Pieces on Earth

I don't remember it starting until the 4th grade - the general uneasiness that would send me into hiding, the flight response to uncomfortable situations. Maybe it was much earlier - maybe I was born that way.

But folding into myself became a security blanket. When I felt vulnerable, I swaddled myself in layer upon layer of cutaneous skin, designed to keep others out - and to keep me in.

In those times, I was as protective of others, as I was of myself - always wrapping people up in boxes, editing their responses, and presenting them as acceptable, receivable, tactful. I still feared those boxes could open up at any time - springing the truth of the matter into existence.

I was the mediator, the people pleaser, the consummate conflict avoider. Even then. I learned young, how to stroke an ego, how to create a buffer between walls of discord. I played Public Defender, working  pro bono night and day, relentlessly objecting on behalf of those needing active representation. I did everything in my power to prevent closing arguments, to promote amicable resolution, and to settle.

Family tension, school tension, even fictional tension had me packaging anger, guilt, resentment. I didn't know that my often successful attempts to diffuse conflict would have me coiling my own springs tighter and tighter, until I couldn't even contain myself.

I took it all in, through layer after layer of still permeable skin. I was acutely aware of body language, facial expressions, tone of voice. I could sense an argument building way before the storm, and did everything in my power to divert it. Not today. Not on my watch. I grew hyper-sensitive to the slightest change in barometric pressure. My emotional radar was impeccably in tune.

If the itch or the nervousness, the fear or the pain, was growing in someone else, I would harvest it for them, accept it as my own and carry it with me. The crop weighed heavily on my shoulders, but better me than the weak, the weary, and the wounded.

I couldn't have known then, that over the years, plowing through my days, my experiences, my relationships, with the mindset of a diplomat, would eventually erode my own soil. There would be no room to plant crop within, no fertilization of ideas, no independence, no harvest of my own. I, myself, would become barren.

And it was in those early times that I began slipping away. It was subtle, at first. I avoided being seen in a vulnerable state. My inner voice told me to reject any amount of discomfort by fleeing, by numbing, by retreating. Sometimes I wonder if I've been hiding all of my life.

And when I couldn't hide, I lied. I feigned injuries and sickness to get out of gym class. I latched on to anyone more insecure than I was. The safety net was my own creation, and even I wasn't sure it would be there to break my fall.

Cue any state of discomfort or emotional imbalance, and all through life, I've handled it just like that 4th Grade girl. Avoiding, escaping, running, self-medicating. But then, there comes a day when it doesn't work anymore. None of it works anymore. Truth be told, avoidance has a shelf-life. Escapism is temporary, running catches up to you, self-medicating strips away all feeling, good or bad. Soon, you find the connections you make aren't connections after all. There's no authenticity, no substance to the relationships you've built when you were absent. There's no credibility to your conversations, when you can't remember the depths they've taken you to. You can't reconcile hiding and seeking.

When your day of reckoning finally comes, and your feelings begin to thaw, the realization is painful. You feel over-exposed, raw, tender. You wonder what happened to those 4th Grade playground days - the days when the biggest chasm you felt was the space between the monkey bars.

No matter how far we go in life, how much we've grown, we all have voids to fill. They've all been planted and rooted within. And maybe those voids were never meant to be filled. Maybe our gaps and faults are what make us unique and beautiful. Maybe identifying the emptiness we feel is what connects us all together in the end. Maybe these are pieces of the grand mosaic of life, and it's our job on Earth to recognize that we need each other to create balance, and without balance, our work here will never be complete.

At some point, we have to acknowledge our weaknesses and identify our strengths. We have to learn to look at them with love, compassion, and appreciation. We have to tell ourselves that it's OK to be afraid, OK to be vulnerable, and it's vital that we learn to share our gifts. The more missing pieces, the greater the canyon that spans between us, and the larger the abyss within us. Let's take a moment to step back from the edge, admire the view, and grow into our spaces together.

Much love. - L.

