A Good Reid

Everyone who knows me knows I'm a football fan.  I love the NFL, I love the Eagles, and I love Andy Reid.  I've stuck by him, through thick and through thin, for better or for worse, since 1999.  Right or wrong, I've defended him religiously, supported him unconditionally, for more than a decade.  And like a wife exposed publicly in the face of her husband's infidelity, I await the inquisition, knowing full well I'll continue to stand by him proudly, to say the right things, to remain loyal, unwavering, even in the face of undaunting adversity.

So, let's start by saying that no matter how difficult the admission may be, it's clear to me that Andy's day has come.  Fair enough.  I agree.  It's time to make a change in Philly.  Time to shake things up, time to get a fresh start, time to try something new.  I agree we've been down the same road, over and over again.  I agree - that the road we're on is NOT the road to VIC-TOR-Y, as our fight song suggests.  I'm tired of the countless disappointments and the empty trophy case.  I'm tired of the blown timeouts and the botched play calling.  Yes - I'm tired.  I admit it.  

And it's not wrong to decide that it's time for a change.  It's not wrong to question Jeffrey Lurie, to doubt the organization, to dismiss Andy Reid.  It's not wrong to get frustrated, to get angry, to change course.  But what I can't take is the way we go about it.  What I can't take is the ridicule, the hatred, the fat jokes, the relentless berating and belittling of a coach who frankly - should be embraced by the "City of Brotherly Love."  This is a coach who's taken us to 5 Championship Games and a Super Bowl.  This is the longest tenured coach in the NFL.  This is a man who - right or wrong - stands by his players and coaching staff through any kind of weather.  A man who accepts responsibility, plain and simple, for everything that happens on any given Sunday.

In short, let's stop crucifying Andy Reid.  Let's acknowledge that even the best coaches have shortcomings, and Andy's have been pronounced more than others because of his tenure and his tenacity.  He's confident, he's stubborn, and he's resilient.  Andy stays the course - his course - and he doesn't care what anyone says.  If this meant rings in Philly, he'd be the Pope.  Unfortunately for Andy, it's meant coming up short, year after year.  It's meant criticism and interrogation, week after week, season after season.  It's meant booing and jeering and "Fire Andy" chants.  It's meant do or die.  And this year, it probably means good-bye.  

Fine.  I get it.  Andy needs to go.  Something's gotta' give.  But seriously - can we show the man a little respect?  It's all I'm asking.  Just a little respect.  How we shy away from granting a man of this calibre a little leniency and empathy is beyond me.  Andy is loyal to a fault.  And yet, we question him at every turn.  He fires Castillo - a long time coach and friend - and people claim Andy sold him out.  Seriously?  Andy gave Castillo a chance he probably didn't deserve, and quite possibly couldn't have earned, and he stuck by him - despite the criticism.  Sure - Reid put him in a bad situation.  Sure - Reid gave him full reign, when he wasn't up to snuff.  But he believed in Castillo.  He took a chance.  He stood by it.  He lost.  Big deal.  

Firing Castillo was bound to happen, but happening mid-season was ridiculous.  And for the folks that claim Andy threw Juan to the wolves - take a hike.  If you think anyone feels worse about letting Juan go than Andy, you're crazy.  Andy loves Juan - loves all of his coaches and players like family.  Andy takes personal responsibility for letting Castillo go, the same as he takes personal responsibility for backing his calls, his coaches and his players.  If Andy hadn't put Juan in an awkward situation, Juan would still have a job.  We know it.  Juan knows it.  And you can bet, Andy knows it too.

Truth be told, Andy Reid has a huge heart.  He's loyal to a fault, and when he takes a guy under his wing, he sticks by him.  We saw it with McNabb, with Castillo, with Vick.  He fields questions and comments and doesn't dodge any bullets.  His famous line - "I need to do a better job of that" speaks volumes.  He says, "I," not "Them," not "We."  He does this on the field, and he does this at home.  He's supported his players, and he's supported his children - including two sons struggling with addictions.   Andy doesn't waiver.

So when I hear cruel jokes, the harsh criticism, the complete disrespect for a man who undoubtedly bears the brunt of the responsibility for these failures both on and off the field - I'm sickened.  If you think Andy didn't beat himself up over losing those Championship Games, over choking in the Superbowl, over firing Castillo, or finding his oldest son dead in his dorm room - if you think he doesn't put himself on the line day after day after day, waiting for Michael Vick to show he's worthy of this organization's investment - you don't know Andy Reid.  And if you see all of this heart, this character, this commitment, and you choose to look the other way - or worse - to cast stones, to spit in his face - it just goes to show that Philly fans really are all they're cracked up to be.  And I think we're better than that.

