Lazy Sunday

LAZY SUNDAY

Sit still and listen,
listen to the breezes
making their tireless journeys through the trees, tickling their leaves and playing
their endless song.

Distant dogs
bark at passing trucks, kicking up gravel as their tires
spin past in a muddy blur.

Slips of conversation
are passed like notes in class
surreptitiously
not meant to be heard by unknown ears.

The creaking of exhausted hinges on a door that has
so much experience
it can no longer fit into the jamb that once so easily contained it,
that door is an old man
stubbornly refusing to fit in
and telling stories of old times in rusty whispers
that come and go with warm, decomposing breaths of air.

Death floats by on the wind
as the leaves force out their last bit of brilliance under a magnificent ombre sky,
almost in competition.

The grass is too long in the tooth
and a million crazy mouths try to bite you as you walk past
on your way to pin yesterday's damp clothes on the line, having been
washed of their secrets.
They'll soak up the yellow air that
hugs and hugs and hugs them,
making them dance with the joy of
another day.

Taking Sexy Back, One Shimmy at a Time

I've been neglecting any type of formal exercise for awhile now. Truth be told, it's been a couple of years. I used to run regularly and go to the gym, but since we moved to a house in the suburbs, the only exercise I've gotten is in my garden, muscling the ground into submission and yanking weeds out by their throats (who knew gardening was so violent?). I keep thinking I'll take yoga again, or practice at home, but I don't. It just seems like too much trouble. I'd rather spend that time (insert anything other than exercise here).

As a result, I'm now 20 pounds heavier than I'd like to be, and not feeling so super great about myself.

So when my friend, Whitney, suggested we take a Vintage Burlesque class on Tuesday, I was a little resistant to the idea. Okay, I was a lot resistant. I haven't been in touch with this sagging sack of flesh in quite some time, so the idea of trying to put on some sexy moves in front of other women was off-putting. However - the class is taught by our mutual friend, Kristina, whom we both adore. It's a new endeavor for her and for the studio where she's teaching, Studio Soma East in San Gabriel, so when Whitney suggested we should go simply to support our friend, there was no way I could say no.

I am so glad I went, you guys!

Once upon a time, I was really in tune with what was going on inside my body. Hell, I spent three years and untold amounts of money getting an advanced degree in Acting. I spent mornings practicing the Open Choreography of the Williamson Technique and afternoons understanding the subtleties of my alignment and how it affects my voice, via the teachings of Kristin Linklater. I was acutely tuned into my sensuality, and was training my body to become an expert tool of expression. Upon moving to New York City, I was a founding member of a physical theater company, Theatre Lila, and spent many post-work evenings exploring Anne Bogart's Viewpoints and practicing contact improvisation with my fellow artists in a gorgeous studio at Dance Theatre Workshop that had an unrivaled view of the Empire State Building from its wall of windows. I marveled at how my fingers would vibrate when I spoke, knowing that tingling sensation was the result of years of work opening myself up and allowing my voice to freely resonate in every chamber inside me.

My fingers haven't tingled like that in quite some time.

As the class began, we learned a few of the basic moves of Vintage Burlesque like the hip bump and the shimmy. In case anyone was fearful of what might be in store that evening, we were gently reminded that everyone stays fully clothed in this class. Much of what makes Vintage Burlesque so titillating is the suggestion of sexiness and the coy connection you make with the audience, not the actual revelation of body parts.

We moved into some simple stretches from there. As someone who once spent so much time and energy learning how to communicate with my body, it is embarrassing to admit how long it has been since I even allowed myself any stretching. It felt so good just to do a few simple neck rolls and to stretch out my hamstrings, rolling slowly back up my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The memory of all those years of training my body started to whisper to me, and encouraged me to settle into this experience.