Off Sides: Confessions of a Female Football Junkie

Excluding the Pro Bowl in sunny Hawaii, this year's NFL post-season has been blitzed by talk of the ominous "polar vortex." Forecasts of intense cold, mounting snow, freezing rain, black ice and formidable driving conditions were everywhere from local news to Twitter feeds. For the first time, we headed into Super Bowl Week with chilly debates about  this year's venue. Would location make it difficult to neutralize home field advantage? What effect would it have on a certain elite quarterback playing in - arguably - the most pivotal game of his career? Collective apprehension of potential snow fall put a damper on the usual excitement leading up to the big game. As temperatures and ticket prices plummeted, we wondered - Could the Super Bowl experience in New Jersey be stronger than the storm?

It's January 2014. The masses are battling Seasonal Affective Disorder, while I'm left preparing for my own dark days. If you ask me, the year has four seasons: Winter, Spring, Summer and Football. I don't really mind the cold until after the Lombardi Trophy is hoisted, when with another year icing over - the real freeze sets in. It happens every February without fail, but this year, I'm layering up my defenses in preparation. This year, I resolve to insulate myself from the internal cold war by huddling up with some of the things that inspire me. This year, I'm doing my best to weatherproof against the void.

In the spirit of Super Bowl Week, and until it's time to batten down the hatches, I thought I'd take a few minutes to connect and share a little bit about myself. So, here are a few confessions that might break the ice:

1) I watch Preseason AND the Pro Bowl.

Say what you will about the Preseason, but by the time Summer rolls around, this girl is ready for some football. What better time to check out the rookies, newly signed free agents, and prospective fantasy draftees? Preseason isn't about winning or losing, it's about preparation. Evaluating talent, experimenting with the playbook, adjusting and adapting. Even a good tailgate could use a little preseason practice. I think pro-tailgaters would agree.

In years past, the Pro Bowl held the opposite significance for me. It was my last chance to see the players take the field before the impending doom of the off season. I soaked up every last Hawaiian ray of light, before being forced into involuntarily football hibernation.

When the game was moved up to the week before Superbowl, it changed my perspective, but it didn't stop me from wanting to watch. "The Pro Bowl's a joke. It doesn't mean anything," you say. Well, I beg to differ. The Pro Bowl certainly means something. It means something to the guys who worked their tails off to get there. It means something to their coaches, their families, their friends. It's a hard earned reward for a season well played, and just watching them huddle together like brothers, relax, have fun, and enjoy each other is meaning enough for me.

2) I'm a total sexist.

It's true. With the exception of a select few (and they know who they are), I hate mixing women and football. Don't crash my fantasy draft, don't talk to me during the game, don't ask me to go shopping, don't expect me to entertain you, don't pretend to be a fan, don't keep football from your man, don't swoon over the players, don't try to talk the talk, don't wear PINK - And to all of you high-heeled, high-maintenance, happy hour tailgaters who can't hold your liquor - Yes, I'm talking to YOU.

3) I discriminate against men too.

I admit it, I'm perplexed by guys who don't follow football, but it's not the agnostics that bother me. It's the guy in the Cowboys' jacket at the bar, who doesn't know they're losing 46-6, or the guy talking smack at the office who can't name two players on the defense of his own team, or the Steeler fan boasting about his rings, but he hasn't watched a game since 1993. It's the guy who shows up empty-handed to the fantasy draft, who doesn't bring a pen or a cheat sheet or his loot, and worse yet - he asks to borrow yours. The guy who repeatedly drafts players who've been taken, injured, or retired last year. And one more thing, Men. Shoe shopping with your girlfriend on a Sunday is pure blasphemy. Man up, and grow a pair.

4) I stalk my fantasy players on Twitter.

True story. If I draft you, you'd better not:

a) Do sit-ups, or take part in any other exercise routine in your driveway.
b) File bankruptcy - Chapter 7, 11, 15, 86....I don't care. You're a big boy. Act like it.
c) Serve jail time for dog fighting, domestic abuse, rape, murder, or other reprehensible crimes.
d) Trash your baby mama via social media, head butt your wife, or fake your fake girlfriend's death.
e) Drop the "N" word at a Kenny Chesney Concert.
f) All of the above.