There comes a time when change is needed - when the vows to "do a better job of that" start falling on deaf ears.  For Andy, that time may well have come and gone.  But it's not his fault he's still here.  Obviously Jeffrey Lurie believes in Andy.  And until the axe falls, no one's going to convince Andy to stop trying.  And no one's going to try harder than he will.  His way.  With his heart.  So, if we say good-bye to Coach Reid come January, I can only ask that we do it with recognition of the man that he is, of the commitment he's shown us, of the blood, sweat and tears he's poured into his work and his family every day.  All I ask is that we show this man some well earned respect.  After all, he would do it for us.

- L.

Hey, 16.....

Earlier this year, I came across some excerpts from a website titled "dearme.org."  The site references a collection of letters written by famous personalities, addressed to their 16-Year-Old selves.  I found the concept intriguing, and eventually purchased the book.

Reading through a number of these letters drafted by celebrities and artists such as Stephen King, William Shatner, the Duchess of York, Lynda Evans (Wonder Woman!!!) - and encouraged by the suggestion from "dearme.org," I was inspired to take a step back, consider myself at the formative age of 16, and conjure up my own words of wisdom.

Looking back, I had big hair, big eyes, big dreams.  What could I tell myself now, that I didn't know then?  What wisdom could I impart that wouldn't neuter my youthful spirit; that wouldn't crawl under my skin and stick like tiny splinters of self-doubt and discouragement?  What might I say that would inspire me to welcome challenge and growth and change with the same innocent, untarnished hope - while steering me gently away from the pitfalls I knew I would eventually come across?

And finding the answer wasn't easy.  Just like it wasn't easy at 16.  At any age, it seems we struggle to identify who we are, versus who we'd like to be, and who or what we might have been.  No matter how far we've come, we catch ourselves desperately seeking validation and reassurance - You're doing it right.  You're living it right.  You're OK.  You're not alone.  Keep going.

Looking back, all I can think to say to myself is this:  LEARN TO DRIVE.

As early as the law will permit, learn to drive.  Learn quickly.  Learn efficiently.  Learn confidently.  Accept with gracious humility the grave responsibility that comes with freedom.  Don't neglect it.  Revere it.  You're one step closer to becoming YOU.  And coming from a person who didn't learn to drive until she was 25, acknowledging my failure to do so as much as a decade earlier, carries with it a huge admission of cowardice and guilt.  Learning to drive isn't just a means to get from Point A to Point B.  It isn't merely a burden lifted from the countless parents, relatives and friends who carted us around, or the convenience of bypassing the often unreliable and inefficient routing of public transportation, but in truth - Learning to drive is a right of passage.  A license to drive becomes the not-so-gentle push that boots the chick from the nest, and gives her wings.  

No matter what the excuse not to try - and I had them all - in retrospect, I see.  None were good enough to excuse me from learning life's lessons as they presented themselves.  They were all right there, waiting to be received.  I shied away, I turned my back, and I ignored the knock of opportunity.  I didn't realize that the sooner we embrace these lessons, the faster we learn to fly, the broader our view, the higher we soar.  I couldn't have known how important that period of procrastination was, and how much that one decision - to postpone getting a driver's license - would spiderweb into a map of tangled trails and traps.  I couldn't have comprehended how much it would invariably affect my life.

So, 16 Year Old Me:  

LEARN. TO. DRIVE.


And when you do, pay close attention to the following:

• Practice simple control skills, like turning and braking
• Proper use of discipline and control will come to mean more in your life than you can even fathom.  When you see that open road ahead, and you're tempted to let loose, fast and furious, just remember you need to make time for the fundamentals.  You must learn quickly when to temper your passion, how to harness your speed.  Learn now, to brake cautiously, without stopping.  To slow down, and feel the turns.  It's all part of the journey, and you don't want to miss a thing.

• Get comfortable with how your vehicle handles
•  Know what you're driving, and learn how to care for it. Understand how it operates, its strengths, its weaknesses.  Know when to challenge it - and when to accept its limitations.  Maintain its condition to the best of your ability.  This is your vessel, your machine.  It may not be perfect, but it's perfectly yours, and it can take you wherever you want to go.

• Look for potential road hazards
• Drive cautiously and defensively.  Don't be timid and fearful of the unknown, but beware that the road ahead is full of potholes and obstacles.  Expect the unexpected.  Be prepared for anything.  It can, and will happen to you.

• Come to a full stop at a stop sign
• Heed warnings.  Learn to recognize a stop sign, and respect it enough to sit back, evaluate, and make decisions.  None of us like to take "no" for an answer - especially when we're young and determined - but there are times when we all need to stop and reflect.  While driving, mind the 3-Second Rule.  In life, understand it may take a little longer.  

• Keep a safe following distance
• Sometimes we're uncertain of our direction or not quite ready to take the lead.  In uncertain times, remind yourself that following can be dangerous.  Choose your leaders carefully, and don't lose sight of your boundaries.  You may find it easier one day, to fall in line and assimilate, but be conscious of where you're headed, because chances are, the one you're following will neglect to look back and look out for you.  