What followed was 45 minutes of learning a routine, and how to sell that routine to an audience. And what surprised and delighted me most was how easy it was to connect to my body again. The muscle memory is still there, carrying with it all that I have experienced and all that I have learned. At first, when I watched myself in the mirror, I was critical of what I saw - a woman who has let herself go and gotten a little fatter than she'd like. But it wasn't long before I was able to set those thoughts aside and just enjoy myself, and luxuriate in the experience. Even though I don't feel particularly sexy in my everyday life at the moment, it was so easy to connect to my sexuality and sensuality through the burlesque. I could feel myself taking sexy back, one shimmy at a time (thank you, Justin Timberlake).

What I find so appealing about burlesque is that it doesn't have anything to do with how you look on the outside, and has everything to do with how you feel on the inside. Burlesque is an expression of your personal sensuality, and no matter what your size, shape or age, you can feel sexy yourself and be sexy to others while doing it. It is the best kind of workout, because not only do you move your body (I worked up quite a sweat), but you can't do it mindlessly - you must be connected to yourself in order to make it work. There's no going through the motions, here. It forces you to go inside and find what makes you you, what makes you beautiful.

Who wants to take a class with me? I'm ready to tingle again!

You Ever Have One of Those Days?

You ever have one of those days, where everything feels like a big bowl of cold oatmeal? Where nothing you think of, nothing you hope to do, stirs any excitement in you? Where everything you create or think about creating sounds mediocre at best? Where it seems like everyone but you is succeeding? Where everyone but you has great ideas, and knows how to perfectly execute them?

I'm having one of those days today.

I know, logically, there are ups and downs in the creative process. My left brain is busy at work this morning talking my tender and easily-hurt right brain off the ledge. They then come to a standstill and stare, unblinkingly, at the blinking cursor on the white page.

Stare. Stare. Stare.

My right brain is really putting up a fight this morning, throwing all the old standards at me, you know the ones:

"You're a hack."

"You have the suggestion of talent, but lack real skill in anything."

"You have fallen so far behind the pack, you might as well just give up."

The good news is, I have enough self-awareness to know that these are the same old arguments that come up every time I'm feeling blocked or out of sorts. I recognize the Beast of Self Doubt for what he is - a flim flam man, a shyster, playing to my insecurities in moments of weakness. Fighting him begins with awareness, of knowing that he sings the same songs every time, badly and in a too-loud voice.

Just writing this is helping to silence him, a little bit. But he'll be back. He always comes back.

How do you deal with your inner critic? How do you nurture your childlike, creative being and keep the dogs at bay? What are the tools you use to survive another day and get back on the creative wagon? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. I can always use some good defensive strategies for this ongoing battle.

Free the Artist, Not the Art

Show of hands - how many of you out there are willing to pay for art? How many of you believe that an artist should be paid for her output, whether it be a musical performance, an essay, a graphic design, or a painting of your dog?

Alright, another show of hands - how many of you have gotten these things for free? Have you attended a free concert in the park, or gotten free tickets to a show, or shared a music download with someone for free, or asked a friend for a favor to create a little logo for your blog?

I've certainly been on the receiving end of free art. But I've also been a giver of free art. For far, far too long. I daresay our culture has given us a sense that art should be given for free.

As I struggle to embrace the idea that I deserve to be paid for what I create, I'm surrounded by messages that it has little value. That art is a hobby, not a vocation.

If art is a hobby, why did I spend over $100,000 for my education? Why did I earn an advanced degree? Why do I continue honing my craft in endless classes? So that I could get a job as an administrative assistant and pursue art on the side? Fuck that.

I'm so tired of working for free. I'm tired of being expected to work for free, even from my own peers. I'm sick that our culture allows us to perpetuate this myth that it costs nothing to produce art, and that it is easy - anybody could do it at an expert level. How many plays have I been in where I haven't gotten a dime? Or if I did get the union stipend of $15 per performance, I was expected to give it back to the theater, just so they would survive? How is my time of no value?

As artists, we're encouraged to work for free, in the beginning. It's a way to establish contacts and gain some experience. But I'm almost 40 - when does that stop? When will I actually be able to start paying on my student loans? Is it only when I give up what it is I trained to do? What I'm good at, and what makes my heart happy? The thing I feel I was put on this earth to do?

