Loving the Life I Live

Monday Missives #7

A few years ago, Barbara (if you’re new here and curious about who Barbara is, check out this post for some context), four of my besties and I spent the weekend together in a cabin in the North Georgia mountains. Not only was it a vital mini gathering of love during the isolating times of Covid, but it was also the start of a turning point in my life. On the cusp of filing the divorce papers to end my twenty-year marriage, I was also about to kick off an epic journey to reclaim who I am.

Because Barbara always knew more than she said, she gave our weekend together a theme. Only, instead of making it a statement, she posed it to us as a question:

“Am I living the life I love?”

Even though we all knew the theme ahead of time and even though I not only turned it into into a canvas print that I hung up on my wall but also into travel pouches that I gifted to everyone to take home with them, I had no idea how to answer that question. That’s because I had given up. For over two decades, “the life I love” meant the life he loved and before that, “the life I love” meant the life I should love. And that meant “the life I love” was not something I thought about. Or talked about. Or dreamt about. That meant it was not about “the life I love” but about “the life I survive.”

Most of us have heard of fight or flight. It is the original, very human response to danger or a life-threatening situation. In the way back machine, in the times of our ancient ancestors, it was literally about life and death—an engrained survival instinct when face-to-face with say, a dire wolf. Now, it is more often used to describe a psychological response to a perceived (or real) threat. The impact on the nervous system is the same: increased heart rate, quickened breathing, and heightened alertness as mind and body use all the energy available to neutralize the threat.

Fight is facing the threat with aggression. I call it “going from defense to offense” by pounding my fists or screaming at the top of my lungs. Flight is running away from the threat. I call it “believing the lie” and escaping into a fantasy world. I also call it “getting away” by relocating physically or shutting down emotionally.

Lesser known and no less potent are Freeze and Fawn. Freeze means being motionless and showing no response or reaction. I call it “being a dear in headlights” by disassociating and not saying a word—not even “no.” Fawn is about avoiding conflict. I call it “people-pleasing” by always saying yes to everyone and “twisting myself into a pretzel” by pretending to be someone I am not.

And for most of my life, I lived in a near-constant state of fight, flight, freeze or fawn. No wonder, when I showed up that weekend, my adrenals were shot.

Because Barbara was who she was, and, like I said, because she always knew much more than she said, she had all of us (including herself) do a bunch of writing that weekend. And while I could not tell you what I wrote down or where the notebook I used is today, I do remember the quote she gave us to meditate on before we left the cabin at the end of that weekend.

Today, after almost five years of clawing my way through grief-filled days and sleepless nights; of trying to fit in when I knew I needed to fit out; and of facing the terror of having no idea where I was going and taking the next step forward anyway, I no longer live my life in fight or flight. Instead, I pause. Then I wait. And once my hear rate goes down, I respond. When I feel myself freeze or start to fawn, I plant my feet on the ground, feel my legs solid beneath me and stay true to who I am.

So today, I know exactly what “the life I love” means to me. It means celebrating my bestie’s teenage daughter (whom I have known since she was one month old and who was performing in her high school’s musical) one night and catching up with a woman in her sixties (whom I met only five months ago when we became roommates after we started a training program together) the next night. It means sitting at a dining table to write with a view of a snow-and-ice-covered meadow one day and driving into Manhattan the next day but not before making a pit stop to edit audio outside on a deck by the sun-drenched seaside. It means trusting the multiple cups of hot tea, lemon and honey will help restore my voice (that had been reduced to a whisper in the deep, freezing cold) in time for the meeting I have (and which, thankfully, got pushed out a few days). It means coming home to sit in my sunroom and watching the birds dance outside of my window before I meet up with my friends before I head out to do a version of all that all over again.

some of the views from the past ten days

Since no outcome is ever really known and certainly never guaranteed, today, living the life I love means no day is ever the same, no amount of love is out of reach, and no dream too big or too small (or impossible) to pursue. And that means I get up every day even on the days when I want nothing more than to stay in bed.

Because merely surviving is no longer an option and living is no longer a question. It simply is. And really that means, I am loving the life I live.

Meals Out: Lots of meals out this weekend across three of the five New York City boroughs: lunch at Kin Ramen in Midtown Manhattan (curry ramen is excellent and great comfort on a chilly, rainy day), dinner at Il Gigante in Ridgewood, Queens (stick with the pastas), and brunch at Sailor in Fort Greene, Brooklyn (everything I sampled—the omelette, burger, and bacon—was amazing and OMG the French toast is KILLER; totally worth a trip from wherever you find yourself when you are in New York City). Special shout out to meals out earlier in the week: Meraki in Litchfield, CT (been here a few times and this time I had the breakfast burrito which was incredible; their wraps and sandwiches are pretty great too) and Little Pub in Stratford, CT (this location might be out of your way but so worth it for the view—and the Surfside Hotel next door is a delightful, low-key, surfer-vibes and totally thoughtful, comfy hotel with rooms that have the perfect view of the water; 10/10 DO recommend)

Listening (voice): Second week in a row when I have not listened to a podcast cause I have been very, very busy.

Listening (song most likely on repeat): Look At That Woman, Role Model. New-to-me artist and I especially love this song.

Watching: Zero Day on Netflix (can’t quite decide if I liked it or not; leaning towards “liked it” but not sure how much. Either way, it was a great late-night and spend-a-lazy-Saturday-afternoon-on-the-couch kind of watch).

Reading: Nothing except for the multiple recaps and analyses across multiple websites/viewpoints of the Oval Office meeting between Trump and Zelensky.

Most Hours Logged Doing: Relaxing on a very comfy, cozy couch.

Monday Morning Meditation: 3.3.25

After almost fifty years of hiding from life and nearly twenty years of learning to do something different, it took the last five years of carrying Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote around with me in my proverbial back pocket until I could embrace what she was talking about. So, to remind myself of what I want the life I love to be today, it bears repeating:

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experiences.”—Eleanor Roosevelt