• Keep a constant speed when going uphill
• When faced with an incline, keep your foot on the gas, and don't push too hard, too fast.   Hills can be stressful on your engine, and maintaining a steady pace promotes strength and endurance.  Rely on persistance and temperance to lift you safely to your destination. And when you arrive, don't forget to take a minute to pause, look around, and enjoy the view.

• Recognize and understand signs

• Signs - both internal and external - are vital when traveling down any road.  External signs provide information, give direction, issue warnings.  Remain alert, and process the meanings of the signs in your path.  As you travel, learn to recognize and understand internal signs as well.  Our reflexes, our instincts, our intuitions speak to us.  Don't ignore the intangibles.  In driving and in life, learn to listen to your gut.  It always seems to know when there's cause for concern.  The first time you're tempted to ignore a sign -  to avert your eyes, to brush something unsettling under the rug - the first time a noise or a comment makes you bristle, the first accident or argument that should have been avoided, the first time you excuse yourself for no apparent reason - Your gut knows.  Never be content to negate your autonomy, to surrender the wheel of your own vehicle.  Don't live to avoid potholes or construction.  The ride may feel smoother for a short while, but down the road, bigger faults and fissures will find you.

• Change lanes
• When you finally begin learning to drive, don't be afraid of changing lanes.  Resist the urge to map your route from start to finish, or to skirt around freeways and heavy traffic. Changing and shifting lanes is a necessary part of migration and progress. Learn to reevaluate your position at any point.  Take a look around, Use your mirrors, assess the risk, signal your intentions, and make your move.  If you make a mistake, you can always find a place to pull over, reassess and regroup.  

• Merge into traffic
• Merging can be intimidating, particularly in high traffic areas.  Know when to yield, and when to take your turn.  Be cautious, but confident.  There may be times when you have to compromise to get where you're going, but as you pull forward and fall in line, don't lose sight of your destination.  There is no "auto-pilot" in every day life.  No matter what, you're responsible for operating your own vehicle.  It's important to make sound decisions, execute efficiently, and keep your goals intact.  If the traffic flow alone is what's carrying you forward, and the momentum you feel is external or out of balance, pull over, dig deep, find your direction, and adjust accordingly. 

• Maintain a safe speed, based on road conditions
• There will be times when inclement weather and/or uncontrollable circumstances may present themselves.  All good drivers have had to face periods of darkness, glare, fog, poor traction, congestion and construction.  It's important to remain confident while cautiously respecting the conditions.  Heed the signs. Slow down.  Watch.  Listen.  Many have passed before you.  Others have traveled these roads, been lost, been found, been turned around - before you.  Some have helped to pave the way.  Keep moving toward your goal, and don't let the conditions keep you from confronting the challenges and tackling the rough terrain.

It doesn't seem like much, 16 year old Me, but I've come to realize that these types of lessons sort of fade into you.  It took navigating through much of my young life to understand that there were turns taken too quickly, mergers destined to fail, periods of lost momentum and control, strained endurance, poor discipline, and so many signs gone unheeded and ignored.  I'm not sure you can truly prepare yourself for life's bigger tests. You just have to climb in, face the road, turn the key, hit the gas, and put yourself out there.  If you sit around waiting for your life to start, you'll wake up one day in an unfamiliar place, not quite knowing how you got there, or how to get back.  Remember to keep on top of routine maintainance and regular inspections.  Check your mirrors, make adjustments, and be clear about signaling your intentions.  Don't settle for being a passenger in your own life. This is your chance to take the wheel, and DRIVE.

Best of Luck in all of Your Travels!
- L. xoxo

The Flight From Conversation: Crashed and Burned

About a month ago, a friend shared an article on Facebook that really touched a nerve.  The piece, titled "The Flight From Conversation," by Sherry Turkle, Psychologist and M.I.T. Professor, was published in The New York Times Sunday Review.  It talked about society's inter-dependence on technology, and how the sanctity of a live conversation has been marred, and often replaced, by a need to stay connected via e-mail, text messaging and social media.   

And no, the irony that this article was shared on Facebook wasn't lost on either of us.  In fact, this "friend" and I had barely known each other until we connected on the internet.  One could make an argument that we still don't know each other today - and while I admit, there are plenty of experiences we haven't had together, hundreds and maybe thousands of things we don't know about each other - I still defend this type of Facebook friendship for giving me a chance to draw on the strength of a support system and sense of community that many of us weren't privy to before the rise of social networks.

"And yet, we have sacrificed conversation for mere connection," Ms. Turkle writes.  But have we really?  The more I reflect on the article, the more defensive I become.  Sacrifice is a complicated concept.  And while I understand the skepticism surrounding the migration of communication, away from constant face to face dialogue, and I can empathize with the reluctance of certain personalities and generations to take part in this type of evolution, I don't feel like I'm sacrificing anything.  In fact, in my world, it's quite the opposite.