I've been told, time and again, that I undervalue myself. But how do I find value in myself if other people don't think there is value in what I offer?

I'm making a promise to myself today. If you are an artist that is struggling as I am, I hope you will join me in this. I refuse to keep working for less than what I am worth. I refuse to "give up" because society thinks that is the responsible thing to do. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this is the work I am meant for, and I will no longer undervalue myself. If someone doesn't want to pay for what I have to offer, then I will move on and look for someone who does. They are out there, somewhere. I won't find them if I continue to settle for less.

I am taking back my life today.

Seeing Art with New Eyes

As I delve more deeply into this creative recovery of mine, I keep receiving the message of how art and creativity can be extraordinary tools of self-healing. Last night that idea was driven home at the Artworks for Healing gala, a fundraising art auction for A Window Between Worlds, a charity organization based in Venice, CA, whose tagline is "art transforming trauma."

I volunteered my time for the event, as did a couple dozen other interesting and open-hearted people (mostly women, but a few men here and there). AWBW is the beneficiary of our annual production of The Vagina Monologues, and now that we'll be celebrating our fifth year in April, many of the women and men that work and volunteer for the organization have become familiar.

For the art sale portion of the evening, over 70 LA based artists donated a piece to be sold, each for the same price of $320. Some of the artists are quite prominent, and their pieces are worth a great deal more than the selling price (some upwards of $10,000). The premise is that each piece is displayed anonymously, and guests are invited to purchase the piece which speaks to them the most. Only after the purchase is complete is the name of the artist revealed.

Before the VIP reception began, I had a few moments to peruse the gallery wall and admire each piece before it whispered into the ear of its new owner. I don't know if it's because of the work I've been doing with The Artist's Way, but I feel as though I looked at the pieces with a new set of eyes.

I stood in front of each piece, and lingered just long enough until something about it reached out to me, whether it was the subject matter, the medium, the colors, the texture, the implied story behind it, the skill of the creator, or any number of other qualities. I found myself most drawn to two particular pieces. One was a small, rustic painting of three eggs, conceived in a thickly textured palette of earthy yellows and browns. Birds and eggs are particularly evocative subjects for me, in fact I still own a small painting of an egg done for me by the mother of a roommate back in college and gifted to me during the Easter holiday of my senior year. There's something about that simple egg that I find endlessly interesting. I think eggs represent a beginning to me, most obviously as they are embryonic, but what they become has not yet been fully determined. The egg carries potential, and the suggestion of positive possibility. The sky just might be the limit. How fitting that I received it just as I was finishing my education and being loosed upon the world. Sadly, I never found out the artist of the trio of eggs at the event, as the painting was purchased at some point during the evening, carefully clothed in bubble wrap for it's journey home, as if those delicate eggs were, in fact, real.

The other piece was a long, skinny portrait in an ornately gilded frame. The face was a portion of the Mona Lisa, but in the place where her enigmatic eye should be there was an iridescent beetle. I have an enormous fig tree in my backyard which produces well over 100 pounds of the Eden-esque fruit every summer. The beetle over the Mona Lisa's eye looked just like a fig beetle, which descend on that unwieldy tree by the hundreds during the hottest days of August and September. Many people are afraid of the fig beetles - they're big, they're loud, and they clumsily fly right into you, bouncing soundly to the ground below. They are harmless, however, and their only prey are the plump purple pouches of the sweet flesh on the tree. I have come to love the fig beetles; they represent life at its most abundant, feeding and thriving off nature's ascent into overdrive.

The piece was strongly reminiscent of Magritte, my favorite of the surrealists. It was simple in its execution, and certainly provoked a visceral reaction from those who gazed upon it it's unseeing eye.