#CmonMan #StopIt

5) I hold myself accountable.

When a season goes bad, I blame myself. I never throw my players under the bus. For example, I take full responsibility for the following:

• In the 2011 Fantasy Draft, Low Hanging Fruit selected Jamaal Charles over LeSean McCoy in the 1st Round. In game 2 of the season, Charles blew out a knee. McCoy went on to score 17 TDs on the season.
• In the 2012 Fantasy Draft, Low Hanging Fruit selected LeSean McCoy. McCoy finished the year with 2 TDs and 4 Fumbles. Jamaal Charles went to the Pro Bowl.
• In the 2013 Fantasy Draft, Low Hanging Fruit selected Trent Richardson in the 1st Round. Trent was traded to the Indianapolis Colts, and took a backseat to Donald Brown. LeSean McCoy became the league's leading rusher. He went to the Pro Bowl, along with Jamaal Charles.
• In 2013, Low Hanging Fruit drafted a post-season team.  The Fruit started LeSean McCoy AND Jamaal Charles. McCoy was eliminated in the 1st Round, and Charles left early with a concussion.

Coincidence? Maybe....but afterward, I publicly encouraged Charles to take out a PFA against me. Just call me The Cooler.

6) When I'm wrong, I say I'm wrong.

Exhibit A: A letter to Larry Fitzgerald

Dear, Larry -

My sincere apologies for calling you overrated. Clearly, I was young, naive and stupid. You wore #1, and you were #1, and you'll always be elite to me - both on and off the field. There are few better players and few better people, and I'm blessed just to know you're for real. Hail to PITT. 

Love, 
 - L. xoxo

7) OCD Me refuses to stay on the bench.

If you ask me I'll say I'm not superstitious, but when things start going wrong, I worry that I wore the wrong jersey, watched from the wrong bar, went to bed too late, or woke up too early. I second guess (and 3rd guess and 4th guess) my picks, labor over my fantasy lineups (Start/Sit, Start/Sit, Start/Sit). I repeatedly tell myself I should've listened to my father, my friends, my bartender, my bookie. I appeal to the Football Gods with fervor, begging the Universe for one last 3rd down conversion......And I swear I'll never ask for anything again.

And if that's not weird enough, my non-sports related idiosyncrasies want to play too. Just yesterday, my aversion to odd numbers had me thinking, "I'd totally be rocking a Foles jersey by now, if he'd just consider wearing #8." Whaddya' say, Nick?

8) I even play hurt.

Eagles/Raiders, September 25th, 2005, Lincoln Financial Field:

My mom and I forfeited our seats to family, in from out of town and pumped to catch a game. We tagged along anyway, planning to join the tailgate and head to McFadden's to watch the action. No sooner had we poured our first beer, when our plans were temporarily compromised by a fall in the parking lot. Pavement -  Meet my left elbow.

The arm was broken, but not my spirit, and our tailgating neighbors rallied to help. They offered up a sling made out of Caution Tape and a couple of Oxycontin. I passed on the pain killers, but the sling got me back on the field. We proceeded to the bar, where I iced down the arm, and self-medicated with beer and vodka shots.

The game was a nail biter, and an injured David Akers kicked through a bad hammy to pull off the "W."

"PHILADELPHIA (AP) -- David Akers again fell to the ground, writhing in pain. This time, his teammates piled on and celebrated."

I raised my good arm in homage, and felt a true kinship. In that moment, we were brothers, and bonds like that refuse to be broken.





9) I once entered a contest to get married on ESPN's Mike & Mike in the Morning:

My Entry:

If you’re a true football fan, you believe in the magic of Super Bowl Sunday.  You trust wholeheartedly in the concept that the World’s best match-ups are brought together, in a quintessential showcase of football heart and soul.  Each year, you root for your team to make it to that dance, and each year you believe they can win.

