Perspective

"Be patient with the process, and with yourself, okay?
It’s going to take some time.
That’s not a problem; it’s the point."

~Bernadette Birney's insightful blog on the Anusara Yoga certification process

25

25 months. We are officially over two years.

Dang.

The ortho was once again frustrated at how slowly that back molar is moving (as am I). I imagine he thought he was being reassuring when he said that "Cosmetically your teeth are straightened and done. It's just your bite that needs work." The only problem is that I never went into this process wanting cosmetic changes. They were a nice side effect, but it's the correctness of the bite that was always my first priority. He put a stronger wire on my bottom teeth this time in an effort to "move your molars in and underneath your top teeth." Do they hurt? Um, yeah.

He said that the outermost limit that these braces will still be on will be six months, but I'm not counting my chickens before they hatch. I suppose I should pluck up courage at the fact that he has never been definitive about time before, and that he has given me a true timeframe. But it's little consolation when I cannot feel true faith in his estimations. I still feel just as shackled by these braces as I did over two years ago.

And yet. I was getting off an elevator today, and as I left the man in the elevator said, "Thank you for your big smile, " and then as he left, he turned and cut me a look, and in a surprisingly flirty way exclaimed, "Showoff!"

Universe, you make me laugh!

20/20

It was my 20th high school reunion this weekend.

I will admit, that I did not want to go. There were over 600 people in my graduating class, and I didn't know half of them in high school, let alone trying to remember them 20 years later. I recognized few of the 175 names on the RSVP list. My friend Natalie was anxious to go, but I tarried sending in my check. I was curious, and I thought I might regret it if I didn't go. I'm trying to say more yeses than no's these days.

Natalie looked gorgeous, as she always does, but I was full of apprehension as we approached the door of the venue. The first person we ran into was our class president, who took one look at me and said, "My god, you look exactly the same...but better." That, my friends, was the right answer.

Now, there were plenty of people there I didn't know, and a few awkward moments. There were conversations that petered out almost as quickly as they started, but the ones that lasted were tangibly warm, as though I could literally see the lines of connection strong between us. We all marveled at how good everyone looked. There were no stereotypical paunchy, bald men, and the women were svelte and pretty. Indeed, for the most part, we all looked the same...but better. We reminisced, we cooed at baby pictures of children, we grieved for those of us who are ill, or no longer with us.

Afterwards, there was an outpouring on Facebook from attendees who were so delighted, moved, and fulfilled by the evening. I am loath to admit that this had me confused. I had a nice time, but my heart was not filled or emptied, my soul was not aroused or impassioned. I enjoyed the evening as I would enjoy a nice meal or a good day at work. Fine, but not life changing. I couldn't help but wonder if I had a hardened heart, or why my normally sentimental self was feeling anything but.

And then it hit me--during the course of the evening, I was told more than once how happy I seemed. If I am to be honest, I truly am happy. I didn't need a nostalgic trip to make me feel something palpable when my life right now is already wholly lived. This 20 year reunion coincided with a reunion with friends met in Morocco who happened to be in New York, and that evening was more full, alive, vibrant and soul touching to me. The past can stay in the past, my peace is with it and I wish it, as well as my 18 year old self, well. My 38 year old self, on the other hand, is proudly, proudly living out loud.

They say that hindsight is 20/20, but I am amazed and rather tickled to realize that my eyes see everything in this moment, crystal clear. Anais Nin said, "We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." Yes, oh yes, we do.

Time Machines

It's a sad day.

I have been trying to avoid any TV news reports today--it's just too much to deal with all of this nonstop coverage of 9/11. That day is still very much a part of me, as it has been whether we celebrate a one, two or ten year anniversary. Most of my friends here in NYC feel much the same way--that this arbitrary date doesn't make it any more important or any less awful. I cannot look at footage of that day without tearing up, and have spent the better portion of today getting irrationally weepy at movies like Becoming Jane, Original Sin and Miss Congeniality (yes, I've had TBS on all day), as well as getting insanely furious at IKEA when they didn't have the items that I had come to purchase. I decided to get industrious and clean out my closet, and finding my father's sweater in there put me over the edge once again. The sadness seems to be in the air, easily plucked and accessible, and the cold air and gloomy clouds fit the somber mood of the day.

I had spent the night before at a secret party in some warehouse space somewhere in Brooklyn, themed to 1930s Morocco. There were elegant flapper dresses paired with bobbed hair, djellabas, kaftans and turbans galore. (I wore the hot pink and silver djellaba I purchased in Tangier in June.) There were belly dancers and live musicians, tarot readers and henna tattoo artists. We danced and danced and it was so delightful to be truly transported to another date and time, far away from this time, and this place. I realize that only the best, the prettiest and the most exciting and delightful parts of the 30s were celebrated last night, but all history is in some way revisionist, and it is those who triumph who decide which parts endure.

I want to honor my friend Melanie who volunteered at the medical examiner's office 10 years ago. I want to honor my brother and sister-in-law who housed me for a full week after the towers fell. I want to honor all of us who fled to the hospitals to give blood. I want to send love to all the souls that were scared and lost on that day. I want to remember that my father was still alive 10 years ago. I want to thank whoever designed the Towers of Light that stand each year where the towers used to be, and how comforting I always find this tribute.

I love this quote by Albert Einstein. I'll leave you with it:

"Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others...for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received."