While people like Ms. Turkle, my father, my employer, a few friends, make interesting points - I've begun to think too many of us are waging war on electronic and social media, without considering the benefits.  For hundreds and hundreds of years, we've relied on the written word as a form of communication.  At times, even calling it art.  Literature speaks volumes in bringing people together to appreciate the thoughts and feelings and experiences of others.  For people like me, the written word has always been my comfort zone.  As a young person, I got lost in books.  No matter how much conversation was going on around me, I was more comfortable reading and writing.  

I'm not assuming we're all the same.  In fact, I know plenty of people who prefer to talk, who don't like to write, who seem to take nothing away from a book, don't text, and constantly misunderstand even the most succinctly worded e-mail.  There's nothing wrong with people who prefer direct contact.  I'm just asking to consider for a moment, that we aren't all alike.  And that technology is not responsible for the demise of the conversation, but rather, a beacon for those of us who are more comfortable connecting this way, and merely a supplement for those who appreciate the best of both worlds.  Technology is NOT Public Enemy Number 1.  It's just the modern trend in communication, like political movements, freedom of speech, and Rock & Roll.  All of these exemplifying a need to break away from the norm, to find new ways to connect.  And frankly, those of you who choose to stay behind, be my guest.  I'm not condemning the conversation, I'm simply extending my hand in a way that's more natural to me.  I'm inviting you to connect on a level that allows me to express myself more freely.

And I won't deny that the aspect of control is a huge factor in my decision to embrace these forms of communication.  I'm the consummate perfectionist.  I'm amazed at how often I shy away from doing anything, for fear of doing it imperfectly.  I'm drawn to beginnings, the unchanged, the unblemished hope that accompanies anything from the start.  I'm burdened by missteps, by choices, by the narrowing of the path.  I crave the ideal, the novel, the just out of reach.  I'm filled with regret for things that were once new, just begun, still perfect.  Ms. Turkle points out, "Texting and e-mail and posting let us present the self we want to be.  This means we can edit.  And if we wish to, we can delete. Or retouch: the voice, the flesh, the face, the body.  Not too much, not too little - just right."  Excellent point.  Electronic media allows me to present myself in just the right light.  Who I want to be - not just who I've become.  And isn't that how we want to be seen anyway?  Who wants to be loved for his faults?  We want to be loved in spite of them.  Don't we?  We all like to pose with our good side.

"Human relationships are rich; they're messy and demanding," Ms. Turkle declares.  Yes, yes, they are.  And have you ever heard anyone pretend that's the good part?  Of course not.  Relationships are difficult.  People are drawn to one another because of likeness and need.  When you're blood, you have likeness.  When you love, you have need.  When you connect with another person on an intellectual or emotional level, it's because of your ability to recognize a piece of yourself in his soul.  We reach out, because we feel heard, accepted, understood, inspired.  We love because we're validated, embraced.  This ideal isn't one we can uphold, day after day after day.  There are differences that become apparent, presumed likenesses that wind up dismantled.  We cling to one another, for better or worse.  Yes, relationships are messy.  Yes, they're demanding.  Why not communicate in a way that allows us to control our connections?

"We can't get enough of one another if we can use technology to keep one another at distances we can control: not too close, not too far, just right," says Ms Turkle.  Amen.  I've been searching for this all my life.  Let me keep you at arm's length, and still pour out my soul.  Let me share without fear of rejection.  Let me touch you without committing to be touched.  We can be vulnerable without the risk, brazen without the burn.  We can feel connected, without really connecting.  

And that's the problem, isn't it?  The lack of authentic connection?  It's not e-mailing or texting, or social networking that's creating a lack of connection.  The truth is, that's always been there.  I've struggled with it all of my life.  Technology just gives me another means of dealing with it.  The screen becomes a shield, the written word more confident, pre-meditated, unaffected by insecurity and discomfort, lack of faith, disengagement, frustration, fear.  Technology gives us courage to put ourselves out there - if we want to use it. To test the waters, without undue anxiety.  

Lack of connection is imminent.  So many speak of soul mates, and best friends, and the miracles of finding one another.  How many people are truly blessed with this reality?  How many settle?  How many don't even dare to dream?  Instead, we find ways to seek connections.  We use substances to feel brave, we use media to hide behind, we're constantly finding ways to create and recreate ourselves.  We're always coming back to our comfort zones, always looking for the path of least resistance.  Listen to me.  Share with me.  Accept me.  Believe in me.  Isn't that what we all want?

So, stop waging war on e-mailing, text messaging, social networking.  Try to understand that some of us have finally found a comfortable and revealing way to interact, without angst, without judgement, without boundaries.  For some of us, technology has given us a voice.  For some of us, technology has opened up a brave new world, full of friends, full of spirit, full of sustenance.  For some of us, technology is a blessing and a gift, and a means to get and stay connected to a world we couldn't have experienced otherwise.  