From the time I was a little girl, I believed in the magic of weddings – much the same way that I now believe in Super Bowls.  I dreamed of that white wedding dance, that chance for a ring, that moment of glory, and each day I believed I would win.

            
On Super Bowl weekend, two years ago, two football fans from opposite conferences, two sides of the State, looked at each other and knew – this was our turn, our chance at the dance, our Super Bowl Sunday, right there in front of us.  We felt the magic, and we knew we could win. 

Since that day, our teams - the Eagles, the Steelers - have gone on to win two Conference Championships and a Super Bowl, and we can’t help believing in the magic that brought them there – the magic that brought us here.  We can’t help believing we’re still going to win.

We love football, we love each other, and we come to ESPN – two believers, two fans – with a dream, with a wish, with an untouchable faith in the magic of sports and love, and we ask – May we have this dance?

10) I still cry like a girl.

In spite of my aversion to phony, frilly, female types, I'm still as sappy as they come. Coaching terminations, free agency losses, inspirational stories, player injuries, missed kicks, touchdown celebrations, wins, losses, fantasy - it doesn't matter. I get emotional about it all.

In fact, sentiment is what I value most about the world of sport. If what's behind the game doesn't conjure up feelings, draw emotion, hit us right in the heart - Why attach ourselves to sport at all? It's the tales of victory, the regret of defeat, the strength and resilience, the brotherly love. These are the things that give us something to believe in. These are the things that become part of who we are. 

So, all things considered, I'm still a broad at heart. And Super Bowl Sunday will always be bittersweet. But let's take some time to look past the weather. Let's try to concentrate on what's important in life. Let's reflect on the victories that brought us here, and the defeats that taught us how to overcome. Because in life and in sport, no matter who you are, there's really only one thing worth asking for. There's only one thing we should all be working toward, and one thing we're entitled to expect from each other - and that's a good game.

Now, let's go play some ball.....
                               

Finding Silver Linings

Earlier this year, I had the pleasure of reading The Silver Linings Playbook by Matthew Quick. The highly acclaimed screen play adaptation had been in theaters since November, and I wanted to read the novel before it was released on DVD.  Those who know me know I have an aversion to movie theaters, and I prefer to watch films in the comfort of my own living room, without the popping, snapping, cracking, sniffling, sneezing, chewing, talking, texting - and otherwise irritating - crowds at the local Cinema.  Call it Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).  I call it Preserving My Sanity(PMS).



In this particular instance, I was so consumed by the novel that I couldn't wait to see it on screen. On a Sunday afternoon, I cast my idiosyncrasies aside, ducked into a quiet corner by the wall, and was thoroughly entertained by the extraordinary cast performances. The story was effectively transformed into a screen play that brought an element of light and humor to what is otherwise a rather disturbing tale of mental illness, heartache and familial dysfunction.  True to its title, even the novel has a silver lining, but I found myself wishing the film hadn't shielded us from some of the deeper themes in the book. The sentiment I had become so intimately attached to wasn't altogether missing, but the depth of that sentiment was buoyed by opportune plot changes and omissions, superb acting, and a vibrant comedic vein that was coaxed to the surface on screen, while only delicately tapped by the novelist himself.


Silver Linings was nominated for 8 Academy Awards, with Jennifer Lawrence bringing home Best Actress. The 22 year old Lawrence took the opportunity to acknowledge the gravity of the message behind the film when first she stumbled her way to the stage, and then she tagged the following comments to her acceptance speech:


"I don't think we're going to stop until we get rid of the stigma for mental illness — I know David (Russell) won't. I hope that this helps. It's so bizarre that in this world if you have asthma, you take asthma medicine. If you have diabetes, you                take diabetes medicine. But as soon as you have to take medication for your mind, there's such a stigma behind it." 

Mental illness is such a complicated topic, and so rarely broached in public. Afflictions such as Schizophrenia or advanced Bi-Polar Disorder are eerily intimidating to the average person. We can neither understand, nor relate, so we look the other way. And let's face it - people with severe mental illness need professional treatment and observation. There's little you or I could do to advance their development, or improve their condition.

