercely apathetic yet devoted to something. We all go through the motions of life, while often having zero comprehension or control over what the hell is happening inside us.   The drums on Teen Spirit still drive me wild. I've fallen off the elliptical machine several times trying to "air drum"🙄. Apparently I can neither drum in actuality nor in my fantasies. I've ALWAYS wished I could drum, since childhood. Lenny Kravitz and Billy Joel both have female drummers (Billy Joel's might be a percussionist), and watching them fills me with awe and envy.  Lithium, All Apologies; unfortunately the list does not go on very long, but all of it is gold.

As a teen in the MTV generation, I watched Nirvana Unplugged until my eyes and heart bled. Dave Grohl in that low ponytail and turtle neck is an image forever burned in my mind. I'll never forget listening desperately to Courtney Love on the radio, the night Kurt took his life. She was the First Lady of grunge. She was a piece of work, but he loved her, so I did too.     

Fast forward 25 years later, and I just discovered Instagram. I find this artist on IG, @topherkearby. He writes and draws beautifully. His cartoons are superb. I saw a rendering Topher did of my beloved Kurt a few months back. Then there was  an offer on his account for custom Converse. I messaged him requesting Nirvana sneakers. They are incredible, and a comfort to me. After so many years, we still miss who we miss. Once a person impacts us so deeply, we will fill that hole with whatever we can get our hands (or feet) on. I can never walk in Kurt Cobain's shoes, but now I have him painted on mine. These shoes are art, and art is often found in the unlikeliest of places. Beauty when we least expect it. Messages in the mess. At 40 I still feel like I reek of Teen Spirit. I don't ever want to wash that away.

🤘🏻, LB

International Love❤️🌎🌓

This is a very special post for me to write, and I've been so excited to finally put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). Bloggers write about our experiences, and this particular experience was life changing for me. I'm sure you recall that several months ago I met with Sassy Shif, a hugely popular lifestyle blogger and influencer from Mumbai, India. Shiffy had reached out to me in the beginning of January. She was coming to NYC for the first time, and wanted to meet up and collaborate. This alone floored me. That a woman from across the globe was aware of me, read my stuff, felt a connection, and sought me out as a fellow voice in the biz. Shiffy's warmth and authenticity was clear from her first email. I instantly liked her, not just because I was flattered that she reached out. It was incredibly moving to really live the power of social media. Shiffy finding me, getting to know me through my words and feelings, and then coming to collaborate based on a connection she felt, represents the best of what social has the potential to offer. Introducing and uniting likeminded souls from anywhere in the world, creating bonds and friendships, sharing knowledge, offering support to strangers. I was quite emotional about all this, and for the first time I realized the reach I have as a blogger. I've written my whole life, but writing things that are seen outside the notebooks I keep in my nightstand is still fairly new. Writing isn't a want, it's a need. At my happiest or at my absolute lowest, what I reach for is a pen and paper. Always. That or my music. I never understood my writing to be impactful because no one really saw it. Shiffy saw it and bonded with my thoughts before we ever met. How freaking cool???

The idea of bloggers from different countries joining together to share cross cultural ideas on fashion, music, pop culture, and spirituality is so beautiful and important. We are all roots on the same tree, so we should be growing together. I have come to think of Source Energy as that giant tree from the film Avatar. That tree was life, knowledge, and energy to all beings. We all need to breathe, eat, sleep, be loved... The list of how similar we really are goes on. That Shiffy is from India, the yoga motherland, was not lost on me. An added dimension for me was that this is the first year of my 40 year old life that I finally have non Jewish friends from other ethnicities and cultures. That new reality is so important to me. I have no more interest in living in a bubble and only being friends with one type of person. That no longer makes an iota of sense. Good people are good people and that's it. I want my tribe to include any pure, kind, creative, giving human. What religion or race they are is inconsequential. This is not new for anyone reading this who isn't an Orthodox Jew, but trust me, it's a big deal for us. We just don't have the exposure. We live in certain types of communities, send our kids to certain types of schools and camps, and really only know a certain social group. It's extremely limiting. It might be enough for some, but it is doubtlessly limiting. By meeting Shiffy I was like, "Holy F, I'm getting a buddy in India👏🏻🌎❤️". Words I never thought I'd say, and I am all about embracing new opportunity.

Fast forward to our meeting. I decided to take Shiffy and her delightful husband, Salman, who is her talented photographer, to the Lower East Side. I wanted to show her one of the hippest, coolest neighborhoods in NYC. Scratch DJ Academy, my second home, is right nearby, so I'm on the LES all the time. It's all it's rumored to be, FYI. We began our meeting at the Ludlow hotel, at the super cool restaurant Dirty French. I knew she'd love it. I was brimming with excitement; I was meeting my Indian pen pal📝💛. It is very rare that upon meeting someone for the first time, that I'm not the most exuberant. I've always considered myself a camp counselor type; the gal that sets the mood and energy in the room. Very seldom am I out the gate energetically matched. Shiffy bounded in, arms outstretched, and jumped in for a hug. Yasssss! I loved her on sight. It was a breath of fresh air to have someone else set the tone. This is the best way I can describe Shiffy: she is the kind of person to give you the clothes off her back. I know this since that's just what she did. After I complimented her on her beautiful, bright, Indian style ensemble, she literally took off all three pieces and handed them to me. So giving, so enthusiastic. We sat down to mimosas and  ubiquitous avocado toast 🍾, and shot the shit about our respective hometowns. We discussed upcoming Spring outerwear fashion trends. I brought a large selection of my own jackets that I've amassed over the years, many of which are of the moment. Shiffy loved the metallics, the bomber jacket looks, and the two textured denim jackets the best. It was a fun show and tell situation. We couldn't stop chatting and marveling over the power social media has to connect and unite. I learned a lot about the blogging industry in India. We took fantastic NYC street photos, then had a lovely lunch at the iconic Laduree. It was such an instabond!

Our adventures over the next few weeks continued with numerous NYFW events, PR parties, and a photo shoot at the James Nomad hotel. I gave her a long list of places to go and things to do in NYC. She and Salman even came to my lesson at Scratch one day! Shiffy and I are constantly in touch, sharing respect, admiration, and love for each other. Our goal is to seek out like minded, substantial bloggers who truly wish to positively impact our followers. So many are in it just for superficial attention. Shiffy was a major Bollywood marketing executive before becoming an influencer. Follow her and you'll quickly see how she wants to share, spread, and include her peeps in the best life has to offer. Her positivity and honesty is clear. Time zones and continents are irrelevant when a pure soul shoots her arrow in the right way. My dream is to meet with her and Salman in Mumbai next time! It will happen. I feel so grateful that Shiffy stumbled upon me, researched me, and chose me to be her New York buddy. I feel even more grateful that I have a new friend for life. 🌎✌🏼️Namaste, Shiffy. The light in me most certainly recognizes the light in you✨✨✨. Om, shanti to all our followers, wherever they may be for now.

Fashion Week

#DREAMZ 💿💿

You know when you have those intensely magical moments, in which you are so acutely aware that everything that's ever happened to you has led to a certain point? And you are so overcome with divine trust in both the universe and yourself, that the only thing left to do is to weep with gratitude? I had such a moment recently, and it will easily go down as one of the epic events over the course of my entire life span. No matter what age I will ultimately live to be, this event will be a major highlight. And I'm talking about a life that will contain many epic moments, since I'll do everything in my power to make that so.

Over the past year and a half, since the Jessie ship was steered in a new direction, I am continuously blown away by what "the universe" has offered me. I put that in quotes since that term is so grossly overused and diluted, but there is no question an unseen force that is constantly at work to meet us vibrationally.  In my quest for self study and understanding, I am learning to clearly see all the invitations the universe has hand written for me. These invitations manifest in the form of other humans, opportunities, physical changes, exact moments, and emotions I never paid attention to because they were scary and unpleasant. The universe can offer away, but only does so when we are ready to accept these invitations. What usually causes us to decline is fear. Fear of failure, fear of change, fear of growth, fear of mistakes, fear of embarrassing ourselves, and fear of what others will think/say. Fear is evil. It fucks us up tremendously. The good news, however, is that it's not at all permanent. It is a force to drive out, but it is indeed possible, and frankly necessary in order to live your fullest life. Fear is what took me so long to enroll in DJ school two years ago. It is what made me shlep a friend to my first semester of classes, which is soooo unlike me; I often write about how I'm very comfortable going places solo. Listen, fear is a human emotion. I no longer chastise myself for having it. Any thought or feeling on the human spectrum of emotion is an experience we are meant to have. It's how we then go on to handle it that determines the course of our lives.

Since I've opened up my life, all kinds of wonderful (and some not) people have popped up in it. I allowed for this by clearing space. It's logic; out with the old, in with the new. I met James through Federica. If you're a longtime reader, firstly, I love you so much. Secondly, you may recall an article I wrote about my contractor, Al, back in August. Al is Federica's father. Their entire family has been a gift in my life. It's almost impossible to quantify the relationship I have with them. So I meet James through Fed. We hang out, we play, we enjoy life together. Like attracts like. James is super fabulous and works in the NYC hotel industry. He's the kindest, most generous guy. That he has killer fashion sense and the coolest collection of eyeglasses is an added bonus. Oh, and we love the same music, which we discovered while clubbing in Brooklyn. Several weeks ago, I'm sitting in a doctor's waiting room and I get a life changing email. Those are beyond cool, btw. They can make history. The Surrey hotel in NYC is launching the opening of their rooftop bar. They're looking for a fabulous DJ who can mix an old school Sinatra vibe with current/upbeat. James was like, you can definitely do this. This was a clear message from a higher force; Girl, you ready for this.

