Resolute

On By BekkiIn Musings & Ramblings2 Comments

I wasn’t going to do resolutions this year. It’s always seemed silly to me that the only day of the year you can reinvent yourself is January 1.  And anyway, my resolutions always seem to be the nebulous type. Things that are easier to say  than to put into practice.  Be patient.  Be kind.

Sometimes, though, the universe has a way of nudging you to where you need to be.

The first thing that happened was my friend Christine posted this gorgeous picture of her hand-lettered resolution for the year.  I wanted one.

Then another friend started a blog to chronicle her journey to health and wellness over the next year.  And I thought (and still think) that takes guts, to put yourself and your goals out there for anyone to see.

These are both ladies I truly admire, people who’ve worked hard to get to where they are, who have gone on pretty incredible transformations of the self.  But I still hesitated about making any kind of resolution.  Because, you know, I’m not that kind of girl.

So the universe gave me a swift kick in the seat of my pants, in the form of my husband saying one night, as we were washing up after dinner, you really should try to make time to write.  Because when you write, you’re more patient and nicer and less crazy.

He’s right.  It made me realize that maybe the trick to being a better person is to just be the kind of person I’m happy to be.  And while that seems like an incredibly obvious sort of truth (Tao of Pooh 101), I’ve spent the last five years working in an industry where we hide away our best selves to better fit the corporate mold.

I’m tired of being the person I’m supposed to be.  It doesn’t make me very happy, and it doesn’t make my husband very happy either.  It’s time I tried being the person I want to be.

Resolution the First

Apply Ass to Chair

I’m a writer.  If you’ve read this blog for any length of time you know this, as you know that I struggle with finding time to write.  I’d managed to get myself into a good place for a while back in 2012, finishing Persephone, drafting the zero draft of Railroad, and getting some Agent interest.  After I got pregnant, though, I was tired all the time, bone tired, I-go-to-bed-at-eight-and-can’t-drag-myself-out-of-bed-until-nine tired.  And with the baby… well.  There’s always something to do, laundry to fold, dishes to wash, a toddly to keep out of trouble.

But if I don’t write, I am not happy.  If I don’t write, I am not the person I want to be.  Enough said.

(The phrase “apply ass to chair” comes from advice given at the 2012 Clarion workshop.)

Resolution the Second

Get Moving

Writers are generally not known for their physical fitness.  We’re much more likely to be in a chair all day, hunched over our laptop or our notebook, frantically scribbling.

I’ve been lucky.  My body has, for the most part, been good to me.  It held a child and then returned (mostly) to the same shape it used to be with minimal complaints.  But it bothers me that I’m not as fit or as active as I used to be, and I don’t want to turn into one of those people who are old and creaky at 40.

And the person I want to be?  The one who makes me happy?  She likes to ride her bike and go hiking, and wants to share those things with her daughter.

Wanting and doing, though, can be very separate things.  Going to the gym isn’t an option for me, not if I wasn’t to have time to write and see my kid.  So I’m viewing this as a way to help me make choices.  Do I take the stairs or the elevator?  Do I make myself go to weekend yoga instead of sleeping in?  Do I actually use the pull-up bar at home?  When someone invites me to a work-out class, do I make excuses or do I say yes?

Conflicting Resolutions

I’m not thinking about these resolutions as keep or fail.  If I don’t write one day, if I laze out and don’t take the stairs, it’s ok.  Because every day, I get the chance to decide who I want to be.  Every morning, I can wake up and try again.

New Year’s Wish

On By BekkiIn Musings & Ramblings2 Comments
St. Pete Beach, June 2005
St. Pete Beach, June 2005

Ten years ago, I moved across the country to California. I had a newly minted degree in creative writing, less than $1000 in my bank account, and no reason to stay in Florida. Even so, I left a lot of things behind: an ocean that lit up at night along the edges of the waves; the restaurant where I learned how to wait tables and accept compliments; the woman who gave me my wings. I didn’t mind. I felt that I was moving toward something.

Between San Francisco and Monterey, May 2010
Between San Francisco and Monterey, May 2010

Five years ago, I moved across the country to New York. I had a newly minted JD, an offer at a big law firm, and a large pile of student loans. New York wasn’t my first choice, but it was a new job in a new city, and I’ve always been excited by new things. I left a lot behind: the farmer’s market with fresh, off -the-tree-that-morning peaches; the moody, untameable Pacific Ocean; family, and friends that were like family.  I minded this time.