That being said, when taken literally, the term "mental illness" means just that - an illness of the mind. Physical illnesses range from things like the common cold to terminal cancer. And when you equate that to sicknesses of the mind, suddenly your scope gets wider. Mood disorders enter the picture. Anxiety. Depression. Are these mental illnesses? Sure, they are. Are they part of that secular group we refuse to acknowledge as representative of "normal," sane behaviors? Not even close.

Move into the grey area of mood disorders, and things start to get really cloudy. Call it mental illness, and Jennifer's right - watch people hide their eyes and back away. Mental illness has a stigma that won't be denied. And yet, millions of Americans suffer from anxiety and depression, refusing to accept and treat it. Millions spend months, years in denial, and if it weren't for the negative connotation associated with sicknesses of the mind, droves of people would be lining up for help without embarrassment or shame.

If we consider the black cloud that hovers over the landscape of mental illnesses, and we pull the mood disorders out from underneath and into shelter - there's still something that separates an unhealthy mind from an unhealthy body.  There's still something that says depression isn't a common cold and anxiety isn't a 24 hour virus. Just what is it?

Well, for starters, we see the body as a vehicle and the mind as a driver. The body is not who we are - the mind is at the core of our being. The mind is embedded within us and creates our personalities, controls our behaviors. When the body gets sick, we treat it. When the mind gets sick, we question it. The body is sick because it's infected or afflicted.  The mind is sick because we weren't tough enough to fight it off. There's an element of blame bestowed upon the individual who admits to being anxious or depressed. There's an expectation that a person with a mood disorder should automatically assume responsibility for his or her condition.

It's understandable, isn't it? That we should consider the mind more powerful than the body? That we believe it has more control over what ails it, and more aptitude to do what it takes to heal itself - or to prevent sickness in the first place? I know I'm guilty of feeling this way. Whether talking to a depressed friend or family member, or counseling myself, the same thoughts have crossed my mind: Suck it up, Stop whining, DO something about it. I don't know about you, but I've never looked at a person with Pneumonia and said, "Get over it."

Until recently, I couldn't understand the weight or magnitude of that perspective. I'd never truly believed that depression and anxiety were intruders in the brain, and not just bi-products of our own unique chemistry. I was skeptical of happy people, and I thought the contented just had lower expectations. I attributed my angst to a deeper artistic or emotional IQ - assuming that some of those happy people just didn't have enough depth to understand. I blamed my childhood, my relationships, and my lack of discipline for my overwhelming feelings of guilt and regret - for my inability to take control of the present.

For many years, I struggled to gain traction. For many years, I was up and down, or just plain stuck. But  I always believed that ultimately I could do something about it. If only I was stronger, more disciplined, less resentful. If I hadn't made bad choices, or no choices, or missed out on the right choices. I flogged myself daily for things I'd done or said, or things I hadn't done or hadn't said. And when the stress made me physically sick, I finally agreed to take a pill for it. After all, I had a reason. I wasn't crying or whining - I was nauseous and vomiting. What I thought was mental weakness had just gotten physical.

I didn't notice the effects of the medication, except that I was much more even keel. I didn't cry anymore, and I didn't get sick, so I kept taking a low dose for a number of years. Even though I wasn't convinced it was doing anything, I was afraid to stop. If I was anxious, a few drinks would calm me down. No problem. Nothing to see here.

And things were OK, for a while. I had a new job, a new house, a dog, a husband. I was doing fine. Aside from the predictable New Year's resolutions to lose weight, exercise more, eat better, drink less - I was virtually self-sustaining. I was even writing in my spare time. For months, I used the status quo as a gauge. As long as things were getting done, bills were being paid, no one was arguing - I was OK. I would sit down at the end of the night, have a few glasses of wine, and go to bed.