I am in no position to argue with nature, and nature is growth. Nature is change. Nature propels herself forward every damn day, revealing literal wonder and magic. Human beings are a function of nature, probably the most complicated species around, which is why we get all screwed up when we resist it. I read something on IG that I loved; how nature loves and supports courage. How once we hurl ourselves into the abyss, we find its really a soft featherbed. I have proof of this idea; I have lived it with all the twists and turns my life has taken. I started to view my head as a file cabinet. Sure, there was a cabinet of fear. But I also have a huge drawer of courage and strength. Not theoretically but actually. I now know that about myself. I have proof. So I imagined closing the fear drawer and opening the courage drawer. I so admire and envy people who simply do not feel scared, but right now that's not me. It might never be, and that's ok, as long as I manage my fears and don't allow them to govern my life. I so, so believe that the universe is caring for me and guiding me. I learned this through daily yoga and mediation practice. I can tell you life is a helluva lot more enjoyable when we believe. It just is. If I don't trust, then I'm choosing to invite doubt into my life, and we all know how that story ends. So I trusted the universe, who had sent me James, and I trusted James that I was intended for this moment in time. I trusted my DJ journey, which was ridiculed by some very small minded, unsupportive people that I knew.  I trusted my teacher at Scratch, who would never push me off a cliff if he didn't believe I could fly. He knows who he is, and he knows what the past couple of years have meant to me. How metaphorical they've been. Every time I allowed fear and doubt to cloud my vision, it was knowing that he was sure I could handle it that slammed the fear drawer shut. When the student is ready the teacher appears. Only this certain sensei at this certain dojo would have gotten me here. I'm crystal clear on that. When you know, you know...

So back to this incredible night. Picture it: a beautiful, chic rooftop bar on the famed NYC Upper East Side at the landmark Surrey hotel, the first hot evening of the season, beautifully dressed attractive people, sexy artwork on display by London artist Jimmie Martin, high end liquor flowing, delicious food being passed around, AND MUSIC. I mean, the place was bumping! Usually this rooftop bar features a live jazz band. They wanted a different feel to this event, and I was so proud to deliver that. No one expected that the chick in the silver Soul Train jumpsuit, could kick it with a Rat Pack vibe. I wanted to honor the hotel's history with Sinatra, Tony Bennett/Lady Gaga, Dean Martin, and Bobby Darin. It was a great way to kickoff the night. New York glittered with glamour and gravity. I then bumped it up with Motown, one of my favorite genres, and then some disco. After that it was clear I had the guests loose enough, and I hit them with 80's, 90's, and rap. My eclectic nature really had room to shine that night.

I know being a DJ is not about me; it's about the partygoers, but it feels so good to feed the people what they want. They often don't even know what they want to hear; that's my job. I love providing for people, and holding space with my energy. Watching the crowd was my favorite part. Anticipating what they'd like to hear, interacting, engaging, giving and receiving all our energies as one unit. It was beautiful. I have never felt more radiant or alive. This is musical connection, and I've been addicted to it my whole life. This is how I will transmit yogic philosophy; I will use music and words to fuse us together. We are all given different means of serving humanity. When people are with me for the night, whether they arrived to the party happy or sad, I will take care of them. I am energetically strong, I can handle everyone's moods. If they can just be in the moment and enjoy, then I've done my job. As I looked out onto the crowd, I felt so moved that one little Jessie made 300 people have a sick time. All of us just wants to be happy. All of us. We can't achieve that alone. We need each other more than is comfortable to admit. It can feel weak to admit we need others, but it isn't at all. A garden needs all kinds of flowers to be its most beautiful, a dish needs a variety of spices. Let's all just be here together. I had the time of my life that night. I have been beaming ever since. That night was a gift, but it was proof of all my dreams and determination. I wanted this for myself and I set out to get it. As I said, nature loves and rewards courage.

The magnitude of all this hit me as I lit my Shabbat candles after the gig. For years I prayed fervently to God to show me creative and spiritual fulfillment.  I had no idea how to get it, but I knew I was lost without it. This week, after blessing my family and the Sabbath, the words "thank you" just kept tumbling out. Over and over and over. It is true that gratitude is the key to happiness. I am grateful for my passion for music, grateful for my desire to share it, and grateful to every person who has taught me how to be a messenger of lyrics and melody. Everything in life begins with a dream, and the only one who can decide what that dream is is YOU. Do you realize how powerful that makes you?? Your dream lives within you. Fight your ass off to uncover it. Do whatever it takes for however long it takes. Try different avenues of excavation. Once you do, you will be catapulted into a richer existence. This is just how this works. You are worth it. You deserve it. You are ready. See you on the dance floor. I got you, I promise.

Love, DJ LADY BLAGA

Kotel Compass

It's widely known that the Kotel, the Western Wall, in Israel is a place of deep religious and spiritual significance. People from all over the world, of all religions or non religions, flock to the Kotel to communicate with God. I have a lot of friends who feel they can only access their spirituality at this wall. This is a problem, particularly if one doesn't live anywhere near Jerusalem. All humans have spirits all the time. If those spirits are dormant or neglected unless we tell ourselves we are "at one specific place", then we aren't properly functioning the majority of the time. If we attach feeling connected and alive to an object, a place, a holiday , a date on a calendar, or even another person, then we are setting ourselves up for spiritual failure. Any of these outside sources can and will go away at some point, leaving us bereft and sad. The holiday will end, we will leave Israel, the person might move or die, and the object could be lost or destroyed at any time. Blaming or crediting an inanimate object with the whole of your spirituality is an unnecessary mistake.  We have these things inside us already, and only we can attach to them. There is no question this is internal work and not external. It's definitely a form of avoidance in seeking "things" to fill us with godliness, even if said things are holy. It doesn't matter; to put all our eggs in another basket, when we are the chickens, is a bizarre handing off of the greatest part of being alive. This really begs the question; to what degree to we place importance on objects in general? Even highly observant Jews are divided on the intrinsic spiritual powers of the Kotel. Some believe the stones themselves hold magical properties, and are a direct line to Hashem, while others see it as just a wall. Symbolic, yes, but it's a "pile of stones", as one friend put it. It's important to note that this person did indeed make Aliyah/move to Israel, and is completely orthodox. He intended no disrespect. He, like myself, thinks it is just a historic wall. I don't feel as drawn to the Kotel as I used to. I don't feel compelled to run there when I visit Israel. I am bursting with spirituality everywhere in Israel, even on a beach in tel Aviv. Especially on a beach in Tel Aviv! Watching the sunset, surrounded by people outdoors who are full of life, enjoying their families, this truly activates my soul. I feel grateful for life, grateful for the state of Israel, grateful for the warmth of the sun, and for the energy all around me. The point is that we are denying ourselves if we don't learn to live in a spiritual state in any situation. This discussion arose around the Friday night table. A different close friend described the intense connection he feels to Hashem only at the Kotel. I said, but you're only there maximum once a year so where does that leave you the other 364 days? Wouldn't it be so wonderful for you, I continued, if you could feel that way here in New Jersey? How much richer would life be then? Our lives would be happier, fuller, and more peaceful if we made it a mission to do whatever it takes to infuse the mundane with meaning. If we don't, the only ones that suffer is us. With all the practical responsibilities of life, it is so daunting to have to worry about the intangible. Where do we begin? We think we have control over the physical, the tangible, so this is what we seek for comfort. It never works though. If anything, there might be fleeting instant gratification, and that always fades. We are tired, burnt out, and don't want to have to feel responsible for one more thing. We can prove we own a car, bought the house, built the pool, put on the yalkmuka, but we can't prove we are spiritual. So this responsibility, the obligation we have to serving our souls, gets shelved. No one knows if we lack in that area. But we know, and that causes a nagging feeling of unrest. That's the spirit crying out for nourishment. Constant nourishment. A soul can indeed starve to death. We cannot rely on any kind of structure to fix that, it's an unrealistic expectation. If you are amongst those who do feel a jolt of spirituality from the Kotel, I ask you, for nobody's sake but your own, to ask yourself how you can perpetuate that beautiful feeling. If you really ask, you'll start to find answers. This is one of the most important questions you can ever ask. Questions are often a gift. They lead to self study, and the more layers we unpeel, THAT is the key to a spiritual life. Wherever you are.

Void Transaction

So I've had this title sitting in my draft pile for months. This is unlike me; usually when an idea strikes I have an urgency to get it out immediately. I love that part of the creative process, that it's a deep need. I think I've held off writing this post so as not to sound judgmental or hypocritical. This piece is not meant to condemn those who shop a lot. That's not my business. Rather, after examining my own patterns and shifts in said patterns, I have learned a lot about the incessant need to buy shit. It is not revelatory that shopping fills a void. That is known, yet it is a crack addiction that is deemed acceptable since it isn't actually crack. Especially if it's "stuff for the kids".  Do our children really care if they have six sweatshirts or eight? Of course not. There is good reason why when on a show about hoarding, there is always a psychiatrist or psychologist on hand. Obtaining THINGS is unquestionably something we do as a means of keeping busy, distraction, giving a time table to an otherwise empty and unstructured day, and a shot of instant (though unfulfilling) gratification. THINGS and STUFF can also dangerously be expressions of false love. I recently spoke to a middle aged man who said he needs to shop incessantly, since the giving to him of stuff was the only way his mother was "kind" to him as a boy. People often give tangible items when they can't give what others really need to receive; the intangible. That is the root of our own adult shopping habits with ourselves. We buy all sorts of unneeded crap for the same reason; to give ourselves the tangible SINCE WE CAN'T GIVE OURSELVES THE INTANGIBLE. I put that in caps so you'll pay careful attention. Instead of filling our days with searching for self love, acceptance, growth, and the scariest of all; what we need to CHANGE, we run to a store. Adults fill their carts and baskets with empty objects instead of taking time to observe those patterns. It is hands down a means of deflection and distraction from filling out spiritual baskets and emotional carts.