"Bug Eyes", as it was aptly named, was not purchased by the end of the evening, so before leaving I lifted it from it's moorings on the gallery wall to find out the name of the artist. At that exact moment, a man appeared behind me, identifying himself as the artist. Steven Salzburg is his name, and he's had quite a career which has included working with and designing album covers for the likes of Elton John, Dire Straits, Phil Collins and more. I had a lively conversation with him about how the piece was created and whether or not a fig beetle was intended. It is such a unique pleasure to speak with an artist about their creative process, and I treated myself to several of those discussions throughout the evening, as many of the artists were on hand for the event.

Most of my life, I've breezed through museums, seeking out those pieces with considerable fame and merely glancing at those that lined the path to the masters. But I'm becoming more and more interested in spending time with each piece, discovering through quiet, almost meditative moments what message it is sending to me. I think a trip to LACMA or an art gallery is in order soon.

How do you look at art? How do you determine what you like and what you don't like? Are you more attracted to color, texture and line or subject matter? Do you think art has the potential to heal? Art is such a personal experience, I'd love to hear your thoughts about how art affects you.

My Life Essentials for Happiness: Then and Now

I recently allowed myself a little trip down Memory Lane, vis-a-vis some writing I did about ten years ago.

Good God, was that ever eye-opening.

Writing has not, until the last two years, been a regular thing in my life. I have wanted to write, but hated the act of sitting down to write. It has only been through discipline - and a regular writing gig - that I have finally made peace with the more frustrating parts of writing and have made it a part of my routine. It is becoming habit. And I'm glad of this, because I look forward to reading what I'm writing now in the coming years. It's an excellent way to see how things have changed, and how they've stayed the same. It's the road map of your life, showing you where you've been so you have a better idea of where you are and where you may be going.

There is nothing more telling than reading what you have written, especially of moments long forgotten. Reliving the experience of being a recently divorced, single-and-not-loving-it, twenty-something, struggling artist in NYC was both unpleasant and enlightening. It was unpleasant to live most of that stuff. It's unpleasant to be reminded of it. But thank God I've gotten to the point where it is enlightening.

I made a list on May 6th, 2004, of the ten things I needed in my life to be happy. I was four months into a six month national theater tour, living out of a suitcase and spending every night in a different city, usually in a crappy motel room shared with three other people. I became used to a life of depravation, and to my surprise discovered that I was happier than I had been in a long time. In my attempt to define what, exactly, was making me so happy, I came up with this list:

Ten Essentials for Life Happiness

1. My own bed (I had been sharing a bed with another actor - totally platonic - for four months and missed having the bed all to myself.)
2. A good book, a real page turner
3. Some great tunes for singing along
4. Delicious food and drink at least once a week (Mexican food and Chai Lattes)
5. Clean clothes
6. Companionship/good conversation
7. A little time alone every day
8. Nasal spray and aspirin
9. An opportunity to be creative
10. A hot shower

What surprised me most when reading this, ten years later, is that very little has changed. With perhaps the exception of #1 (now that I happily share a bed with Hubs), those all pretty much hit the nail on the head, even now. My creative soul has stayed true to itself, all these years, and no matter what choices I make, what I try to do to evade those things I really want in order to behave in a way that everyone else thinks is "responsible", that simple list is what I need to be happy. I might add a little piece of earth with which to garden, and the food choices now lean more towards Indian food and great wine, but the companionship, the presence of art and music, the opportunity to be alone, my basic needs met - these are really all I need to be happy. And the damn nasal spray and aspirin - my sinuses still bother me and I haven't been able to really kick that habit in a way that sticks.

What do you need to be happy? What are the basics that you can pare your life down to in order to feel content and fulfilled on a daily basis? What can you get rid of that isn't serving you, or is weighing you down needlessly with additional responsibility?

Don't Feed the Trolls: Some Thoughts on Social Media Arguments

Yesterday morning I was greeted with a Facebook notification, alerting me that I had been tagged in a post. I sauntered over to said post, and read the article that my friend had shared. It was a highly incendiary article, written by a white male for the National Review, that calls into question the "war on women." He posits that the battle ended long ago, and that the women won. He cited some statistics that backed up his claims that women are more educated than men, that there are more women in the workforce than men, and that single women out-earn single men. In a nutshell, he thinks women should stop bellyaching. If you'd like to read it, you can find it here.