As I continued to follow through the motions, I started to feel like I was constantly going against the grain - that I was investing too much in a career I hadn't planned, in a place where I didn't belong. I felt a void so large I wasn't sure it could ever be filled. The stress piled on and the anxiety was building. I couldn't handle my own problems, so tell me yours - and yours - and yours. Anything to give me purpose outside of myself. Anything to avoid dealing with this person I hadn't had the guts to become.

I drank more. I hid behind the protective wall I'd created. I told myself it was my peace, my solace, my coping mechanism. I was under a lot of stress, and I needed to wind down and get out of my head. I weaned myself off of my medication. I hadn't noticed over the years if it'd been helping, and I still believed that I needed to cut the cord and handle my own business. But things continued to get worse.

No matter what people said about the alcohol, no matter who suggested I should get some help, I clung to the only thing I thought provided some relief. I had tried a couple of therapists, and had little faith in their ability to relate to me. I was drained emotionally, and despite my attempts to carry the world on my shoulders, at the end of the day, I felt like there was no one there for me. I was angry, resentful and bitter. I felt judged and bruised by the people who professed to love me the most.

Obviously, I realize that drinking isn't a healthy means of coping, and I know it makes me sluggish and sometimes argumentative. I understand that repetitively numbing out the brain is only a quick fix, only temporarily soothing, and that any comfort I get out of it is short-lived and often misleading. But somehow, the little things became difficult for me to manage, and that drink at the end of the day was a beacon on the horizon. I looked forward to the escape - to a few hours when it didn't matter that my life was slipping through my hands.

And as the difficulties multiplied and the pressures mounted, I started feeling like one more thing would just split me apart at the seams. It took everything I had just to get out of bed and go to work in the morning. And even then, I was barely functioning. I kept telling myself it was going to get better - I just had to try harder - but I couldn't. I was paralyzed. And then it got physical.

I started having panic attacks. I was sick to my stomach, and my mind was racing. I couldn't stop it. I didn't even have the wherewithal to give myself a flogging - to tell myself to suck it up and move on. Grow up. Stop crying. I told my husband that I no longer knew if I was sick because I was stressed, or I was stressed because I was sick.

I had seen the doctor a few weeks prior, and he'd given me something for anxiety, but it wasn't supposed to be a long term solution. It took the edge off and allowed me to sleep, but when it was gone I was right back on eggshells, worried that I'd be the one to crack. The only thing I knew for sure was that it wasn't only in my head. It was mental. It was physical. It was all-consuming.

I confessed to a friend just how fragile I was feeling, and she said something I really needed to hear. "Don't be a hero," she told me. "You're under a lot of strain." "Don't be a hero," she said. And it really hit home. I realized that this was just another one of those instances where I refused to ask for help, where I tried to shoulder all of the burden. I knew I couldn't do it anymore. And I accepted it. I dragged myself to the doctor, and despite my reluctance, I took a leap of faith. At the Doctor's suggestion, I tried a new pill.

Within days, I felt like my brain had shifted - like my consciousness completely changed perspective.  For the first time in months, I looked forward to shopping for groceries, cooking dinner, taking the dog for a walk. For the first time in months, I didn't want or need that glass of wine - that security blanket. I could talk to people again. I wanted to talk to people again. And I was overcome with gratitude. I could finally see that silver lining.

And this isn't a commercial for anti-depressants, and I don't think pills are the answer for everyone. There are other methods, and you do what's right for you. But I know I'm not the only one who suffers in silence, afraid to ask for help - or worse yet - afraid that real help doesn't exist. The world I live in hasn't changed. My problems are still here. The stress and the pressure haven't evaporated. But my perspective has changed, and the panic has stopped. For the first time in my life, I believe that depression and anxiety really are sicknesses of the mind. And being mind sick isn't a weakness or a character flaw. It's a chemical imbalance in your brain. And I don't pretend to understand the physiology, but I do know you might need some help to get your balance back. Let's not be heroes here.

As the protagonist says in The Silver Linings Playbook, “I don't want to stay in the bad place, where no one believes in silver linings or love or happy endings.”

Nor do I, my friend. Nor do I.

- L.

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.