I once read a brilliant line in an article. I think it was one of the Ephron sisters. She wrote of her unhealthy marriage like this, "we filled the gaps in our marriage with things". That line  struck me in its truth and honesty. Cars, clothes, redecorating, purses, artwork.  "We bought this together" or "he bought this for me".  Sure, acquiring mementos together on a trip or a sentimental gift is lovely. We all love genuine tokens of love and affection. But I suspect the root of much of that giving doesn't come from a pure well of the desire to just give. To give in the unconditional sense. Because real, pure giving doesn't rely on materialism.  It just doesn't.  Someone who is certain how deeply loved they are, be it by themselves or another, doesn't need a bracelet to prove that.  I once spoke to a woman who went to five different supermarkets a week. She bought different items in each store. She wasn't in the best of health, so I asked her why doesn't she go to one store and make her life easier? She knew why. She said, "without this I would have nothing to do." That made me so sad. How we start off on this planet, full of potential and possibility, and can so easily wind up directionless, having no idea what the hell to do with our precious time. Days wasted shopping, running, returning, pretending to be busy until it's carpool time, dinner time, or our show comes on. By the way, the supermarket woman died a few years later. Think about that.

I was never an incessant shopper, but the few times I did go I'd buy a lot. Too much. Purchasing these items made me "happy". Look what I did today; I got these gorgeous shoes to wear to the next upcoming bar mitzvah. Buying all sorts of crap for the house, the kids. It doesn't have to be Gucci; Bed Bath and Beyond can be just as much of an addiction. Basically, we are addicted to distracting ourselves from a myriad of serious, heavy shit that is begging for our attention and awareness. I knew I was done with this phase in my life when I went to Italy last summer. The Italian airport is famous for its huge collection of duty free designer shops. I didn't glance at them; I had no interest. None. I bought a beautiful apron with lemons and Italian words, as a memento from my trip. I love aprons, I always wear them. I bought the same one for S, who also loves them. The lemon apron has become one of our special things. It makes us smile. That's all I wanted from my trip. As I continue to unload the need for the physical, I am indeed lighter and cleaner. I'm not being penalized for overweight in the metaphorical sense. Lighten your load. The more you eliminate from your life, the more shelves you clear out for what matters. I promise it works. If you're addicted to stuff, don't judge yourself. Go over your need for these patterns, like you would a credit card statement. Study yourself, learn about yourself, and go return what you don't need. I mean emotionally. Give back fear, emptiness, sadness, boredom, and anxiety. And go acquire what you really need and want. You don't need me to tell you what that is; you already know. And I know you know these answers aren't found in a pair of shoes.   

Always Yours, Lady Blaga

Tal-mood

I'm going to wager that this is a first Talmud pun...🤔🤓✡.       

Often times, as I'm writing a style post that began as more one dimensional, it morphs into a deeper piece. I love when this happens. I admittedly feel like a bit of a douche waxing philosophic about an outfit. Sure, I love fashion. I really do. I have always used it as a means of expression. One of my earliest memories is of a four year old me wearing a faux denim cowboy dress, purchased from Pathmark. Um, as in the supermarket. My mother begged me to wear something else, but I stubbornly insisted on wearing that dress numerous days in a row. Questionable fashion choice, but good for me for owning Herself even in nursery school. It took me decades to gain footing in other areas of my life, but in that department I guess I stubbornly did my thang. However, while I really like clothing and accessories, let's face it; it's not what makes the world spin on its axis. So when I'm able to turn a style post into substance, I feel proud, especially since that evolves organically. It's always unplanned. While writing the post about the navy leather outfit, other ideas took shape in my hand. I referenced some but more thoughts remained that I wanted to share with you. That's the thing about a true idea; it's the center of a spiderweb of thoughts🕷.

It will always yield more, cause us to keep going. I mean, why stop? Surely there's someone you can ask/vent to/discuss with. THAT is what makes the world spin on its axis🌎. That is the point of this blog. In Judaism the Talmud encourages questions, discussions, and debates. Different rabbis represented opposing schools of thought, and laws were created based on how the majority opined. I loved learning Talmud when I was younger. I enjoyed the Aramaic in which it's written, and in general I love to analyze. But I've been grappling with this lately; does any organized religion truly welcome questions? It's easy to say that, as long as the answers and results yield the same. I have been feeling that the message might be, "Sure, ask away, as long as you stick the formula that the rest of us are using. Cuz if you don't, well..." Religion and spirituality are two completely separate entities, though they often get muddled together. Many use religion as a way of convincing themselves it's bringing them to a higher spiritual plain. It does not work this way. The only way to exist in a state of pure spirituality is to connect to your God given spirit, the one tool already within you. We were all given this incredible gift at birth. Imagine yourself full of this vast expanse of cosmic energy, just in the jacket of your amazing body. A jacket that's one day going to be removed, as hard as that is to admit.

Can it really be that our spirit, this undefinable magic, is affected by your sexual orientation, race, length of your skirt, celibacy, or in which direction you light the menorah? That if you're a girl with visible elbows or ankles, you are deemed less spiritual? That the amount of Hail Marys or psalms you say determines your relationship to God?  I say this not in ridicule but in genuine inquisitiveness. If God made all of us, ALL of us, and brought us into this world in such a state of clean perfection, do we really think He is setting us up for a lifetime of crawling through an obstacle course of rules just to return to Him? Don't you think He loves you more than that? The greatest spiritual teachers talk about how all our actions are based on either love or fear. When we act in a manner that's beneath us,  it's because we are usually deep down afraid of something. Afraid of not being loved, being unseen, being wrong, feeling not in control of our own lives, scared of death, feeling more jealous than we want to admit, etc. The following of rules, as I've come to see it, is a very fear based practice. It's a carefully constructed illusion of control. If I do this God will reward me.  If I do that I won't get struck by lightening.  If I do x I'll be known as devout in my community.  If I'm a good boy or girl I'm guaranteed a front row seat in heaven.  How did we get so conditioned by thoughts such as these? Think about it; other flesh and bone humans decided all these rules. What makes anyone the authority? Why are we so sure this is what God wants??? He never told any of us.

Interpretations of what other humans believe to be the will of God has morphed over the years into some pretty crazy shit. I had a teacher in high school who would be considered to be exceptionally devout. She taught me in tenth grade. I was flummoxed one day in class as she explained to us that after her adopted son turned 13, the age of bar mitzvah, she will no longer touch him in any way. Since he's not biologically hers, any physical contact between sexes is forbidden. WHA????? This reminds me of my favorite line in the film The Royal Tenenbaums, where the awesome Gene Hackman says of Gwyneth Paltrow,"and this is my adopted daughter, Helen." How sad a life for any child to not receive oceans of physical affection from his mother? How can that not lead to a life of loneliness, isolation, and neglect? To not kiss your son goodnight in the name of God? Come on. That can't be a divine wish. I know that's an extreme case, but I also don't think God really cares if I wait one, three, or six hours between eating meat and dairy. Or if I take a final with exposed ankles. Or if I hold hands with my (imaginary) boyfriend? Or if someone finds true love and peace with someone of the same gender. Or if I'm Jewish or not. I know God loves me, and that's frankly all I need to go forth. Look, He's not handing the manual to me just like He's not handing to manual to the Pope or the Chief Rabbi of Israel. All this is just what I believe He wants from me. And that is to be a kind, peaceful, giving, and receptive contributor to the world. To act from my spirit, not from a man made encyclopedia of rules.

Before these rule books, we already were given what we need to feel connected: the elements, the stars, our bodies, our breathing. There is no purer place than a hospital delivery room. When that baby comes out, attached to its mother, nestled in her arms, crying, blinking open its eyes for the first time, is that mother thinking ,"I can't wait to plow you with religious dogma so that you'll have a successful, proper life?" No, of course not. No mother is thinking that, nor is the father. The first thing any parent in a delivery room wants to know is if their new child is breathing. It's all that matters. A healthy, breathing child. As time goes on we want that baby to smile, to laugh, to eat, to sleep, to walk, to be kind, to let us hug them, to share with their little friends. Isn't it amazing how those things are all we want? Maybe this is what God wants from us too. If we were created in His divine image, and if within us exists this infinitesimal magic, maybe we are more similar to God than we are comfortable with. Because we are human, and humans feel adrift in the abstract. So we cling to restrictions and stringencies because we don't know how to get through the day without them. We need to trust more. Trust that God is happy with us the way He made us. God is too busy to make a half assed project. He already gave you all you need. Seek spiritual connection within, not from without. I promise it's more fulfilling that way. It brings a sense of calm to your life you didn't know was attainable. How wonderful to not live your life in outline form. If religions each have their own gazillion interpretations of life, then which one is right? It's impossible to determine that. There's no winner in that race because there's one judge, and He is rooting for all the competitors. So let's use what we KNOW we have and not what we THINK we need to live a spiritual life. Hey, no one ever arose from the dead to tell us what the heavens really want from us, so we can stop trying so hard feverishly to guess. If we all unzip our jackets of gender, race, and religion, we will find we all have the exact same tool kit. The one they give you with free formula samples in the maternity ward. Let's use that and see how it goes.       

Deer God

I have always wondered about the antler growing process on a deer. Or any other horned animal. I'd look at these heavy, majestic, massive, intricate horns and wonder

A)  How the hell do they walk around with those things??

B)  How insanely uncomfortable it must be to have the horns poke through the animals' heads.

Imagine hard, sharp objects fighting to pierce through your scalp. It's like teething from your skull. Babies writhe in agony as their teeth come in, and we parents desperately try to soothe them, knowing there's not much we can do. It's just a shitty process that's biologically necessary.

I am learning that life is a continuous series of shitty, difficult, uncomfortable growth processes. I often write about how growth is hard. That's because it is. Army crawling through dark tunnels of the mind, so that we can come out into the light of the other side. This doesn't appear to ever stop, and while that sounds annoying and exhausting, it also means we never stop growing. No tunnels means no emergence into light.

