What I learned in 2023

Another year has passed where I didn’t write very much, but I surely lived more than I was able to put on a page. 2023 began with much promise but turned out to be the hardest albeit the most formative year of my life thus far. I learned lessons I had not wanted to learn and experienced a range of situations I had not predicted but likely needed in the grand scheme of this one miraculous life we are entrusted with.

I learned about the resilience of the human spirit, housed in a teenage boy who lost too much and still found a way to go forward. A boy who navigated trauma, grief, and loss without a roadmap. Who captured my heart and taught me humility, who confounded me, scared me, and saved me all in one fell swoop. I learned that a mother may leave this physical world but never leaves her baby in the ultimate sense. I learned that we will go to the ends of the earth to make sense of a loss we were not ready for, nor should have been ready for. But there are no guarantees, and us mere mortals can only do our best. Sometimes our best falls short but it does not mean anything was in vein.

I learned that love is the strongest force on earth but sometimes more is needed to remediate a situation. Love remains unending though and the circle is unbroken.

I learned about desperation, and fell to the depths of distress but at the bottom I had the opportunity to rise again. There is no growth without adversity, no connection without vulnerability, no salvation without sorrow.

Boundaries! Lack of them, the need for them, and the difficulty in erecting them.

I learned about friendship. Real friendship. Lifeline sort of friendship. And the type of friends that show up in your darkest hour, and don’t look away. I also learned you find heroes in the unlikeliest of places.

I fell on my face, I cried my eyes out, and I pleaded with God. I also laughed, found peace, grew up immensely, and learned the true meaning of sacrifice.

I learned that families look different. They don’t always live under the same roof, but their souls can be tethered. And I was introduced to ambiguous grief, the type of grief that happens when you mourn someone who is not dead, but who is not with you.

I learned that all we have is our truth. People may threaten to take it away from you, or to change it to meet their narrative…but at the base of your soul resting right between your gut and your heart, you know what is true, you know what you’ve seen and you know what you’ve navigated. You have to have faith and conviction that whatever is meant for the highest good will transpire, and an aura of light will protect you from the stones that are cast in your direction. 

I learned that we so often diminish children. We treat them like they should conform and adhere to standards that are unrealistic. To quell their big feelings, to comport themselves a certain way, to not undergo any changes in response to the life events that would rattle any adult to their bones. We need our grace to extend to children and especially children with disabilities.

I learned that miracles happen, but sometimes they are disguised in a hue you had not anticipated. On the matter of hue, I learned that life can take on darker shades but to embrace the storm, because when we try to avoid it, the turbulence finds us and by then we are fatigued from running away. We need all our strength and all our wits for the road we are on.

What I learned in 2021

Another year! Another year we lived in fear. When I was gathering my thoughts this past week to craft my annual reflection I felt resounding anger. Another week of stances shifting, of people we entrusted with our welfare changing their minds, and the common person dealing with the ramifications. Weeks upon weeks of frantic testing lines, shortages, anxiety, and sick friends. Another week of astounding hypocrisy by leadership as they took lavish vacations and the rest of us cowered in our homes. Weeks where we were left riddled with uncertainty and confusion as the goal posts continued to shift, the requirements evolved, and the children, and the vulnerable, and the elderly remained experimental specimens in a Petri dish. Another week of elites calling the shots from the safety of their cozy homes in protected communities while others performed the mental and physical gymnastics of determining how they would feed their families, keep their businesses open, and keep their mental health from deteriorating further. I’m angry at our proclivity to elevate individuals to the status of demigods to shortly after watch them fall from grace as their abuses come to light. I’m angry that they think we will forget.

Last year around this time, I felt societal pressure to never err, or say the wrong thing, and vowed to do whatever was required to be marked good in this war of identities that we are raging in this beloved country. This year I feel angry at my lunacy, and our willingness to be led like sheep by talking heads on the television toting platitudes that lose their meaning after their bearers continue to behave so poorly. Angry that here we are two years later being told there is no solution. Angry at the years of performative activism and grandstanding that has not helped a literal soul. Still angry I never got to say goodbye to my grandpa.