I have this particular Facebook friend, and I suspect you all have at least one of them, that enjoys posting about highly controversial topics, presumably just to see what kind of shit storm ensues. I've gone back and forth about eliminating this friend from my list, but ultimately have chosen not to. While this friend's views are often wildly different than my own, I find value in knowing how someone so different than me thinks about the world. Arguments are generally solid, and I find that sometimes it does give me pause to consider another point of view.

But yesterday I knew I was being baited.

I'm a feminist, and I do support several charities that work to end violence against women and girls throughout the world. For the past four years I've been involved with a charity production of "The Vagina Monologues" in downtown LA and during the show season post endlessly about it. Hell, I even make anatomically correct vagina cupcakes to sell as a fundraiser. I knew I was tagged in this particular post, in the hopes that I would willingly jump into the fray.

I opted not to participate.

While I have opinions about the article, I am of the firm belief that you cannot ever win an argument on social media. Nick Bilton wrote a great article for the New York Times where he ruminates on how engaging in discussions about highly controversial topics on Facebook or Twitter or other social media outlets is a fool's errand. I tend to agree. 

Here it is, about 24 hours after the argument began, and I see that the post has garnered over 250 comments. And while there are some cogent thoughts presented on both sides of the table, the discussion has devolved into name-calling, hate-speaking, and rape jokes most would consider to be in poor taste, especially if taken out of context. 

In my opinion, arguments on social media cannot be won, and becoming involved in them is a waste of time and energy. There will always be trolls out there, ready to engage in a war of words. It's just not a war that I think is worth fighting. While I think that information about controversial topics has a place on social media, I tend to let the information speak for itself. People can choose to read or not read the articles I share, and I do the same with articles that others share. I digest them and let them inform my worldview. But I don't want to engage with the digital mob. At least I try very hard not to.

What are your thoughts about social media arguments? Do you think they have a place in our virtual world? Do you actively engage in them, or shy away from them as I do?

A Season of Beginning

Fall is descending upon the garden here in Southern California. It doesn't look like the fall of my youth, with the crisp, ripe air, the crimson, flaming trees, or the crackling logs on the fire. There are no frosty mornings or quiet, introspective, rainy days. No woolen sweaters or hot mugs of apple cider. You would sweat to death here.

But fall is here nonetheless. I can tell by how leggy the salvia has gotten, by how the mint, once a mad dictator claiming all neighboring lands as its own, has become dry and brittle and easily breaks like a tortured hostage. The squash vines have grasped their last fence post, their plump fruits ready to be plucked from their dirty brown hands. The hollyhocks have collapsed, unable to bear the weight of their beauty any longer, and the tiger lilies, once ferocious, have crawled back into their dens for the season.

It's time to cut back in the garden. Time to prune back the perennials and pull out the basil. It's time to weed the beds and cover them with a blanket of protective compost so they can have a cozy winter's nap.

I think fall is the perfect time to cut back in my life as well. Take a cue from nature and trim back the excess growth that doesn't serve me, only sucks away energy that could be put to better use, making my healthy parts stronger. It's time to shed the old habits that don't serve a creative purpose, and to let in some light and some air.

Fall is also a time of planting in Southern California. There is no better time that right now to put new plants in the ground. While visible growth comes to a standstill in the ensuing months, there is a festival of activity happening in places the eyes can't see. Our warm, nourishing soil is prompting roots to grow, and once tender seedlings firmly establish themselves over the winter holidays. Come spring, they have a strong foundation on which to grow, and burst into life, wowing us with their color, their shape, their fragrance, their taste, and all their innumerable glories.

Now is the time for me to plant my ideas, to nourish them and let them establish themselves inside me in the coming months. Before long, those ideas will have taken root, and can burst forth and dazzle, seemingly effortlessly.