I have been reading a lot lately on self study, as a means to rework my thoughts and reactions. This is very uncomfortable work. It requires reaching deep into childhood memories to begin to understand our current state of adulthood. Why we react the way we do. Why certain situations trigger the F out of us. Why we are people pleasers, overachievers, why we choose people who enable us to perpetuate unhealthy patterns. Why we always need to be the mouse running through the maze, enduring hits and roadblocks just to get the cheese. It's the cheese we want, right? That little reward at the end that convinces us it was all worth it. We are good little boys and girls if we secured the prize. In my case the cheese is crumbs of affection, which I realized recently I've had to fight for my entire life. This is a hard truth, yet it explains oceans about my behavior and choices. I plan ahead, overdo, and preempt so I can ensure I get the cheese out of self protection. This was never done for me, so my self preservation instincts kicked in long ago so I can help myself. Or rather, I think I'm helping myself by getting that instant gratification, but I'm really harming myself. By focusing on the cheese, my vision of the process becomes very cloudy. I don't see people and scenarios as sharply as I should since I'm going for the prize. This is ironic and ridiculous, given what an observant, tapped in person I am.

I recently went through several instances that have forced me (thank god) to turn inward and figure my shit out. It was time. Time to face facts and gain awareness in order to change. The first step to achieving different results (and I REALLY want different results) is awareness. And awareness is tough because it humbles the shit out of us. It forces us to see how we are far less in control we are than we want to believe. We cling so tightly to convictions, rationalizations, and patterns in order to convince ourselves we have our lives together. It is very hard to admit we don't. However without this admittance, we will forever be stuck. There is no chance of a different outcome without a different process. I have been learning that any suffering and anxiety I feel is a chance to dig deep and approach things differently.

I have read this from Deepak Chopra to life coaches on Instagram. My fave IG coaches are Mark Groves @createthelove and Abraham Hicks; both of these accounts help me tremendously. Anxiety, fear, frustrations, and anger can be seen as blessings. We get to learn about ourselves which will only lead to uncovering better versions of who we are. If we don't look we simply don't find. In my case, the knee buckling fear I feel when I don't feel seen/acknowledged/responded to needed to be addressed. It's insane that a text message from a guy, or lack thereof, should determine the course of my day. None of my reactions stem from insecurities; that would make more sense. I am very aware of what I bring to the table. So then why am I like this? I needed to learn and begin to sort out what are old reactions to what is relevant now. They're all pretty much old butterflies that still come swarming at me now. They're not real though, I conjure them up out of habit. And habits can be broken. It was hard to quit sucking my thumb at 15 (!!) but I did it and now have beautiful teeth. Even harder was to change my diet and workout routines, but now I have a body I truly love. It was difficult to start waking up at 5:45 to go to my sunrise yoga class, but that gave me an entirely new life. I have changed much tougher patterns; I can do this. I am stronger than I give myself credit for, another pattern created from being so used to not receiving credit from others.

Women in general have a hard time crediting ourselves. It's seen as selfish and egotistical. In fact, refusing to learn about ourselves is selfish, because we are unconsciously choosing to deprive our loved ones of our best selves. If we really want to give, which we do, we have to be as emotionally healthy as possible. To not do this work because we don't want to admit we aren't perfect; THAT is the egotistical piece. We will be painfully astounded by what we need to realize about ourselves. There's no room for ego in this process, which is a gift. To have true, pure results out of life we need to face rejection, hurt, confusion, and abandonment. Use rejection as a chance to explore why you are feeling rejected in the first place. Understand all the crazy assumptions and scenarios you concoct in order to gain false control over situations. As soon as I started to see all this, I felt stuff begin to melt away. Shedding skin, leaving old crap behind. Yoga, by the way, teaches all of this. All. Which is why I responded so quickly to its teachings. I was ready to become a new Me, I just needed help.

If I examine my life today, I am factually no longer unseen. I am objectively acknowledged. I am actively living out my dreams and pursuing my passions. I am clear on my purpose and path. On paper I have a completely actualized life that I'm proud of. So to tie up my happiness in a text message or phone call from some dude is nuts. I know I'm a Kween, I just need to align my actions with that fact. And since my actions stem from my reactions, then my reactions needed some serious dissection. In science class, we dissect specimens to learn every detail about them. You are your most important specimen. There is no education without dissection, which requires sharp tools. They say stagnation is death because without change there is no life. It's true, the years of my life that were identical and stagnant weren't such happy years for me. It's unnatural to have all remain status quo. We are nature, and nature demands change. To not evolve is to battle all nature asks of us. Which is why it feels so lousy, even if we can't identify it. In yoga we flow. We stay firm yet flexible. We stay strong yet soft. We believe in ourselves but are humbled to learning more. We change shape while reveling in our firm connection to the earth. We pump ourselves full of self love while simultaneously welcoming space for newness.

Man, I love this practice. But to practice takes discipline. It requires physically and emotionally showing up. It's called a practice, even by the masters, because perfection is never achieved. We are always a work in progress. I love the image of the beautiful lotus emerging from the mud. From ugliness comes beauty. From pain comes wonder. And like the antlers on a deer, we can carry a far heavier load than we ever thought possible.  As we poke through our own thoughts we rise majestically. We teethe like babies to create necessary new stages of growth. How lucky are we to begin to know this? To turn pain into progress. Turning hell into healing. We have every tool needed to do this. Don't be afraid. This is a private journey that you don't need to blog about if you don't want to. That's why I'm here. The first step is understanding fear. The second you start that you are immediately braver. And when you claim back your bravery, that's when you line up with yourself.

Deer God, you so deserve to feel like the warrior you are. But first, the training. You weren't created for a mediocre half life. Go get yourself. You'll fall, cry, and bleed along the way, but forgive yourself for tripping (I'm a perfectionist so this part really challenges me). And if someone makes you feel less than worthy, after constructing the voodoo doll, thank them silently for forcing you to face the need for introspection. Let your pain teach you and guide you to a stronger mental plane. It will be the best trip you ever take. I know you can do this because I can, and we are all the same underneath the layers of nonsense we bury ourselves in. This is such a loaded post and I'm not really sure what the perfect closing line should be. Perhaps giving up the idea of perfection is where I leave you... Yeah, that sounds right.

Love, LB

Blaga Books

Reading is one of the greatest joys in my life. It always has been. I'm proud to be an avid book lover, as well as grateful. Books have been a deep source of calm, enjoyment, excitement, and emotion for me. When I not entrenched in a book I AM PISSED. I'm agitated, like I can snap a pencil in half. When I love a book, and if I don't love it I put it down, all I want to do is curl up and read. Knowing my story is there for me fills me with an old school richness that technology doesn't provide. I love sharing books, so I bring to you all the books that are impacting me deeply. I don't want to summarize or review them. I want this new blog feature to be based on trust.

Let's try it this way; I give you my recommendations and please let me know how (if) you've connected to the story. I'd love to get dialogues going with you about quality literature. I will be selective and only share titles that have knocked my socks off. Special books that I need you to know about. Let's give Instagram a break😉.

The two books that have left me breathless are "Brida" by Paulo Cohelo and "A Man Called Ove" by Fredrik Backman. Both of these will stay with me forever. I have learned incredible lessons from each of them. They have reaffirmed my belief in the purpose of life. I'm a better person for having read them. I can't wait to hear your comments. I am so excited to share another passion of mine with y'all.   

Happy reading, Library Books📚

Viki Jeanne

A few months ago I simply could not get up at 5:45 for my sunrise yoga class (I know, it sounds insane but it's so worth it). I went to another class with a new teacher from Baltimore, who had just arrived fresh from her Thai massage studies in Thailand (redundancy alert). I get very attached and accustomed to my routine, as most of us do, and truthfully when you aren't vibing with a new yoga teacher, it's annoying since the classes are long. This is obviously a lesson in non attachment and flexibility. In being open to new methods and new approaches. It's something we all need to work on, and it only serves us well. For every lousy experience there will be five amazing ones. Well, on this particular day I was introduced to Viki. It was yogi love at first sight. Glowing skin, a calming delivery, a radiance in her eyes, and a deep joy at having just come to our location to teach. What sold me on her was a sentence she said that I will never forget as long as I live. I have called upon it every single day since I first heard it. It was this, "I promise you, you are being taken care of". I have never been spoken to like that before, ever. It was a security I have never had, but I believed her immediately. As I sat grounded to the earth I did feel supported and sustained. Viki said this with such gentle conviction. I was blanketed in safety and love. Such a short phrase that is really all we need to know.

When we feel safe and cared for, we have courage and belief, which lead to pretty much everything. Adults need to hear this just as much as kids do. Think of how many times throughout the day you try to make your kids know they are safe and loved. Who tells this to us? So much adult nonsense comes from fear. If we did ever feel really enveloped and secure, we somehow detach from the root of that as we get older. And things go off the rails in our minds and lives. My orthodox upbringing had really helped me mold so easily to the belief I have in yoga, since faith and belief is built into my wiring. I am deeply grateful for that. I have never questioned God, a higher power, spiritual reincarnation, or the powers of nature. I know I am cared for by the elements because in Judaism we are trained to bless nature all the time. Jewish mysticism is so otherworldly, as is yogic philosophy. It's natural for me to draw from one belief system to the other. Fear is what holds us back from growth and change, for obvious reasons. In that one statement Viki released us from ever needing to rely on fear as a trap. It took my breath away in its truth, and it has allowed me to go forth. Most of my anxieties I previously clung too have melted away. I'm not afraid of change. I know I'll be ok. I have spent holidays and vacations differently than ever before. Forty years of doing something the same way can feel strange to deviate from. Nah, it really doesn't phase me. I feel excited and resilient. What did scare me prior, before I knew I was being taken care of, was living out identical years until I eventually died. That ate at me like crazy. Every change I have made, whether with grace or a measure of trepidation, I owe to my teachers. Sure it was myself too, but they hold my hands from afar. I have started trying to relay this message to my kids more. I don't know if I always did the best job, since I didn't feel safe myself. You can't give what you don't have. But my children seem pretty resilient and steady, which means maybe I've done better than I thought... It's never too early or late to hear these words. My gorgeous Viki, thank you for leaving Baltimore and teaching that class that day at that time. There are no accidents. Meeting you was proof I am indeed being taken care of. I believe you.