This spring, we are moving again, back to California, back home.  I don’t have a job yet.  I should be terrified that I don’t have everything lined up, but I’m not.  I’m exhilarated.  For the past ten years, I’ve done what was expected of me.  College, law school, East Coast job, husband, house, child.  Check.  It hasn’t made me happy.

I’ve written here before about the impossibility of “having it all” and the need to decide instead to have it right.  For me, that means more time with my husband and my daughter.  It means letting go of what’s “expected” and doing what works.  It means time to write.  It means living somewhere that makes us happy, somewhere we have a support network of friends and family who love us.  It means going home.

And because it wouldn’t be New Year’s without a wish, here is my wish for you in the coming year:

Find the time for the people and the things that make you happy, and if you can’t find it, make it.  Do things for yourself, because you want to.  Ignore the people who tell you you’re doing it wrong.  Hug someone.  Smile at a baby.  And, as always, love and be kind to each other.

One of Us

On By BekkiIn This is FeminismLeave a comment

This is what misogyny looks like.

I’m watching the news this morning, and they mention that the winner of the Miss America pageant was a victim of domestic violence. The first thing that goes through my head is She can’t be a victim of domestic violence. She must be making it up.

The second thing that goes through my head is what is wrong with me for thinking that?

***

It’s insidious. Pernicious. The statistics say something like 1 in 3 women will be sexually assaulted. Why is it so hard for us to believe this is true?

***

I watched a man teaching his son to read on the subway one morning on my way to work. The kid, probably five or six, sat on his dad’s lap sounding out the words in an article.

On my way out of the train, I looked down, and saw a mostly naked woman on the page. The boy was learning to read on Penthouse.

***

I have thought numerous times during pregnancy and childbirth and breastfeeding that if men had to deal with this shit, we’d have a pill for it already.

***

My mother taught me when I was younger that you always lock car when you park, to make sure nobody gets into the backseat while you’re out. To park under a streetlight. To avoid dark areas.

Nobody teaches men these things.

***

This is what misogyny looks like.

#mommyfail

On By BekkiIn Pinned Posts, This is Feminism2 Comments

We started Z on formula today.  Part of me is relieved about this. It means that pumping will no longer be a nightmare measured in ounces. It means that I can stop desperately trying to stockpile three days worth of milk in the freezer for when I have to travel. It means that if a late afternoon meeting runs over, I don’t have to choose between getting home in time to bathe her and put her to sleep or staying at work to pump so that I have enough milk to feed her the next day.

Mostly, I feel like a failure.

I couldn’t make enough milk for my daughter. I wasn’t willing to work hard enough. To pump longer, or more often. I cared more about my own convenience than about her health. I’m worried that writing this down will make people think less of me.

My friends who post stories on Facebook about how breastfeeding is the best thing you can do for your baby. My friends and family who’ve had kids and breastfed all the through.

I could justify it. I could tell you how long I struggled with this decision. I could tell you I asked my husband to buy the formula, because I couldn’t do it myself. I could tell you I pump five times a day, starting at six and ending at midnight, and I still can’t always get enough milk. I could tell you I’m trying not to cry while I type this. I could tell you that we’re just supplementing, not switching over to all formula.

But none of that matters, because I still feel like I’ve failed.

The women of my mother’s generation fought so that their daughters could have it all. A career. A family.

The women of my generation need to fight so that our daughters have it right. Parental leave for both parents that’s long enough to get back to human. A culture that views parenting as work which is just as hard and important as any other job – and compensates parents for the time they spend raising their children. An understanding that if one partner in a relationship wants it “all”, the other will need to make sacrifices in equal proportion. A culture free of judgement, free of the mommy wars, focused instead on what works for each family.

#haveitright

Things That Happen When You Become A Parent

On By BekkiIn Musings & RamblingsLeave a comment

1.  You find yourself rocking back and forth, even when you’re not holding the baby.

2.  Going to bed at 8 pm is the best thing ever.

3.  You sing, everywhere, all the time. On the street, in the subway, in stores.  Carrying the tune and knowing the lyrics are optional.

4.  You realize around dinner time that you haven’t showered or brushed your teeth all day.

5.  Everything gets a cute name.  Her toys.  Her outfits.  The dishes.

6.  Random things like shower drains and lawnmowers sound like a crying baby.

7.  You turn into a human jungle gym.  Hair, glasses, ears all become handles.

8.  Going to the bathroom becomes a family activity.

9.  Posting to your blog becomes one of those things you did before you had children.

10.  The best part of your day is coming home and seeing her smile.