And then I paused as the anger raged. Anger doesn’t sit well in the body; it always hurts. I took a breath to focus on the ember inside that has yet to be stamped out and as I always do , found a way back to gratitude. I fixed my eyes on the beauty that remains. The beauty of a quaint Christmas spent alone at home with my husband and our menagerie of rescue cats. The technology of FaceTime to allow opening gifts in tandem with loved ones. The beauty of the promise of a child to remind a family of the miracle and innocence of new life. Gratitude for the decency of people in my community despite the grim perception being painted by the inept commentators of our time, and relief that the tv has an off switch. Grateful that grief is unexpressed love and that is why it never really runs out because love never dies. Grateful that after the rain, there comes a rainbow.

I learned I would be an aunt! And how to make a mobile for this beautiful blessing due in May. I learned a whole lot about adoption as well as I investigate my own path to motherhood. I also learned it is ok to feel profound joy for someone realizing their most sacred dream, and to still feel a tinge of longing that you might realize yours as well.

I explored so many new projects. I realized the culmination of publishing a cookbook with my sister friend Rossella Rago and was delighted to witness firsthand the photo shoot of said cookbook! What an experience it was. I established new connections in the community, found more reasons to smile with Sorriso Kitchen, and met joyful new spirits at my sanctuary, Ethan & the Bean. I leaned into the arts and was led to new understanding by mentors and friends.

I saw love stories come to an end as it was decided the abuse had gone on long enough, and witnessed other love reborn when it was not thought possible. I learned we are all working through loads of shit. It’s the human condition. Crying continues to be cathartic but so does laughing and dancing around to 80’s music alone in a coffee shop.

I relished the glory of reunions and revisited the sadness of separation. Realized I needed healthier boundaries with media that stifled my peace. I learned how to make jewelry, did lots of yoga, tested so many recipes, painted, and sipped! I hosted art shows, planned a bowling birthday blowout, and celebrated small businesses and talented makers with my stellar team. I shed some relationships while fortifying others, and found new souls to walk this world with. I realized I know next to nothing about alleviating the suffering of someone who is genuinely sad and genuinely afraid, and in the same breath realized that presence is the only support that people often require. You being there is the elixir that heals, not some magical solution they never asked for.

We said goodbye to some of our beloved furry friends and hello to new additions. Animals have been for me a source of such grace and solace always, but especially during volatile times. They teach us how to love unconditionally, to be present, and to express as much goodness as is maximally possible during sometimes only a short while on earth. May we all be better at what comes so naturally to animals. May 2022 too be better, and if it isn’t may courage prevail.

Past reflections:
2020
2019
2018
2017
2016
2015
2014
2013

What I’m fearful of this 4th of July

Stirred by Winston Marshall, Mumford and Sons’ former banjo player, and his grace under fire I felt compelled to reflect on the state of my fear in advance of Independence Day.

I fear the day that each and every human soul be held to impossible standards of purity, a moral litmus test literally no one could pass.

That we will continually change ourselves and our hearts in order to be deemed worthy by a collective, albeit a dysfunctional one…In doing so, we’ll edit ourselves until we are unrecognizable.

I fear that in an attempt to ensure absolute perfection of word and deed, that we become the very forces that we loathe. The same forces we purport to stand up against in supposed service of eradicating the world of its ills.

I fear when words and their meaning become so altered that they become diluted and useless. Words can move mountains, until they don’t.

I fear the end of personal accountability and responsibility. The end of resilience, the end of nuance.

I fear the end of the possibility that our immutable characteristics are the least important, least interesting things about us.

I fear a compulsion to assess every single thing that we have done and said in the past with such ferocity, that we no longer have the courage to err and atone in the present.

Our predecessors, my husband among them, fought and bear scars for our unequivocal right to despise this country if we so choose. And to do so without fear of mistreatment or reprisal. Think what you will of America, its origin story, and its people, I still find that to be an extraordinary state of affairs.

Fears aside, I'd be remiss not to say I'm fortunate to have the freedom to be afraid and share what stirs me in the night. I’m thankful for the freedom to choose to live not by lies, at least for now. I’m thankful for this land, its trials and its triumphs, its beauty and its promise.
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Recipe for the Italian American Berry Shortcake pictured is available here.