Love always, Jess

Vex and the City

 I have entered the world of dating, something I've never done. Having gotten married at 20, the only "dates" I went on were movie/hang out situations with yeshivah boys. Fast forward two decades later, I am dating Men. I am learning that despite age defining a guy as a technical man, he can be just as infantile and emotionally challenged as an adolescent. Truthfully, the boys that really liked me in high school were quite honest about that. Of course I had the required experience of pining after one guy who was consistently an asshole for two years, but I chalk that up to initiation. Most of us go through that. If we like, love, and cater to them enough, they'll come around, right? A big part of me still thinks that. I need to recondition that thinking ASAP. I know that often stems from insecurity with girls, but it's the opposite with me. Miraculously, despite having a list of reasons why I should be an emotional mess, I have always had a very clear sense of self. I have always been confident, secure, and comfortable with who I am. I never went through the "I'm not good enough and I suck" phase. I feel blessed with that, it's a really hard hole to dig yourself out of.  Rather, I think I'm so darn terrific that OF COURSE this male will be falling all over himself to be with me 😂 (note the emoji meant to add a drop of ironic self deprecation, though I mean this).
 

I learned that there is ego in that statement. Not in believing in myself and having acute awareness about my sense of Jess, but ego in that other people's issues have nothing to do with me. In other words, if a dude has unhealthy emotional problems, deep rooted insecurities, erratic behavior patterns, or fear of commitment, then those things live within him and are not in any way tied to me. Assuming that meeting me once or twice, even on fantastic dates, will automatically erase decades of buried emotional shit, is foolish on my part. As I'm figuring this out, I'm realizing that it's not just me knowing what I bring to the table. IT'S JUST THAT I AM SO NORMAL, SO I DO NOT PROCESS WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT. I had to scream that in caps. I naively assume everyone is a balanced, emotionally tapped in, honest person like myself. I keep hearing and seeing more and more that this isn't the case.

I recently was fixed up with this guy and had two of the most phenomenal dates in history. Natural, easy hours of conversation that ran both light and deep. Zero awkwardness. Jokes. Compliments. Hand holding. Intense physical attraction. I really enjoyed myself. I felt adored, seen, and understood, which is what every relationship should feel like. I had good reason to believe this would evolve in the same manner in which it had begun. NOPE. While the dates were wonderful, his in between communication skills were terrible. As in nonexistent. I wouldn't hear from him for long periods of time, which felt so rude and disrespectful. I really took that as a lesson in patience and restraint. I did not reach out on between, hoping to spark conversation, as I've always done in the past. I got to a place of gratitude for the lesson: Jess, not everyone thinks like you. I mediated on being more open minded, and on bringing in all my yoga teachings about having a pliable, open mind and heart, not just a body. I really liked him so I did not want to judge him. But I also knew that a relationship, especially in the beginning, shouldn't feel so frustrating. There was too much anguish too soon. It was ridiculous. I have come way too far to tolerate anything less than what I deserve and yearn for. After going dark the first time, I eventually got this long, seemingly sincere apology about him being overwhelmed with some personal stuff🙄, but that he had such a great time and would love to see me again. I saw humility in that text, so I was gracious, cool, and agreeable to another date. I wanted to believe it was a fluke.

Date 2 was off the charts wonderful, and he was so apologetic again. Um, then he checked out again for the exact same time he did prior (nine days but who's counting?). Date 2 ended with him telling me to reserve a certain weekend so we could go out, after he returned from a family vacation. I waited and waited, dumbfounded that he would repeat the exact same behavior he just apologized for. It made no sense. There was zero follow up about the weekend date. I was beyond agitated and it took over my every thought. I threw out a "hey, how was your trip?" text. What I got back were six pictures of his family on the beach. Er....?

Listen, I am very energetically perceptive. I always have been. I know when someone likes me, is vibing with me, and is physically attracted to me. That part was there. The second part of consistency, maturity, and follow up was not. There were other red flags I chose to roll with, honestly since I really am a very open minded and understanding woman, and I really want a relationship. It sounded like he never had a loving, serious relationship. He said he'd never been in love but I figured he just hadn't met the right person (me). In describing some past relationships, all the women mentioned sounded broken and inept, but yet remained topics of conversation. He's in touch with most of them. Why keep in contact with chicks like this?? They must make him feel masculine and superior. The Hunter, the Hero, the Fixer.

There are other parts to the story that lead me to believe he was vastly insecure. One such detail was that he told the person who fixed us up that he was slightly intimidated by all the cool things I'm doing, blog, DJ, etc.   🚨🚨🚨 Lame Alert‼️ I will not apologize for being a full woman with dreams, goals, and interests. What I'm doing now is just the beginning, so if a man can't handle these initial stages of me writing and playing music , then HE is the one who is broken and lost. Perhaps he collects women like that as some messed up support group. It was all very self destructive: I knew he really liked me but his deep rooted issues destroyed the chance of anything real taking hold. When I feel a pure connection to someone, I roll with it full steam ahead 🚊. I am a healthy girl, so I process connections in a true, healthy manner. Which means the opposite case exists as well; unhealthy people will take that true connection and have no clue where to go with it. I have never examined things in these terms. It is a vexing necessary evil in understanding why men, who I really don't know, can act like such assholes. It has nothing to do with me. I keep hearing "men are the worst" etc. I don't believe that and I can't believe that. I don't want to ever get to the place where my optimism and innocence turns dark and bitter. What I need to learn is that these guys are coming to the restaurant table with years of shit that I can't see after several hours. I have nothing to hide, but that's rare.

Most humans in both genders have massive triggers and complexities that have never been dealt with. I certainly don't want the job of digging through someone else's crap. No thanks. This guy was so extremely inconsistent. He'd have bailed eventually. I think my assured nature threatened him. Age doesn't define a man, clearly. Emotional maturity and sensitivity does. Consistency, reliability, security. Respect. I honestly learned a lot from this.  It makes me feel a little sad that I have to curb my enthusiasm when I know there's a real spark and connection, but I guess that's life. Specifically dating life. I never understood what it meant to protect myself emotionally, but I'm getting educated. It means protecting my heart so I don't watch as it gets run over by someone who doesn't deserve a license. Chemistry and connection are natural, but I need to mix those with logic and caution. Blech. I heard this shit happened, but I never thought it'd happen to me. Nothing more to say but "onward". 

Phenomenal Woman, That's Me

It was just International Women's Day. Frankly, I've never heard of that before, but I'm under a rock in many ways. I am a mix of highly aware and totally unaware. It's quite symbolic that I have never heard of it before; this is the first year of my life that I'm fully embracing myself in all ways, especially as a woman. I find my discovery of this day as being consistent with my discovery of my own female powers. All the lady love on social media is wonderful. If we have national days celebrating nonsense like donuts and pizza🙄, we can damn well have a women's day🍩🍕🙋🏼.

Only women who love themselves can freely give love and credit to others. Those that can't are shackled down by insecurity and jealousy. It's a simple equation. I know from my own personal journey of growth, that those times I leaned more towards criticism or judgement were clear indicators of my own lacking. If I wasn't in a secure, happy place then I wasn't entirely happy for others. So much time was wasted like this. I didn't like thinking or sounding like a catty bitch, but it was all I knew. I was constantly surrounded by whining, negative women who have a negative comment for everything, so I just assumed this was how chicks roll. Now I realize it's a mental prison of their own making, and I was paroled. A female penitentiary in the abstract sense. Those inmates be crazy bitches. I have separated myself entirely from anyone who exists on those patterns. It's not in keeping with the vibration I have discovered, and work so hard to maintain. Honestly, tearing others down is a form of laziness. It avoids doing self study to try to figure out why you're acting like that. It's like emotional junk food; a bite of something chemical and poisonous that tastes good, but that will rot your insides. Shitting on others momentarily feeds the ego since it makes us feel superior in that moment, but then we crash and feel bad. So we keep doing it. It's a vicious cycle many women never get out of. It's a life sentence.
   

My newfound and hard earned emotional, mental, and spiritual freedom has gifted me so many things. One of the most important results of this has been this incredible group of women who are my absolute support system. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. It overwhelms me with gratitude. They are my family in the truest sense. I am single but I am never alone. As I navigate so many changes in my life, I feel bolstered by this loving female safety net. These women believe I can do anything. They put the abstract concept of unconditional love into practice. Some I've known for a long time, some short. Some I speak to often, others sporadically. Those details are irrelevant, the feeling I get from our spiritual connections is the same. I usually never name those I reference, but I feel like doing it now. Stephanie, Betsy, and Vicki are my yoga teachers and healers. They more than anyone taught me how to love and embrace myself. Thereby enabling me to embrace life. The women in my sunrise yoga class who I see every morning to gather energy from. We need no words to speak to each other. Tzvia, whose presence in my life is hard to describe. Nyla and Rogue, my DJ inspirations, my messengers of music. Kate, my Scratch friend. Shira, Deena, and Sarrah; holy shit. I haven't found the words yet for them, and I'm pretty wordy. Aimee and Eden give me wisdom for days, and laughs for years. Karen, Sonja, and Federica opened up worlds. Chavi and Nikki are so loving, always with an ear. M the phoenix. Netali for giving me my first job. And my fellow LB , who has been providing me with love, laughs, life coaching, and our own unique brand of lunacy since we are 15. The leash she has me on, which stretches from the West Coast, gives me freedom to grow while seeing the open potholes before I do. This girl could write a fat book on me, that's how well she knows my every single artery and vein.

It is deeply joyful and gratifying to observe how my daughters have built their own female support systems. Each of my girls has had the same BFF since they're 4 and 6, respectively. E has J, who is like my 5th child, and L has E, the kindest kid on earth. My kids must be very good friends themselves to receive such friendship bonds from others. This fills me with pride. Friends are the family we choose, and blood is not always thicker than water. Family is a feeling. Sisterhood is energetic. I wish for my daughters that they always have these carefully chosen, loving, loyal bonds. Women have a biological need to reach out to one another and forge connections as deep as roots. When our arrow lands on the right person it's magical.