If we take the time to do important fall chores - to cut back, to clean up, to plant, and to nourish - we will have created the foundation on which to be resplendent.

If you need me, I'll be in the garden, preparing for the beginning.

You Name It, I Fear It

A particular theme keeps surfacing as I continue on this journey of creative self healing: fear. Fear seems to motivate, or at the very least, color many of my choices. A close relative of the Worry Monster that I've written about before, fear seems to be the bigger, more aggressive, gun-toting, hate-speaking brother. The one who takes your lunch money and threatens that you better not tell anyone - or else!

Fear keeps me from pursuing my passions full throttle. Fear of failure is, of course, a primary concern. What if I try the thing that is closest to my heart and fills me up like nothing else, and I completely suck at it? What if people make fun of my unskilled attempts? What if I spend years toiling away and never find success? What if I am nothing more than a dilettante? What if I'm exposed for the hack I really am?

Then there's the lesser-known fear of success. What if I'm good at this, and suddenly there's tons of pressure to keep up the success? What if I have to be totally "on" all of the time? What if I alienate my friends and family? What if we have to move? What if I have to change? God forbid.

Of course, lets not forget about all the mundane, daily fears. What if that persistent muscle pain in my leg is really a blood clot? What if the guy across the street decides to upgrade his verbal threats into actual physical threats - and act on them? What if my car breaks down in heavy traffic on the 405 again? What if I don't ever take off these 20 extra pounds for good?

Why has evolution taken so long? I understand why our ancient ancestors developed a sense of fear - it kept them alive. Now we just seem to fear the things that exist only in our own heads, situations that could happen but most likely won't.

I wish I could tell you all that I've conquered my fears. I haven't. But I'm starting to address them in a more constructive way, in an attempt to take away their power. Elizabeth Gilbert has a great essay about a fear, a letter written to a friend who was fearful about sending her book into the world. In a nutshell, she responds by telling her friend that her fear is boring. All of our fears are boring. We all have the same fears, and they keep repeating themselves. There is nothing original about my fear, or your fear. When we begin to realize that our fear can't come up with anything original, we can more easily put it aside.

What do you fear? What keeps you from pursuing your passions and making your dreams a reality? How do you handle your fear and take away its power?

The Titanic. Original photo by David Hollingworth (Creative Commons)

How to Deal with the Worry Monster

I've always been a worrier. It's such a big part of my identity, I'm not sure I'd recognize myself if I didn't worry anymore. Who is that carefree woman in the mirror? I've never seen her before, I don't think she's from around here.

When I was young, I worried about the kinds of things young people often worry about. Are my grades good enough? Will I get into the right college? Will I ever find a boyfriend? Am I making enough money to survive?

Now that I'm older, the worries have become more profound. How much longer will my parents be around? Are we making the right decisions for our family? Is that mole cancerous? Is that semi going to tip over and crush me while I'm driving on the 405? Should I be worried about this lump? Does that confrontational guy living across the street have a gun, and is he going to use it someday? The worry monster just gets bigger as time goes on. It has a steady diet of potential calamities on which to dine.

It has become essential to my well-being that I learn how to manage all this worry. I can easily let my worry spiral out of control, until it consumes my mind and turns my stomach into an aching crater full of acid. I can't live like that, so I've made it a conscious practice to deal with it head on as much as possible. It ain't easy. I've remained steadfast in my conviction that my worry originates in my mind, that it is not a chemical imbalance, and I'm not interested in managing it with medication. I think that course is certainly right for some people, but I don't think it's right for me. So I've had to find other ways.

Meditation

I talked about starting a regular meditation practice for years, but never really found a way to begin. My mind is constantly chattering like a 14-year-old girl, and trying to sit quietly with it for more than five minutes can make me terribly irritable. But as the worry has gotten bigger, my need to quiet my mind has become non-negotiable. I made it my New Year's resolution to meditate regularly, and it has finally stuck. While my mind often prattles on during these meditation sessions, it has allowed me to disengage with the emotional reaction to the thought, and that has been essential to mitigating all this worry. If I can see the worry for what it is - a road block to my well-being - than it is easier to consciously turn it off.