Listen to Winston Marshall on Bari Weiss’ podcast, Honestly, here and read his essay, here.

What I learned in 2020

I’ve taken to writing a reflection on the lessons learned each year, and my oh my were these last 365 packed with new found realizations. It’d likely be easier to reflect on what I did not learn in 2020, but for the sake of tradition, here it goes…

I learned that everyone grieves differently and in their own time. Some will scream while others quietly go forth. Some cling to anger, while others cry in sorrow. I learned that we never really know the fullness of the impact one person has on a family, or on a community, until we are forced to go on without that loving presence. I learned that strength behaves differently from person to person too. It doesn't matter how you find a way forward, as long as you commit to the road towards healing.

The dollhouse Papa made me.

I learned that fear of the worst case scenario is often worse than the happening itself. The constant looming of catastrophes we build in our minds can never be tended to, but when the shit actually hits the fan, we put on gloves and start to clean up the mess. We pull ourselves off the floor, we reach out for a hand to hold, and we assess what needs to be done.

I learned to not place an immense amount of faith in institutions. As a culture, we tend to rely on constructs greater than ourselves, but in a year filled with such sorrow and dismay the most formidable source of strength and solace that I experienced was never man-made. We are so beyond fallible individually, that collectively the hypocrisy soars to new heights.

I deepened connections with some of my friends through long conversations over coffee in our pajamas. I found that family is a beautiful gift, but friends are a remarkable fount of unbiased advice, comfort, wisdom, and warmth. I learned how beautiful it is to be seen in your entirety and to be loved despite your flaws.

There were so many zooms, naps on the hammock, bubble baths, and bottles of red wine! I reaffirmed my love of small joys.

I learned that listening to a loved one’s voice wither over the phone, day to day, without being able to ease their pain is so very cruel, but mercy and salvation still win out. I know that vulnerability is strength and that love is eternal.

Nana and Papa: 65 years of marriage <3

I got reacquainted with my faith. I lost hope, and found it again. I steered clear of church and then went back.

I learned that two people can buy a home and then lose basically all of their income, and still find a way to the other side of it. I learned I’m above no job or task. Give me garbage to take out, boxes to pack, and errands to run. And to be quite frank, some of the more menial of tasks have given me the greatest sense of pride. Be it making 12 dollars in tips doing something that to me really matters in a tiny coffee shop, or clearing out a queue of orders for a friend that is living her dream and supporting her family.

I found peace in animals and nature. Our tiny patch of land in the backyard provided me such solace from the kitties that were born there and the deer that come to rest their bodies, to the cardinals that I know are my grandfather flying down for a visit.

We welcomed Anza into our home and found homes for two of her babies. I don’t recommend leaving a live trap out overnight though; raccoons are no joke!

Anza, mama cat

Lupo Pickle, baby cat

I learned how to steam milk, the difference between a latte and a macchiato, and where Americano’s came from. I drank a lot of espresso be it lovingly made by my dear friend Rossella or her mamma Angela, or at my sanctuary Ethan & the Bean. I learned how to make cuccidati and a pumpkin roll that didn't break! I made a lot of stuff out of twine and sent so much mail.

I learned a multitude from my colleagues with intellectual disabilities and confronted some of my own ableism in the process.

We said goodbye too many times this year. But with every goodbye, we found a hello that helped to dull the sting.

Papa and Maggie; our angels looking down.

I learned that identity politics will tear us all asunder and breed division. That intolerance and fear mongering happen on both sides of the aisle, and political parties are wrought with absurdities. I learned to value my rugged individualism and really question what I believe. I found some emerging voices and new perspectives that I have come to value thanks to doom scrolling on Twitter.

I learned that home is a beautiful place to be for some, but not everyone. And that assumptions can wreak havoc if not investigated.

I learned a lot about the ego from Eckhart Tolle and highly recommend his books, especially A New Earth. I re-read a Return to Love.

I learned that forgiveness is possible. That good fights yield better results then passive aggression, dormant resentment, and avoidance. I learned that families can have a second chance at being together.