All these women allow me to go forth and figure myself out. I am brave but very innocent, vulnerable yet strong. As all women are. We are braver and more vulnerable if we are together. We bring out the best in each other. I can fly since I have clearly identified this group as my landing pad. Emergency landings included, and there will be many. One day we will all be on a mountain top together doing you know what...  The feminine mystique...

Love, LB 2.0

No Sleep Till Brooklyn

So guess who just discovered the AIRBNB app? 🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼.

I swear I feel as if my whole world has expanded, which it has. This app is so addicting because it's fraught with real, viable possibilities. It's teaching me a lesson I've been dying to learn; how to travel in an affordable, exciting, authentic manner. I hated taking trips and sitting in some boring, sterile lobby. I much prefer getting down and dirty while getting a real feel for where I am. Otherwise, I don't see the point of just physically relocating my body, in order to snap a couple of obligatory photos. It's a shitty feeling to be posting pics of a carefully planned vacation, while feeling that you're not really having fun. It's super depressing. If you've never had a trip that, well, I don't believe you.

My BFF SF and I always say we love people who can admit that their trip sucked. That the kids fought, that it was a tad too much togetherness with the hubby. These are uncomfortable things to admit. After all, trips cost a lot. They are laden with expectation. It's hard when we reasonably attach results to a few days and it's disappointing. We all want to feel we maximized our hard earned vacation days, and be proud we pulled off real quality family time. SF tells me I'm one of the few women who can give an honest, post trip report. It's not statistically possible that every time everyone you know boards a plane, that it's "the best trip ever!" 🙄🙄🙄. It's a tough pill to swallow, when after presenting yourselves with the ingredients for a perfect, frolicking, loving, reconnecting week with the fam, well, that you were all kind of over each other after two days. It feels like a failure. I've been there, and it's very normal. After all, most of "normal" is comprised of less than ideal circumstances.   

First on my new travel agenda: Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Land of Hipsters. I'm actually here right now, typing this in front of "my" brick walled fireplace. My good friend FM is here with me. We came for two nights for a "stay cation". Sure, we live 45 minutes away, but so what? We decided to live somewhere else for 48 hours, and enjoy a part of New York that's famous for its food, energy, vibes, shopping, and man buns. We are eating in cool, delicious restaurants. We walked around for hours, shopped for quirky, vintage finds, each got new ear piercings (a third for her left ear, a fourth for mine), and saw incredible street art at every turn. The weather is pretty warm, a tropical 52 degrees, so the streets are packed with cool, smiling city folk who are happy to be outdoors. I feel like I'm in San Francisco in the late 60's. We hung out in DUMBO last night after dinner, and are going to a party in the Gowanus area tonight with assorted peeps. I bought a hat and bow tie that make me feel like Pharrell. I've made the prerequisite jokes about how I'm in the throes of a mid life crisis, but I'm not. I'm just at the beginning of starting to explore life, and that only stops at death. How wonderful it is to see couples in their 80's traveling, doing, going, laughing, holding hands. Me please! Wanderlust has no age.

The apartment I took looks like a Pottery Barn catalog. The bed was amazing. I stocked the fridge with overpriced, organic essentials. It feels like home, which is exactly what makes leaving your real home so yummy. My hosts have been great. The place looked like the photos. I'm sure there a couple lemons will pop up, but I'll chalk it up to life experiences. I'm excited to save money traveling this way. For the price of one first class seat, I can take several trips like this. Goal for 2018: do more with less. Live more simply. Collect experiences, not things. Trust me, if you need that first class seat or huge suite to feel like your trip was a success, that's a huge red flag. Folks who are having real fun don't think about that. Be those people. Be so busy and happy that you forget to post. Be open to new experiences, you'll never regret trying. Write new stories for your life. Our lives are a book, what's on the pages is in your hands entirely.

Safe, happy travels, the 🐝 in Brooklyn

Branching In 🌳

 Certain inquiries about my divorce amaze me. One such question would be why I still consider my ex husband's family to be mine. As in, "why do you call his dad your father in law?" or "why are you attending that first cousin's event ?". These questions make me sad in their narrow mindedness.  I have never seen why all those relationships should cease to a halt because of signatures on a stack of papers. Why draw such harsh lines? I have had to redefine my definition of family many times over the course of my life, and that will continue as I hopefully add to my personal family tree.

What's so liberating is that I am choosing and deciding which branches remain attached to my trunk. Some branches dried up and cracked off pretty darn quickly, and I was ready to shed them. However, there are many others in the form of extended family that I'm keeping. It feels very evolved, open minded, and open hearted, which is how I'm living my life overall. I was recently asked what I'd call my current in-laws, should I one day acquire a new set.  Easy; I'd just have two sets. Who said there can only be one? My heart is certainly big enough to keep including more people of value into it. I'm quite proud that I have maintained connections to so many of the cousins, aunts, uncles, and second cousins. Ten of them stayed in my home last weekend for a family event, and I was thrilled to have them. Love and connection defines family, not black and white guidelines.

Last night I went to the wedding of one of those cousins, and admittedly I was a tad curious how I'd feel. Would it annoy me if I felt people were staring and speculating? Would I feel like the odd man out? Nah, there was none of that. I had a wonderful time, and felt even more valued and welcome, since it's no longer a set given that I'm under obligation to go. Which makes these occasions more special; I'm there because I truly want to be there and participate in the joy. I have always loved these particular hosts and their family, and that hasn't changed. I actually felt a bit like the belle of the ball, since so many of the relatives wanted to catch up with me. It feels good to be wanted and appreciated, to have my presence mean something. I'm grateful to all the family members who have made it clear that they still want me in their lives. It's a testament to a number of things, most of all the connection we've shared over the years. Last names, coupledom, and "rules" are all a stupid technicality I have no use for. It's in keeping with my decision to lead with my heart and do what feels good and true, not what's phony, obligatory bullshit.

As I reflect on my new life, I'm so proud of the family tree that has grown tall from roots I have worked my ass off to plant. I am a planter, and so I will keep on doing that. From seed to branch, from trunk to fruit, I will water my family. It's how it's always been, and it's how it will always continue to be. 🌳🍂🌿🍁. Some things change, but not everything. Change is a choice you do not always have to make.

Love, Lady Branches

The Art of a Table

Few things bring me as much joy as artfully setting a table. The Type A domestic diva in me simply can't throw all my carefully prepared food down just anywhere. After I've spent days chopping, shopping, and cooking, serving the food is just as important to me. I love for my guests to have a beautiful experience in my home, so I take great joy in creating those details. It feels really good to be hospitable. Over the years I've learned some easy tricks that will be aesthetically impactful, and I'm so excited to share them with you. First, begin with a certain color palette. My kitchen is black and white, as well as everything in it. Dishes, placemats, furniture. I always use that as my starting point so things don't become a mish mash. An over complicated table is an assault on the senses. I don't need my kitchen or dining room to evoke imagery of being in Times Square. All of my dish-ware and vases are clean, minimalist black and white, so all I needed here was one strong accent color.

I like to use different flowers in only one bold hue. I chose red here as a nod to the holiday season. As well as winter season; pale pink feels weak in the dead of winter. I bought several different types of flowers and berries in the same shade of deep red. Different shades don't look as clean or tied together.  Roses, gerber daisies, and lush branches of holiday berries all set the mood, accented by red leaves. The branches of berries laid around the table gave a beautiful "in the woods" feel. Little berry branches on each place setting was a sweet and consistent detail.

My favorite dishes, serving pieces, and vases are inexpensive from CB2. My Jewish kitchen uses white squares for meat, and white circles for dairy. All white just different shapes. Easy to keep separate. I use the same stuff over and over, but I'll put a different spin on it each time. I love these gray River Rock placemats. They add a touch of sophisticated nature, and lend great texture to the table decor. The rectangular mats and square plates give a clean, geometric vibe. I jazzed up my stemware by using these hand blown glasses I bought in Prague before my wedding. They are the one set of fancy stemware I have, so despite the royal blue, I'll use them anytime. The fresh pop of blue never seems to be a problem.

I love a cleanly folded napkin folded in thirds, placed squarely on the plate, again keeping with the geometry. I love making place cards, it makes people feel so welcome. These little black, iron fruits hold place cards. They're more country kitchen, so they add some softness to the more modern theme. Everything I used here are things I've had for many years. I used to think I had to run out and buy new stuff whenever I entertained. Or order professionally arranged flowers, which were a fortune. How stupid was that?? After all, a beautifully set table is great, but it's really a support to colorful, healthy food eaten by colorful, healthy guests who have come together to share a meal.   

Before the main dishes come out, be sure to have a good assortment of salty and sweet stuff to Nosh on. Little white serving bowls keep your variations in line visually. Bowls of dates, dried peas, cherry tomatoes for the red theme, along with mason jars of my homemade party nuts were enough to nibble on without being filling. I used to plow people with appetizers, trying to show off. So dumb; people would fill up too quickly and ignore my slaved over main dishes. When I put out desert, I again chose a color scheme. This time, I did different candies in white. Red would have been overkill, and I loved the winter white candy. I bought it all from Party City. The gummy bears were a fun addition of color. Cherries and strawberries tastefully and naturally include the red.  I happen to not like candy, I'm a cookie cake chocolate gal, but most folks love it. It's an adorable, easy way to serve an assortment of joy. My white ceramic Chinese takeout containers are the coolest display for candy. They pull everything together on the black and white chevron striped tray. When I first got married and had yet to cultivate any taste, my stuff was a million different colors and patterns. The apartment on Friends/ Shabby Chic vibe was more popular, but it never looked the way I wanted it to. I eventually gave all those things away to newlyweds in need, through my synagogue. Now I stick to the white and black rule, the cheaper the better. Attractive white kitchenware is ubiquitous. It's the easiest way to make your food the star of the show. Now go have fun, and make sure to eat your own food that you've worked so hard to prepare. A beautiful, inviting home is one of the points to life. It represents a beautiful, inviting hostess and person, which you are.