"We expect more from technology and less from one another, and seem increasingly drawn to technologies that provide the illusion of companionship without the demands of relationship," Ms. Turkle states.  Really?  I beg to differ.  I expect just as much from people as I always have - and just as much from myself.  The "demands of a relationship" present themselves when we're asked to accept that companionship is often an illusion, and to swallow the discomfort and pain that comes with that realization.  We don't expect less from one another.  We've only just begun to understand our misconceptions.  Technology doesn't provide the illusion of companionship.  Technology allows us to control our relationships, relying more on the true fiber of the connections that brought us together in the first place.  


- L.

Curtain Call

I can't pinpoint the exact day it started - the event or the habitat or the trigger that became the catalyst for this inexplicable inclination to avoid and flee from anything remotely uncomfortable or unfamiliar.  This uncanny knack I've perfected, of ducking and dodging, of numbing and wading subconsciously through various phases of life, intended for growth and maturation.  I don't know exactly how or when I decided to cheat myself out of facing new opportunities, to change, to evolve, to reform, while fully engaged.  When did I lose that courage we're born with - that natural curiosity, that eagerness to embrace life?


I don't know.  All I know is that it left me, long ago - long before I first recognized insecurity, years before my first kiss, my first love, my first loss.  I perfected the art of avoidance well ahead of those formative teenage years.  I'm not sure I realized it then, but Fear and I became acquainted very early in life.  I don't think anyone is born with an innate sense of trepidation, so it must have slipped in on me somewhere.  I wish I could figure it out, go back, and intercept it.  So many of my life-altering decisions have been skewed by weighing in against Fear.  So many days spent hiding from truth and action, from challenge and change.


I'm petrified of conflict.  I can assimilate with anyone, in any situation.  I'm like a shock absorber for tension.  I take it in, diffuse it, represent it in a non-confrontational way.  There was a time when I thought I would make a good lawyer.  I can create a defense for anyone.  I can see both sides of every situation.  I know all the angles, I'm a sucker for vulnerability, and I assume guilt like I'm taking bullets for a cause.  The fact is, I would have made a terrible lawyer.  All I really want to do is make the conflict go away.  I don't want a black or white, a right or wrong.  I don't want to take sides.  I just want the boat not to rock.


Maybe my acute sense of weakness compels me to defend and protect.  Maybe managing the dynamics around me helps me maintain some semblance of control.  It's the only explanation I have for why I'm drawn to the one thing that pains me the most: Conflict.  For me, turning away from tension is like ignoring a drowning man.  I can't avert my eyes.  I have to dive in.  I need to take that bullet.  Right or wrong becomes less of a question, and more of an afterthought.  It's all about evening the playing field.  Digest the situation, accept the fear, the weakness, the vulnerability.  Take it in, make it yours, absolve the others of their pain.  You own it, now.  You're in control.

But am I really?  What does rescuing others do for me?  I ingest tension, negative energy, pain.  I'm like a sponge, soaking up weakness and anxiety.  I carry it, like a weight on my shoulders.  I feel it, like a sickness in my soul.  I've become a chameleon.  I have so many faces I don't even know who I am anymore.  I'd rather carry your burden than mine, face your fears, compensate for your weakness.  I'd rather address your vulnerability than my own, control your life - than live mine.  I use you, to avoid myself.  I need you, to give me purpose.


And all of that brings me back to why?  Why do I struggle with instability around me, but refuse to address my own imbalance?  Why can't I let go of the rest of the world, and take hold of my own life?  I've finally realized that all of my life I've been gliding along in a semi-conscious state.  I've been afraid to be seen, afraid to take chances, afraid to tip the scales.  All of my life, I've been weighing in against Fear.  All of my life, I've been afraid to be vulnerable.  All of my life - afraid of losing control.


And how can you fear losing a thing you've never really had?  How can you mistake avoidance and flight for control?  Lack of engagement doesn't constitute empowerment.  You're not in control - you're in hiding.  You're not a hero - you're a coward.  And there you go.  You've finally recognized yourself for who you really are - or rather, for who you're not.  You finally understand the scope of the emptiness within, and it astounds you.  You wonder how you never grasped it before.  You look back at your life, and the signs are there, plain as day.  It was you who chose to avert your eyes.


As a kid, I did anything I could to get out of gym class or Field Day.  I feigned injuries, I missed the bell, I took detention.  I was insecure and afraid, and it was easier to avoid feeling vulnerable, than to risk being watched and judged.  The funny thing is, I can almost guarantee that no one was watching or judging, or even cared either way.  The only person watching and judging was me.  And I never gave myself a chance to try.  For many years I repeated this pattern, and it became so ingrained in me that I still catch myself doing it today.  I can only leave my comfort zone without an audience.  I can only try new things and take risks when no one is watching.