I learned that relationships don’t end when someone we love leaves this earth; they merely change. I learned that suffering can be a gift because it reminds us to take a minute with the people we love, to put down the phone and the camera, to savor a bagel, linger for a hug, and enjoy the view even if it’s from a hospital window.

Our new baby sister, Gia!

I learned to live for the silver linings. If you look hard enough, you can always find one.

Past reflections:
2019
2018
2017
2016
2015
2014
2013

The Gospel of Self Help

These days there is nothing but time, much of it idle. I go through phases of extreme busy-ness followed by stretches of introspection. I guess I’m searching for my own brand of homeostasis. Prone to anxiety and ever an explorer of the self, I have been revisiting all the lessons I’ve accumulated from years of compulsive self help book reading, reassurance seeking, therapy, and being in the world.

There are consistent themes that I keep stumbling on across all the disciplines I dip into for comfort and understanding. Resources collated range from the religious to the entirely secular, from rational to purely emotional. Some of the sources are highly educated professionals in their respective fields and others are just wise in the ways of living and life. Exposure and Response Prevention, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Rational Emotive Therapy, I’ve practiced them all. I’ve relinquished my fears to God, said my prayers, read every word of Brené Brown’s, and studied Dr. David Burns. I have each version of Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff by the late, great Richard Carlson, every piece by Henri Nouwen, and all the OCD workbooks. I get enough sleep. While there is no complete cure for anxiety or that which plagues us, love, forgiveness, and acceptance will get us close.

A Return to Love by Marianne Williamson was gifted to me by my dear friend years ago, and I’ve read it so many times it’s tattered and worn. I dropped it in the tub once so it’s mighty wrinkled. My faith has always taught lessons of love and mercy, but this book highlights the battle between fear and love in a way that is readily understood and actionable. Only love is real, Marianne deduced from her deep study of A Course in Miracles. We are either living in fear, or living in love and love, of course love is the aim.

Elizabeth Gilbert wrote of a radical love experiment. You must make a conscious effort to love every ounce of your being. The scary and unsavory parts. The parts you imagine are not lovable. She goes on to reveal that in unconditional love of the self, you can learn to love others without condition and the world heals in the wake of this massive return to love. She also asserts that our only purpose in the world is to be loved. Nothing you will ever achieve will mar this true mandate.

Albert Ellis’ attributes any and all turmoil in our lives to flawed perception. His tactics implore looking at each and every situation with rationality and adopting unconditional acceptance of the self, unconditional acceptance of others, and unconditional acceptance of the world. Replace the shoulds of our lives with would be nice ifs and we are released from the prison of “musturbation.” His term, not mine.

It is what, it is. No words more true. Acceptance, unconditional at that, of what is, will never steer us into murky water. My husband tells me this all the time, and to be truthful, he is very rarely in emotional turmoil and has a very healthy grasp on living through all things with moderation. We are masterful at complicating what is.

A therapist of mine always said What you resist, persists. You can diffuse a situation, be it of mind or body, by the simple act of resignation. I’m not arguing for complacency in any sense but when you are spinning relentlessly, sometimes the only thing to do is to pump the brakes and just be. Accept the things you like least about yourself (others, the world) and then the resistance to healing, therapeutic resistance I believe they call it, lessens and we can heal. Then we can more formidably act towards a better self and world; the acceptance clears the runway for takeoff.

The constant focus on what is not working in our lives keeps it top of mind. This is where forgiveness comes in. Forgive yourself for overreacting, forgive your neighbor for playing the music too loudly, forgive your dog for shitting on the carpet, forgive your sister for hurting your feelings, forgive your husband for not letting you pick what to watch on tv, and forgive anyone who hasn’t been able to forgive you. Speak to yourself like you would to a person you love, be it a friend or a family member. For whatever reason, we are more likely to speak kindly to others about their wrongs than we are to forgive ourselves for our perceived shortcomings. Warped, I know, but here we are.

Things are not readily fixed. Love the cracks, and the wrinkles and the misspoken words. Accept that much of life isn’t fair but is still beautiful to behold. Forgive the anger in your heart and the malice in others. Love. Forgive. Accept. Surely easier said than done; I know from experience.