Love, LB

More Reasons to be a Nomad

Ok, major hot spot alert in NYC‼️  The newly revamped James Nomad hotel. This place is simply way too good to keep to myself.

1)  I'm not like that.

2) It's my civic responsibility as a lifestyle blogger to let you in on life's best shizz.

While doing a recent shoot at this historic, insanely chic hotel, I was lucky to be given a full tour of all this new Sweet Baby James has to offer. If you're looking to stay in NYC from afar, or to take a local staycation, call off the dogs. You have arrived at your destination. The Lady loves history, and the hotel dates back to 1904. It was a scene back then for the OG of mobsters. Damn, do I adore anything mob related (from afar, of course😉). If The Godfather, Goodfells, or Casino is on tv, my day is as good as over. A magnificent corner building in the heart of the Nomad district, which  stands for "north of Madison", the James Nomad gives off various vibes that work together to take care of their guests from all angles of the human experience. Huh?? Allow me to explain.

Upon arrival, you'll immediately be greeted by super warm, friendly NYC bell hops. Yup, I used those adjectives. The lobby decor is streamlined and clean, yet soft and plush. Interesting pops of texture and color are both soothing and exciting. One of my fave details was the bowl of apples and oranges by the back couch section. The lobby is so inviting, it's like you stepped into a living room in Architectural Digest. Only the homeowners aren't snooty assholes, they're the friendliest family on the block, and they want to get to know you. To honor its longtime relationship with the neighborhood, the hotel offers daily complimentary wine and cheese in the lobby at 5 pm. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, and apparently it's here😂🧀🍷. The goal of this is to give locals and guest the chance to mingle, unwind, connect with one another.

The James knows how busy it's guests are. In a time where,ironically, all our tech options can often lead to massive disconnection, the James mood is one of reconnection. Reconnection to ourselves, to others, and to this magnificent city of New York. The hotel promotes the beautiful notion of "sanctuary and scene". Yeah, Dawg, you want hot nightlife? You came to the right place. The scene at the sexy, underground Seville bar is happeninggggggg. Superb cocktails served amongst naughty librarian decor let you know you're night is about to get lit🔥. At least, Karl Lagerfeld and Justin Timberlake thought so last week. 

Of course I was starving when I was there, and I love Italian food. Scarpetta is a terrific Italian restaurant within the hotel, serving as the source of room service as well. Did I just say super solid, delicious room service??? I believe I did. Perhaps my favorite thing about the hotel is the "sanctuary" aspect. After you've had your fill of fun and food, the James offers the utmost in zen relaxation. Each room tv invites you to lose yourself in its custom kundalini program. Yoga mats provided are whispering to you to stop, breathe, hold yourself in your own space, and release tension. Travel is a luxury, but it's tiring. The James Nomad takes its job as your temporary home very seriously. Yes, it's a trendy and sexy atmosphere, but it's simultaneously a mental and emotional safe haven. They don't just want you to STAY here, they want you to BE here.

I experienced the James last week during Fashion Week. The hotel so generously provided me with a suite in which to stay and glam up for a few shows. I am incredibly grateful for their beautiful hospitality. Generosity always pays itself forward... The  giant, white bed was impossible to leave in the morning. I need to find the person making their pillows and hug them ASAP. The stunning modern bathroom boasts a showstopper of a sink. Top of the line bath products in big bottles was my fave room detail. No mini teaspoons of shampoo here. Indeed, while I was working the fashion scene, the James Nomad was the perfect sanctuary throughout all the craziness. This is my life in general now; a balance of being out there in a big way, and going inward and disappearing into my own headspace. I'm busier than I've ever been, yet more zen too. Life nowadays is extreme. The James knows that. They cater to all aspects of our lives; physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. They don't want you to lose yourself while traveling, they want you to find yourself. They are here for whatever you need. I promised you at the beginning of our blogging journey together that I'd always take good care of you. A nurturer always knows another, and I give you over to this special hotel. They've got you, trust the B. Let's go places together. Many, many places. Safe travels.

See you in the Big Apple🍎.

Distractions

So I noticed a couple things about my behavior on my recent family trip to Cancun. As I was packing up to leave there, I saw my headphones on a chair. I realized I had not used them once in five days. This is unheard of for me, since music provides me with an instant escape. Headphones on, environment off. Of course, there are many times when I'm alone and music provides a soundtrack to whatever it is that I'm doing. However, if I'm not alone and I feel the aching need to have music take me away, it's undoubtedly a form of me checking out. It is never BECAUSE of my kids, yet I know this is something they've picked up on over the years. They don't like it, since they're smart. They are perceptive, and feel I'm not present. They are right; and there have been countless times over the years where despite my guilt at them being aware of this, I've done it anyway. If there was a tense or uncomfortable presence, or if I just didn't want to have to make annoying conversation with someone,  the headphones were my barrier. If the kids were around, this would in turn create more tension, since they were annoyed and I had gnawing guilt. It's a very human area where moms struggle to find and maintain balance; being individuals with needs while being available to our children. Those two entities don't always co exist. Being a mom often trumps any other factor, but not a hundred percent of the time. Spotting my untouched headphones made me realize I had no need/desire to escape from where I was during our trip. I cannot recall the last time EVER where there was a block of days in which I didn't need a measure of solitude. I was really pleased that I organically reached that point, especially without realizing it. Music just wasn't a factor for me that week.

Another thing I simply didn't need that week was a workout. Again, unheard of. I packed workout clothes as per usual, but didn't look at them. I workout 5/6 days a week. I absolutely require it as part of my routine. It helps me feel good via endorphin release, makes me feel strong and in control, and give me that alone time I crave. I didn't need that in Mexico either. It's not that I wanted to go to the gym and didn't, it's that I didn't have that pull to escape and melt away in a pile of sweat. My kids are late sleepers, so I did some quiet sun salutations on my porch, overlooking the hotel "jungle",and that was apparently enough. Starting my day like that, even for just a few minutes, was apparently all I needed. It was true vacation mode. It always depressed me when we'd take a trip and everything would feel the same, just with a different backdrop. What's the point in going away if there's no shift in joy and relaxation? Just to tell your friends you're taking a trip and to snap a few pictures to post? At this stage in my life I don't want a trip on paper. The headphone and gym revelations made me think about all the ways we distract ourselves from our lives. Mundane things that are kosher, but that are undeniably forms of escapism. Shopping nonstop, constant unnecessary errands, poor quality reality tv, just to name a few. I know people who would have no structure to their day without making purchases and returns. Returns, returns, returns. I swear I think they shop with zero intention of keeping most of it. Target, the supermarket, going to the cleaners, all under the guise of productivity. I once asked a friend why she shops at several grocery stores instead of one, for the sake of convenience. Her answer was that without that, she'd have nothing to do. Her honesty was shocking in its sadness. I too would spend the days trying to fool myself into thinking I was being "productive", while spending each night lost in the Bravo network until the ambien kicked in. Once in awhile I'd write sad, crappy poetry in the notebooks I keep in my nightstand. I read them now and feel both embarrassment and pride.  They suck, and are indicative of my former mental state. One day I'll throw them out, despite being a huge believer in saving anything I write. Even a lousy thought is a glimpse into my mind, and I want my kids to know as much about me as possible, including the not great parts. I'm not yet ready to toss entire notebooks, but I feel so proud and happy that I don't feel that way anymore. I knew the writing was subpar, yet that's what I produced. I'd think, "aren't I a good writer? I guess not." I kept at it since it was a form of therapy. It made me feel less like a zombie than watching Ramona and Luanne tear each other limb from limb (I loooove Ramona. And her daughter, Avery).

It's clearly a direct result of healthy increases in inner peace, that I didn't need to seek outside sources to feel calm and present. I didn't need an escape or endorphins. This was so gratifying. I deserve to feel that way. My children deserve a mom who doesn't look to enter a portal into a dimension of solitude. I was happy when my phone ran out of battery, I had no choice but to ignore it. I love reading because it's such a present activity; you can't miss a word. You have to pay careful attention. Same with writing, cooking, DJing. I have cultivated healthy parts to my life that require my full attention. It's a great feeling to run towards your life and not away from it... I also noticed this: while I loved being away I also was very happy to enter my house when the trip was over. There is no worse feeling than not wanting to be home. It's unsettling and unnatural. Women spend so much time creating our homes, it's terrible to not fully enjoy that. It's good to go away, it's good to come back. You can never have enough inner contentment and spiritual connection to your surroundings. And there's no overweight charge for that😊💼🎒. My goal is to travel, to do more with less, to expose myself and my family to other cultures and places. All the while taking myself with me everywhere I go.

❤️🌍🙏🏻, Lady B

Because you have to

I was recently telling a friend how when all the girls in my family got engaged, there was this weird rule that we all had to immediately take up needlepoint as a hobby. It was very spinster Jane Austen, only on a beach at the Fountainbleu hotel in Miami on Passover. It was a circle of females with their needlepoint projects, that were usually of a Judaic nature. Your girl had negative interest. That was considered rebellious, and was met with surprise from the committee of judgmental aunts and cousins. One cousin, who carried her needlepoint supplies around as a badge of marital honor, asked me what I'd start working on, since I now had a ring on my finger💍. Er...nothing...?

While I appreciate any artistic hobby, this just didn't speak to me. What was confusing was that it seemed to be this bizarre initiation process into wifedom. I didn't want to get married just so I could do stupid shit like that. I was crazy in love and wanted to be intertwined with this person. I didn't get engaged so I could do arts and crafts. That's how my family operated though. It was a large family that moved as a pack at all times. There was most certainly a pack master whom we all had to bow down to. If you didn't kiss the ring, there'd be major consequences. Fun, right?