Finding the Flow

"The best moments in our lives are not the passive, receptive, relaxing times... The best moments usually occur if a person's body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile." - Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

What does that mean? In a nutshell, it means finding activities in which you experience flow. Some people call it the "zone." Basically, it's engaging with an activity that is so engrossing and enjoyable that you lose sense of the passage of time and become completely immersed in what you are doing. You are fully present. For me, that's gardening. When I am out in the garden, I'm fully present and engaged with what I'm doing. I'm not feeding the Worry Monster. The more you experience flow, the greater your overall happiness, so the theory goes. It seems to be working for me, so I'm going to keep digging up the dirt, planting seeds, and watching them grow.

Mindful Choices

Life is full of so many choices. Every day, we are presented with hundreds of choices, from what to wear to work that day to what we're going to eat for dinner. When I was younger, I often didn't put much thought into the decisions I was making about how I spent my time or who I was choosing to spend it with. I'm much more careful and mindful about those decisions now. I am more discerning about my friendships and who I want to have in my life. I take time to nurture the relationships that are worth keeping, and allow the ones that are not beneficial to my well-being to fall away. I am trying to do that with all aspects of my life, although some are harder than others. I really want to be mindful about not eating unhealthy foods, but that pizza is soooo delicious. At the very least, I will sit down and enjoy the experience of eating the pizza, savoring the flavors and texture, instead of eating it on the run or while performing another task. I have less guilt when I do something mindfully. Since guilt often leads to worry about making poor decisions and where they will lead me, making mindful choices helps to lessen my guilt and subsequent worry.

Worry will probably always be a part of my life, but that doesn't mean I have to let it control me. These practices are helping to take the power away from the Worry Monster a little at a time and are allowing me to be a more relaxed and confident person. It takes a conscious effort every day, but it's worth it.

Do you deal with the heaviness of worry? How does it affect you, and how do you try to deal with it?

I Want To Be a 90-Year-Old Fashion Icon

Do you know Iris Apfel? I didn't until literally just now. Well, I've known her through photos, but I never knew her name. This woman is marvelous. She is exactly who I want to be when I am 90.

Found at http://www.theenglishroom.biz/2013/06/15/film-news-iris-apfel-documentary/

 Isn't she marvelous? Those glasses! That make-up! Those bracelets! All that poof and pattern and panache! I love it!

Learn more about her in her own words at Into the Gloss. Or here at the New York Times.

Look at her house, featured in Architectural Digest!

THIS OUTFIT!

THESE PANTS! WHERE CAN I GET THESE PANTS? I WANT THEM NOW!

EXACTLY.

The Rewards of Being a Childfree Stepmom

Today - September 16th - is National Stepfamily Day. Did you know there was an actual day to bring awareness to and celebrate stepfamilies? Me neither - and I'm part of a stepfamily!

I suspect one big reason why we don't celebrate National Stepfamily Day is because, for many stepfamilies, there is little to celebrate. It makes sense, if you think about. Stepfamilies are generally formed because of divorce, and divorce is one of the most unpleasant things on earth, so why would we want to celebrate something that is a result of divorce?

Well - I want to celebrate!

I'm a childfree stepmom, which means that I have chosen to have no biological children. Being childfree has it's own set of challenges, the most basic being a lack of understanding. I read a marvelous article on nymag.com yesterday - 25 Famous Women on Childlessness. If you want to get a good idea of how I feel about not having children, I definitely recommend checking it out. They hit the nail on the head.

So - in honor of National Stepfamily Day, I've decided today is a great day to focus on the positive aspects of being a childfree stepmom. There are things I love about having someone else's children (and not my own) in my life, and I think it's about time I paid tribute to that.