As I got older, the art of avoidance became more complicated.  There was more awkwardness to experience, more unknowns to fear.  By then, I'd learned to hide - and if I couldn't hide, I separated.  I remember my first real kiss.  It was a numbing experience.  And it wasn't that I didn't like the boy - I did.  But the second he kissed me, I left the scene.  My body was there, my mouth was there, but my mind was somewhere else.  I went through the motions, and didn't feel a thing.  A new pattern.  Enter intimacy, cue my exit.


And then I learned other ways to deal with being uncomfortable.  I learned that drinking broke down some of the social barriers and communication hurdles, and I never had a first kiss without a drink again.  In fact, I became quite the avid kisser - although I hardly remember any of them quite clearly.  I'm not really sure what it feels like to want to kiss someone for the first time, without a few drinks.  I still think it would take a miracle for that to happen.  It's like a protective shield comes down, just as I'm about to open up.  It won't let me be vulnerable - it won't let me feel.  I just leave the scene.  Separated.


One of those alcohol induced first kisses led to a long term relationship, where I practiced avoidance for almost a decade.  Everything inside of me told me it was wrong, but I needed direction and motivation and guidance.  I needed someone to tell me who to be.  I still hadn't found the courage to be vulnerable, to look at myself, to take chances, to stay present in a moment.  I became an expert at reinventing myself.  I struggled to be everything he wanted, and cried every day, still not knowing what I wanted - but knowing it wasn't what I'd become.  I was lost.  I brushed hurt under the rug, I averted my eyes, I steadied the boat.


Finally, I found the courage to walk away.  I left with nothing, but this person I'd almost become.  I think I rebelled.  I did everything I couldn't do while I was trapped there.  Trapped by my own need to relinquish control.  I looked for something else, someone else to tell me who to be.  I didn't realize right away that it was ME I was looking for.  It was my cue to be a walk-on in my own life.  It was my time to take the reigns.  Somehow, I still couldn't do it.  I'd been practicing avoidance for so long, I just kept going.  There were times when I moved in the right direction, and times when my motivation was pure.  But the general anxiety remained.  The fear stayed with me, and the void kept growing inside.


Over the years I've made many positive changes.  I have a good a job, a loving husband, supportive friends.  I've grown tremendously, and learned so much about myself.  I have regrets, but I'm thankful for the mistakes I've made, because in a sense - they've shown me the way.  I recognize the voice inside my head, MY voice, and I listen to it now.  I can't help wondering who or what I could have been if I had stopped and really listened long ago.  I can't help questioning why I chose to take the long way around, and why I've needed crutches along the way.  I don't know if I'm ready to cast those crutches aside, and my first instincts are still avoidance and flight.  I prefer living with anesthetic, and I still struggle to control things outside of my control.  I'm uncomfortable 90% of the time, and I don't like people watching and judging.  But at least now, I look for answers inside.  I'm still afraid of what I'll find, but I don't hide from myself anymore.  One day soon, I know I'm going to wake up fully present in a moment.  I'm going to look at my life head-on, without crutches, no separation - and cue my entrance.


- L.

In Trying Times

It's been a trying year.  I say "trying," not in the negative sense - not in a defeatist fashion - but matter of factly.  I've spent the year "trying."  Trying to move forward, trying to learn, trying to grow, trying to put the obstacles behind me.  There were days when the trying was too much for me, and I reverted to avoidance.  There were weeks when I felt like I was only treading water, and there were months when I thought I might not have enough left inside to keep swimming against the current.  I never thought of going under, but I floated on my back for a while, letting the tide carry me along.

But that's what life is about, isn't it?  Learning to swim?  Diving deeper than even you knew you could, and resurfacing, rejuvenated, empowered, encouraged to keep going.  Life is about challenge and change and transformation.  Life is about recognizing your strength, your drive, your passion.  Life is about learning what moves you, what propels you forward in the most trying of times.  And life is about testing your limits, embracing your unique composition, the ever-changing, impressionable being that You are.  Life is about acknowledging what makes you happy, and about giving thanks.

On Thanksgiving Day, I'm reflecting on the year that's past, and all I've been through - spiritually, emotionally, physically.  I look back on a year of months where hiding was easier than taking that dive. A year where I barely kept my head above water.  Oddly, the year is somewhat of a blur.  I feel almost as if I hadn't lived it at all.  It's like I'd forgotten how to find pleasure in the simple things.  How to enjoy a beautiful day, a drive in the car, a quiet morning alone.  I forgot that a smile or a hug or a kind word could make the difference in someone's day - and a lot of the time, that smile or hug or kind word came from me to someone else - and could have made the difference in MY day.

