Now Is The Time (for a bit of news)

Monday Missives #13

It has long been a dream of mine to do a podcast—well, a radio show. It is something I first dreamt of when I was teenager and my bestie and I recorded episodes of our show “Woody Zansary, the Belly Dancing Duo” on cassette tape. We talked about random things, laughed uproariously and sang songs we wrote with lyrics made up almost entirely of lines from the movie Heathers (“It’s more than a spoke in my menstrual cycle, oh yeah” is a great example). And while I briefly had a radio show in the late 2000s on East Village Radio (an internet radio station that transmitted from a storefront studio on First Avenue in the East Village in NYC), I walked away from that show. That’s because I was afraid—not of failure, but of success. But not the kind you would think. I was afraid to succeed at being myself—by myself.

That’s why, when the man I was married to (but also separated from for over a year after he had walked out) asked to come home, I got back together with him. Almost immediately I chose to retreat (behind him) and make myself small (again). Only this time, it was worse than when I did that before. Not only did I walk away from that show and not only did I abandon my dream, but I also abandoned a rich full life I had built—on my own. That’s when I packed up, left New York (and all of my friends) and moved to New Mexico with him. And that proved to mean that I also abandoned my voice and silenced myself.

Ten years later and back on the east coast that same man and I separated again (this time, permanently), and my dream got rekindled so I started talking about doing a podcast (again). By the end of 2022, I even had a logo and some intro music. But it was not the right time for a podcast. It was not even the right time for this Substack (something else I had started talking about). But it was time for me to write. That’s because being a writer was the first dream I gave up; a dream I dashed all the way back in 1998 when I first met the man I eventually married; a dream I turned into a master’s degree in audio and video production when my dad died in early 1999; and a dream I traded in for my husband’s dream even before we got married.

And it’s a good thing I waited to start a podcast. Because as I wrote (what would ultimately become my memoir, Beyond the Wall), I uncovered a lot of really old (and new) hurts, resentments and fears. It was much easier for me to find the words to express all of that when wrote (rather than when I talked) about it.

Because I can write. I can compose. I can scribble easily in long-hand or type without down looking at the keyboard. When I write, I can articulate an argument, synopsize a complex thought and whip out short and witty snippets. And I can express heartfelt love with passion or deliver a painful truth with compassion. In my writing, there is also a measure of control, modulation and containment which helps to ensure there are no wild hairs and no messy loose ends.

But too often, when I talk, whether with people I love or people I loathe, if I need to say something important about how I feel—good or bad, happy or sad, my vocal cords constrict as my head swirls with a million thoughts, my heart rate accelerates, and my body contracts and folds into itself. Then my throat collapses completely, and cinches shut. At that point, I either back off and say nothing or I mumble and stammer. Or, just as likely, I talk in circles as I tumble forth with an incoherent waterfall of run on sentences and say the same thing four different ways. I do that because if I wait, the words will vanish. I will take them and the emotions they are meant to express and stash them away as I second-guess myself and run from telling the truth. That’s because I am more afraid of saying the wrong thing and making someone else feel bad than I am concerned about feeling bad about myself. I would rather shame me than shame someone else.

That is what writing my book revealed to me. And once I saw that, I knew that I needed more time before I did anything else. Before I could set out to reclaim any more of my dreams, I needed to take the time to reclaim more of myself.

Now, almost fifteen years after I walked away from that radio show, almost five years of hard (spiritual, physical, mental and emotional) work, two years of writing, editing, re-editing and finishing my book, and eight months of setting up and inhabiting this Substack, I have reclaimed who I am—at my core. That means it is time to reclaim that dream (to have a radio show aka podcast) which really means, it is time to reclaim more of my voice. It is time for me to speak.

Which means now is also the time for The Stories That Sparkle to evolve. In the coming weeks, you will see and hear more about how I plan to combine more of my dreams (like launching a podcast and touring the country) with more of my skills (short videos and audio recordings) to bring more of myself (longer written pieces “from the vault”) into this space (which will have a paid subscription section coming in May). And as this platform grows and finds more of its voice, I hope to find more of my own.

Because none of this is about shaming anyone else. It is all about unshaming me.

Meals Out: I went back to Vibrissa for an end of week hang with few of my close friends. It was a Vibe. Otherwise, I was at home and did a lot of resting (it’s been a good and very busy week with more action coming up).

Listening (voice): Nothing. Truly. Too busy to listen to my usual podcasts which I have to say, has been a nice break.

Listening (song most likely on repeat): My Love (Is Like A Waterfall), Peacemode. (My new favorite walking and dancing while walking song!)

Watching: In a rare move, I did not watch anything this weekend (except some reels). That’s how serious I was about resting my eyes and ears.

Reading: Nothing. Writing this list is helping me see how much I was detoxing from most (non-people) inputs all weekend.

Most Hours Logged Doing: I went on walks, talked with friends (on the phone or in person) and relaxed a lot. I even took a nap! (Well, sort of. I closed my eyes while laying down but I would not say that I really slept because, you know, I don’t nap).

Monday Morning Meditation: 4.14.25

Being curious about how I contribute to the problem gets me out of self-pity and into the actions I can take (not demand of someone else) to care for myself so I can be of service to someone else without losing myself.