The Year 5776/The Year 51

This year, the first day of Rosh Hashana ראש השנה was the same day as my birthday. For me, starting these two new beginnings at the same time calls for extra reflection, extra resolution, and extra celebration. I found this prayer by Marianne Williamson that embodies all of that for me.

New Year's prayers carry more miraculous power than do New Year's resolutions. Forgiving ourselves and others for the casual unkindness of an unconscious moment; for time wasted in self-pity that could have been used to create something true and beautiful; for lack of gratitude for blessings and privileges. Dedicating ourselves to the purification of our hearts... seeking to stop the chronic indulgence of our weakness, and the power to embody our God-given strengths... I pray to embody the perfection of my divine potential, as a blessing on myself and others. 

This is the moment of the years when we inhabit inwardly both sunset and sunrise. God created them both, but we ourselves decide how to paint them. Next year will bring whatever next years brings, but what we bring to it will make all the difference. And the greatest thing we can bring to it is our love.
- Marianne Williamson

L'Shana Tova, everyone. Happy New Year.

Smacksy Sunday Links

The myth of quality time.

101 physical things that can be reduced in your home. Great list.

Do you have your Shit Together?

Amazing statues you can only see at low tide.

And a goose parade.

Happy Sunday.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: First Game of the Season

The team name the kids picked: "Argentina." Why not?

On This National Day of Rememberance

The wonderful Melissa Wells keeps a heartbreaking and lovely tradition on her blog. On September 11, she seeks to learn more about the people who were lost on that terrible day. I am following her lead. 

Donna Marie Rothenberg
Here is what the New York Times wrote about Donna who worked for AON Corp in WTC 2. 
"As a birthday present a decade ago, a friend placed an inquiry in  a New York magazine, seeking a proper suitor for Donna Rothenberg, a widow in her early 40s. A gentleman named Edward Schmall responded with a letter carefully crafted to attract her interest. It changed his life. When Ms. Rothenberg eventually moved into Mr. Schmall's apartment in the flatiron district, she brought more than two cats. She brought wonderful experiences from having lived in Europe, Asia, and South America. She brought a gift for cooking. She brought a zest for life that was reflected in her colorful wardrobe. 'She wasn't somebody who wore a lot of black,' remembered her cousin Susan Sullivan. She also brought the reassurance that she would be there for crisis small and large, from Mr. Schmall's battle against smoking to his sudden collapse in California. Ms. Rothenberg, a global personal affairs executive for the Aon Corporation, was 53 when she died, and the man she met through a personal ad so long ago struggles to reconcile his blessing and his loss. 'What I couldn't do, she did well; what I did well, she did better.' he said. 'She filled in all my gaps.'"

My Real Midlife

Laugh now, lady. But you are headed for crisis number one.

At twenty-six I had my first adult "life crisis." I had dropped out of college. I worked a variety of jobs with no real career in sight. My relationships were unstable and I had the habit of moving apartments every six months to a year. I had no car and no savings and I had fuzzy goals, at best. I had three years of sobriety under my belt but it was messy. Barely half-way through my twenties and I felt like I had already wasted my life.

At thirty-seven I had another "life crisis." I was twice divorced. I was running out of money, and with the desire to have a child, I was running out of time. I moved again, finally landing in a single in an ancient six-story apartment building with an ever-broken elevator. I worked. I put dating on hold for a few years. I had goals, but I had no clear path for reaching them. My life felt nothing like I wanted it to and I felt like I was losing time.

On Sunday I will turn fifty-one-years-old. Because I expect to live to at least 102, right this moment, is mid-life. Just ripe for another crisis. My forties were fantastic and difficult and exciting and disappointing and life-y and yet? No crisis now. What has changed? I am having a sweet life, but that is not the difference. The difference of course is me.

In the past few years, I have given up the belief that my real life will happen "someday."  This is it. That was "it" at twenty-six and thirty-seven too but I didn't understand that yet. Now, I don't expect some faraway life to be trouble free and and tidy and well rested with the windows shiny and all of the dry-cleaning picked up. I have stopped moving the prize ahead of myself. The goal is not out there, the goal is now. Even if it's sometimes hard, that counts too.

The story of how I got here is now just that, a story. Trying to look too far into the future is pointless because I have learned that I have absolutely no idea how this is all going to go down. It's all so painfully obvious.

I couldn't be there then, but I can be here now. Here I am. At fifty-one.

Behind the Door

"So, Felix? I got to go inside the teacher's lounge today."

"Wow. I've never been in there. I've always pictured it being all lit up by candles with a big pretend dragon head coming out of the wall and bean bag chairs in the corners and a long golden table with a buffet with every different kind of fancy food. Does it look like that?"

"Well... it does have a table."

¡Viva Argentina!

I'm not a crafty person. I admire crafty people and I like to send them money for their wares on Etsy. Bob wears beautiful handmade Halloween costumes every year lovingly crafted by his Godmother, Jen. Mr. Rosenberg helps when Bob has challenging arts and crafts homework. I can only help a craft look like it's been homemade by a third grader. That's right at my skill level.

This season I am team mom for Bob's soccer team. The kids have chosen the name "Argentina" for the team. Their uniforms resemble Argentina's football team uniform, and Argentina is the home of every boy's favorite player, Lionel Messi.

At the start of each soccer season, each team is required to submit a homemade team banner for the banner competition. In years past, there has always been an artistic and crafty mom on our team who volunteered to make the banner. Not so this year. I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this.

I will be making our team banner.

I spent the morning at the craft store buying 8 million pieces of felt.  I bought PVC pipe. I threw some glitter in the basket. I bought a glue gun. I BOUGHT A GLUE GUN.

I have nine days to make this Argentina banner happen.
I will be crafting.
And it will be glorious.