While I sit on my deck, in this beautiful sunshine, turkey in the oven, family relaxing inside - I can smile - knowing that the simple things are starting to bring me joy again.  I'm thankful for my incredibly patient husband, who knew I was still in there somewhere, trying to come up for air.  I'm thankful for my amazing friends, who no matter how lost I was to myself, continued to remind me of the things I used to like about Me.  The friends and family who never lost sight of the person I am and the person I want to be.  I'm thankful for the encouragement and the loyalty and the love I feel every day, from countless people in my life - from new friends and old.  And I'm flattered that I can still be a sounding board and source of inspiration to other people who were also trying - and continue to try.  Deep breaths, my friends.

It may have been a trying year, but it was a learning year, and a growing year.  And for that, I have a deeper sense of gratitude.  Thanksgiving means something more than usual to me today.  It means recognition, it means acceptance, it means hope and rebirth.  It means I'm thankful for my life, and for everything in it, and it means I'm moving on - head above water, paddling for the shore.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone !
- L.

Collective Bargaining

For many people, February is a month of doldrums.  The holiday season has passed, the cold settles deep in our bones, and Spring seems like another idyllic promise - dangling uncomfortably out of reach.  For me, it all starts with the day after Superbowl Sunday.  The NFL season comes to a close, the numbness takes over, and unless you're Mel Kiper, the Draft is too far off to even consider.  For football fans, February and March are bitter pills to swallow, and their effects are barely buffered by the media's coverage of March Madness and Spring Training.  For us, the weeks between the Superbowl and the NFL Draft might as well be spent in hibernation, with no ESPN, no NFL Network, no sports talk radio.  Nothing generates the same spark. We become zombie-esque, non-committal sports fans, clinging to our days with a limited amount of static electricity.

The inevitable time of mourning comes every year, but in 2011, it hit a new low.  This year, the NFL Player's Association (NFLPA) and the League Owners gave us quite a scare.  While attempting to renegotiate the NFL's 10 year old Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA), they stumbled on a stalemate.  Neither side appeared to budge, and the media speculated that this year, not only was the Draft in danger, but without some sort of concessions on both sides, the 2011 NFL Season was in jeopardy.  The bitter pills we swallowed annually were chased with antacids and anti-anxiety medication.  For those of us who build our springs and summers around the NFL Draft, Free Agency, Training Camp and Fantasy Football prep, our center of gravity was pitted from our cores.  We were lost, confused, hollow.  What did all of this mean?

For the first time in NFL history, a full-fledged lockout was ordered.  Players couldn't enter practice facilities, coaches couldn't make contact, statements from the NFLPA and the League Owners were succinct and enigmatic.  Media reports were vague and uninformative, and all League activity had been frozen.  February and March took on a deeper shade of bleak.  March came in like a lion, but where was the lamb?  Enter April, and the freeze was still on.  Without dual ratification of a new CBA, the NFL season would never be born.

Those who know me understand that a blow of this kind would be devastating, and I might not ever fully recover.  A summer without Fantasy Drafts?  A Fall without the NFL Ticket? A Winter without playoffs and smack talk?  No Superbowl???  I get ogeda just thinking about a scenario this drastically unfathomable.  How can the owners and players be so far apart?  They have common goals - is there no common ground?  I mean, aren't we all men here?

And oddly enough, something dawned on me.  I'd reached a similar stalemate in my own life.  Me the Player, Life the Owner, never quite being able to reconcile.  Constantly moving in different directions, causing friction, until one day - I just stopped really living.  The CBA standoff made me realize my own life was at a standstill.  Who I was and who I wanted to be were so far apart that we too had no common ground.  We didn't recognize each other anymore.  It was like I'd been locked out of my own life, as if I'd been frozen in my tracks.  It was time for me to renegotiate.

In sports, the owners are the businessmen.  They invest their dollars, they dictate terms, they barter, they hire, they fire, they promote.  The owners come from all different backgrounds, have different ideologies and personalities, but they have one common goal - to WIN.  There's not an owner in the league that doesn't want to take home a Lombardi Trophy, and reap all the benefits that come along with it.

In life, the owners are similar.  Their investments are necessary for us to walk these paths.  We need terms, promoters.  We need something bigger than ourselves, to help us bring home those victories.  But the owners come from different backgrounds, with different ideologies and personalities.  In life, the owners don't always share a common goal.  Life's owners can help you win, or lead you astray, and in life - it's even more important for the players to step up, and protect themselves.  With the right collective bargaining agreement, we can be achievers.  With the wrong one, we can disappear.

So, who are the owners in my life today?  Family, Work, Geography, Confidence, Commitment, Fear, Anxiety, Love, Guilt, Regret, Loss, Change.  Probably many more.  They can all work for or against us, depending on our contract terms.  Depending on how we've negotiated.  I don't have an agent.  And I haven't even looked at my life this way in such a long time.  Like the NFLPA, I've been operating on auto-pilot for at least 10 years.  I've been up and down, lost and found, but never revisited my lease on life. I think it's time to take a new look.