As with most large, wealthy families, there were constant power struggles, rife with competition, jealousy, rules, fear, intimidation, and totem poles of authority. Every single decision was made by a committee of relatives, ranging from the minor to the major. My aunts and uncles all weighed in on where I attended camp, high school college, who I dated. I resented this tremendously, as any normal teenager would. It was astounding to me that my parents and I couldn't make those decisions without the approval of a Greek chorus. As parents, my ex and I don't give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks about the choices made for our children. It would never occur to us to consult with an outside party. This surely contributed to knowing my feelings and opinions about my own life were unimportant; it mattered only what the committee of elders thought. I never had a voice about anything. Anytime I tried to plead my case, it was shot down immediately by people who knew nothing about me, but who somehow had complete authority over every aspect of my life. Decisions were collectively made over what entree to serve at our weddings (veal chops) to which doctors we should see to where we should live.

A couple of my cousins dated boys from divorced homes. This was met with horror since divorce was considered a blemish on the paper write up of family values. Belligerent uncles tried to break up those relationships, using the guilt card of "what would your dead grandfather think?"  There was no divorce in Polish shtetls. There were also no gay people or equal rights for men and women. Any white collar crimes were, of course, permissible since those weren't public. It was very confusing as a kid to watch grown ups behave so nastily to one another, yet know that these people were counted on to govern my life. They neither knew me or cared to, yet I was told to defer to them for everything.  It made no sense and I had no choice in the matter. That was the way it was. We went on vacation together, even though there'd be fists flying at the table. Ugly words were served as freely as tap water. BUT, if you didn't attend/participate/comply you'd be destroying the holocaust surviving legacy of our grandparents. Years later, a therapist and I would spend years dissecting this notion of a pack mentality, of  strength in numbers. "No matter what, we stick together".  This made sense finally. All those miserable years of having to comply with whatever edict was being issued by the Don, with no possibility of just pulling away. Anyone who expressed the slightest show of independence, was told we were crazy and would destroy the family. The verbal and emotional abuse was nothing compared to being shoved into a gas chamber. You take it because you have to. You are nothing without the rest of us. You'll die out there on your own. You will fail without our instructions. You will attend this high school, you will date this boy, you will wear this to the party. Even seemingly small things turned into a tactic to maintain uniformity and control. There was no democracy. And if an elder were to make repeated comments about your teenage chest, you took it in silence because said comments weren't being  made in an underground tunnel in a ghetto.

I finally was able to identify all the feelings I had as a child of being misunderstood, adrift, unmoored, and ignored. To this day I react with knee buckling fear if I think I'm a "bad girl". These are reactive patterns I'm still untangling. For the first time in my adult life I am certain I will not die alone out there. I am not crazy. I am not bad. I won't ruin the gestalt if I follow my truth. I am a really good person. A good woman, not a bad girl. My instincts as a kid were right; those people don't know what the fuck they're talking about. I don't want any of their lives. If they'd consider that crazy, then color me batshit. At one point I was told (yelled at) that at the age of 19, I was somehow responsible for the rift that was slowly forming cracks in the family foundation. This was actually screamed at me en masse at a bridal shower. Years later a couple cousins tried to apologize, no doubt to alleviate whatever guilt they had. I was not interested, and I remain uninterested. When I see most of those relatives, I pass by them as if we are total strangers. There is no room in my life for toxicity, family or otherwise. This was the most expensive permission I granted myself. It took ten years of therapy to understand I wasn't bound to these people. Prison, prostitution, physical abuse, and emotional torture were all worth it if you wound up on a beach needlepointing a challah cover.

I remember being in fourth grade, and an aunt didn't like the outfit I had worn to a ballet we'd gone to see. I was ten. My mother had obviously bought me those clothes. She told me I "looked like I was going to a roller skating party instead of the ballet".  If anyone ever spoke to my kids like that, I'd rip their face off. I literally know no one that speaks like that. I don't keep company with "those kinds of people". This aunt was later on tasked with teaching me how to use tampons, again at the damn Fountainbleu on Passover. As in, live demonstrations. Until we got it right.  You can imagine how comfortable this was, and how fabulous it felt at dinner that night that every family member had been apprised of my menstrual achievements. Nothing was private. The committee knew everything. I am in the acute minority of having had an issue with this. I don't recall if there was a discussion of what brand of tampon I should have used, but I imagine there was. It takes your past to ultimately define your present and future. It took my childhood to define my parenting. It took having zero loyalty, support, kindness, and understanding to being in a place of only surrounding myself with the right people. Unapologetically. Because you have to.

In Memory of a Miscarriage 🍼

 In a recent post I made mention of a miscarriage I had. I'd actually intended to write about it prior to that other post. I don't know why I am all of a sudden dragging this out of the depths of my memory. It happened 16 years ago, after I thankfully had my oldest baby. As painful as it was, I imagine it would have been much harder had I not had a child yet. When a woman wants a baby, it's an all consuming, frenzied focus and desire. She wants it NOW.       

My first baby was so wonderful and easy. She was only a year, but why not add another one to the mix? Figuring I had motherhood under control, I could certainly handle two. How foolish and arrogant, assuming this would be no big deal. I was 22 years old, and all I wanted was to be a mother. I yearned to push that massive double stroller all over NYC, while balancing babies, boobs, and bottles. Getting that positive pregnancy test when you want it is better than a billion dollar winning lottery ticket.

My first pregnancy with my daughter was nine months of crippling round the clock nausea, so I figured this next one was a boy because I barely threw up. I also kind of grew a beard, which caused me to think I had increased levels of testosterone simmering in my body. What an ignoramus I was, though I believed I was the expert on parenting and adulthood. Which is impossible at any age, particularly the age when your peers are partying all night and waking up the next day with lampshades on their heads.

Parenthood catapults you into adulthood. At 22 I felt older than I do now at 40. I wanted to play house and be a mother, so I immersed myself in an insanely grown up role. I love being a young mother, but there is something to be said for respecting your developmental capacities at certain stages in life. As I said, my daughter was a dream, and we couldn't wait to give her a sibling. When I went for my routine eight week checkup, the frozen, sad look on the technician's face said it all. We had brought the baby to the sonogram so she could have her first "big sister" moment. So stupid; she was 1 year old.

It never occurred to me EVER that something would go wrong. The panicked demand to know what was going on, the technician's sympathetic face, the ominous instructions of "let's wait for the doctor to come in". All while lying vulnerable on a table, my body housing whatever was going on that I had yet to understand. The doctor came in, and in a rather cold demeanor announced that there was no heart beat. I exploded into a tidal wave of tears. I didn't want my baby to see her mother sobbing so uncontrollably, so she was taken out of the room. What was meant to be this wonderful moment, turned to devastation and grief in a matter of minutes.

A miscarriage is unquestionably a death. What was once alive is no longer. It's a massive loss. Since mine didn't bleed itself out on its own, I had to schedule a DNC to have it "scraped out". I had to wait about a week for that appointment, and all I could think was,"I'm carrying death around in my body." It was an excruciating time, and looking at other pregnant women bursting with life was a dagger in my heart. Pregnant women are everywhere in NYC, and I didn't leave my apartment for weeks. What was the worst part about it was this: I was instructed not to discuss it with anyone. What was meant to "protect our privacy" became a twisting, silent, agonizing secret. It was wrong and unfair to expect me to carry the weight of such a loss alone. Women need to talk about their bodies. We are emotionally designed to seek and need support. I was so young, and I thought there was something wrong with me and my reproductive system. I was terrified I wouldn't have another baby.

I recall how hard it was to uphold this unreasonable vow of silence. I so wanted to tell my best friend at the time. I was with her every day, how could I not say something? I almost exploded, but held back out of fear of upsetting my very private ex. It never once occurred to me to challenge him on that, and advocate for my female point of view. I was the one carrying a dead baby, it's shocking to me that I overlooked that. Did I really believe I wasn't entitled to a voice about this?? How utterly sad...

When I finally did blurt it out, my friend said,"big deal! So did this one and that one and this one and that one." I couldn't believe I wasn't alone! I didn't think people my age had them. It was like learning about a support group I didn't know existed, but that I needed. It was so comforting to know that this was way more normal than I thought. Had I only spoken to my friend earlier, I'd have spared myself that extreme level of pain and isolation. The point to all this is that no one ever has the right to order you to not discuss something so personal, especially if it's tragic. The need to shut down and bottle up is unhealthy. The need to reach out to others to release, emote, and be supported is healthy. For another person to block that healthy need of ours is wrong. If life is holding you under water, you have every right to grab onto a lifeboat and swim the hell out. Men and women are biologically built to react differently to things. That's a fact. Areas about baby making are particularly murky and painful. Women need each other for most things, this tenfold. The desire to keep this quiet didn't stem from a bad place, but that's irrelevant. It was insensitive and unfair to assume I was okay with that while dealing with what was occurring in my own body. Would you ever tell your daughter to lock up her pain and throw away the key? Of course not. Mothers need that same consideration. We are human before we are mothers. It dishonors the normal range of human sadness by burying it so swiftly and deeply. I am clearly a person who finds comfort in sharing, which I'm glad for. I wish I'd have done what was right for me. I can't go back in time, but even years later I can learn from that. We owe it to ourselves to let pain and vulnerability not be a source of shame. We need the uncomfortable feelings just as much as the happy ones.
   

As soon as I got pregnant again, I saw that miscarriage as a blessing. Had that other baby lived, I wouldn't have had my second daughter. Tragedy often leads to unforeseen wonder. Until that wonder reveals itself, honor your need to be open. A closed heart doesn't help fix or heal. Never apologize for being open hearted. It's not weak to need the support of others. It's strength to admit you do. Feelings are strength. Tears are courageous. Warriors cry too, though they keep going. Warrior 2: arms straight like an arrow, foundation strong and ready, gaze over the front middle finger, looking ahead. Unwavering. About to change shape over and over, while never losing the integrity of the pose...

🏹. Blessings, LB