Having the 'kid experience' without all the responsibility.

I choose to be childfree in part because I don't want the full time responsibility of raising a child. Having stepkids means I get to have kids in my life, but I'm not the primary parent who is making all the choices about their welfare. Instead, I get what I think of as the 'good stuff' - learning what makes them tick, hearing about their days and what's new at school, celebrating birthdays and holidays, shopping for the presents. What I don't have to do is discipline, drive them to school, pack their lunches, talk to their teachers, teach them to drive - the list goes on and on. I get to know them as people without all the responsibilities that the bio parents have. I think that's pretty cool, and it helps me build a unique relationship with them.

Having the time and space to pursue my own interests without guilt.

Parenting is hard, there is no doubt about that. Every day is a new challenge, from getting them to eat something healthy to dealing with their performance at school. But not being the biological parent means that generally the onus is off me to solve those problems. I only get involved when it's clear I need to be involved - I do believe too many cooks in the kitchen can be a problem in stepfamilies, especially when the bio parents have different parenting styles. The kids already have so many different voices to listen to and to please, they don't need me adding mine to the mix to make things even more confusing. So I stay out of most of those parenting issues. The flipside is that I have extra time to pursue my own interests. My identity is not wholly wrapped up in being a parent. I think part of my success as a stepmom is knowing when my husband needs personal time with the kids without me and not feeling excluded because of it. I simply see it as time that I can spend with my friends or taking a class or gardening or whatever I happen to be into that week.

Being in touch with what it's like to be a kid today.

As a childfree woman pushing 40, it would be easy to be disconnected to younger generations. But having a unique relationship with my stepkids means I get to see the world through their eyes. I have long discussions with my stepdaughter at the kitchen table. I ask lots of questions about her classes and her friends and her thoughts about life. I think it's so important just to give kids a chance to talk and be heard, and I like providing that for them. Being a good listener, and offering up advice when needed, gives me a perspective about them and about the world they are growing up in that I think I wouldn't have if I were a biological parent. I like knowing about what kids are into these days, and seeing how things have changed and how they've stayed the same.

It gives me a different perspective about my husband.

I would never have met my husband if he hadn't had kids. He would be off in some foreign country doing international aid work, most likely. Instead, because of his school age kids, he was here in Los Angeles when I moved here. When we first dated, the kids weren't there most of the time so I got to know him as an adult. Once our relationship got serious and I saw the kids more and more, I got to know him as a dad and to see a totally different side of him. I find it deeply moving how much he loves his kids and what he's willing to do for them and it has made our relationship that much more meaningful to me.

It keeps me on my toes with endless surprises.

I'm not always in the know about when I'm going to see the kids or the minutiae of what's going on in their lives. This certainly keeps me on my toes and teaches me to be flexible. There are also tremendously rewarding surprises, such as last Christmas when my husband and my stepdaughter went to Indiana with me to spend the holiday with my family. My stepkids don't normally give me presents on holidays (I don't expect them to), but this Christmas the two of them gave me something special - a necklace that had been given to them from their grandmother, my husband's mother. I was totally flabbergasted and genuinely moved by their thoughtfulness. 

It stretches my heart in ways I never thought possible.

Having kids around has altered my perspective of the world. When they are here at my house, their needs come first. When they are not here, I wonder what they are up to and think about how I can be a better stepmom the next time I see them. Having them in my life has taught me to open my heart and has challenged me to attain higher ideals. I want to be a good role model for them, and that means working on myself so I can be a better person for them. I've learned better how to deal with situations I have no control over and how to handle some pretty explosive emotions. I've learned that my heart has space in it for them. The heart really is a muscle - the more you work it, the stronger it becomes. 

Are you part of a stepfamily? What are some of the things you enjoy about your role? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And if you're looking for a great resource for stepmoms, check out StepMom Magazine (and yes - that's me on the cover!). This magazine has truly provided wisdom and advice when I needed it most, and it is always presented in a positive, problem-solving way.