So, with the new CBA ratified by the Owners and the Players, we can finally look forward to the season.  Players reported to camp, and I planned a trip to Lehigh.  One of my favorite days of the year is the day I make a road trip to watch the Birds practice.  It's the first day everything feels real - like the first day of school - a fresh start.  I get so excited, I can't wait for the preseason.  I can't wait for a new reason to feel engaged.  And maybe it's silly to feel that way about a game....but I do.  It's part of my world, part of what feeds me.  Right or wrong, I would be hollow without it.  I'm lacking in things to root for, and maybe the NFL helps me fill that void.  Maybe someday I'll replace it with something else, and maybe not, but if I do - it won't be in the next decade.

Happy Football Season, Y'all.

- L.

Dogged Loyalty

I thought I learned my lesson with Old Yeller, Hooch and Marley & Me.  I thought I proved I can't handle anything even remotely dramatic, when it comes to animals - especially dogs.  But sadly, I got sucked into another tear-jerker of a dog film this afternoon. 


"Based on the 1987 Japanese film Hachiko Monogatari, as well as on a true story, Hachi: A Dog's Tale, stars Richard Gere as a college professor who finds an abandoned dog and takes the poor lost animal in. The film follows the two, 
as the man and animal soon form a strong and unexplainable bond."

          
It all seemed harmless to me.  How could watching a movie about "Man's Best Friend" actually becoming a man's best friend, be a bad way to spend a rainy Sunday?  How could two hours of canine comfort for the soul turn into an afternoon poorly spent?  Here's how:  My eyes are still swollen, my nose is still running, and my teeth still ache.  I can't stop thinking about the real Hachi, about the screen play, about that fact that this movie isn't just a movie at all.  I can't stop feeling this heart-wrenching anxiety, this unbearable sorrow, over an animal I've never met, over an Akita who was renowned to possess a kind of dogged loyalty I didn't even know existed.

Hachi is reliable, pure, inexplicably steadfast.  He walks Professor Parker to the train station every day, and then goes home to wait - meeting and greeting the people he sees along the way.  Each evening, he comes back, sits patiently, and watches for the Professor to exit the terminal.  He's greeted warmly by his teacher, by his savior, by this amazing family man, whose life was unexpectedly turned inside out and upside down, by a lost dog.  I cry.  And I can't stop crying.  What a beautiful story.  Dog and human, brought together by circumstance, kept together by recognition of an obvious attraction, merged by the dedication and loyalty each holds deep in his soul.


And then Professor Parker dies.  A heart attack strikes, mid-lecture, and he collapses to the floor.  The family comes looking for Hachi, and finds him waiting.  The trains go by - one, two, three.  He's confused, but he waits.  He's lost, yet he waits.  The family tries to pull him away, make him a home.  They move from the neighborhood, and take him along, welcoming him into their house.  Hachi follows the Professor's daughter and son-in-law reluctantly, but with every chance he gets, he escapes.  He returns to the station.  He goes back to the old house.  He waits, for the Professor to come home.


Finally, the Professor's daughter tells Hachi that she misses him too, that she understands, that she constantly thinks of her father - every day.  She says she loves Hachi, and she wants him to live with her, but if he needs to go - she understands.  She opens the gate, he licks her hand, and he leaves.  Back to the station.  Back to wait for Parker.  More tears.


The commitment Hachi shows is unlike anything I've ever witnessed.  He doesn't know the term "discouraged."  He doesn't know the word "good-bye." He only knows "patience, dedication, love."  Hachi exemplifies dogged loyalty.  Unwavering, unfaltering - for nine years, he returns to that station, day after day after day.  I'm without words.  My heart breaks for this dog, for this sentiment, for the realization that Hachi may never understand that Parker is NOT coming back.  And for finally understanding that it wouldn't matter if he knew.  He wouldn't care.  He'd sit and he'd wait - every day - just in case.  He'd accepted that role, and he planned to honor it, to the end.  That's what heroes do.  And that's why Hachi is special.


I cry, and I cry, and I cry.  I can't stop crying - considering this amazing expression of loyalty, wanting to be better than I am, knowing I've never come close to a commitment of this kind.  I cry hard, and I seek out my own dog, hoping to find comfort in her face.  She's laying in the guest bed, taking a nap, and when she hears me crying, she jumps to her feet.  She kisses me quickly and lovingly, addressing my sobs and tears.  She knows.  She feels my angst.  She shows genuine love and concern.


I often say, we can learn a lot from dogs - and I still think that's true.  Animals are real.  They do what they feel, and they believe in us, every day.  They stand by us, no matter what - and they live to keep doing it.  We don't ask them to stand guard, to kiss away our tears, to wait for us every day - but they do.  And they 
will.  They always, always will.

- L.