Just A Post

Welcome back.

It’s taking me a minute to get into this post. 2018’s been a metamorphic year. Raw, mind melting, and deliciously heartbreaking.

It’s been fucking magical and has left zero room for anything that feels forced, my writing particularly.

I love this blog and care little that its purpose has never been clearly defined or that it hasn’t been well-tended. Delusions of dressing it up for Sunday Mass to create a linear, palatable theme in order to monetarily exploit regurgitated bullshit just isn’t my jam.

I love eatingatme because it’s a reflection of me: a hot, crass, type A-/B+ mess. And I’ve given myself permission to continue as such.

So I’ll just keep writing whatever because I made a promise that I always will.

But…

This IS also hyper-organized, hypomanic me I’m talking about…and it IS the last day of my miraculous month (September 22 – October 25) during which, for the past nine years, I’ve made significant shit happen. And this year…well, this has been the best year I’ve experienced since my mid-twenties.

So there’ll be some form to this green slime of online content…eventually. I’ve put that in motion over the past month and it feels damn good. For now, though, it’s where I work shit out, or don’t.

And because it’s October 25, I’ll wrap with this:

I’m taking my promises seriously, even if they’re completed at a snail’s pace. In 2009, when I said goodbye to my mother, I made some pretty deep commitments that I’ve been and/or continue to be scared to pursue but at this point, I’ll die trying. Almost did today, in fact; burpees and battle rope exercises are no fucking joke.

Greetings from The Mezzanine

Y’all, there’s no business like show business.

In theater, the best seat in the house is based on one’s opinion; it depends on the experience of the performance which one seeks. It’s commonly assumed that a center orchestra seat is prime real estate because of the exorbitant ticket price and the ability to bathe in the performers’ sweat and spit. That shit costs top dollar.

Then there are those of us who like a broader perspective; back a bit further, up a bit higher…a seat with a view. Those of us who prefer the mezzanine lead from the middle; we’ve come too far to settle for the nosebleeds and equally don’t feel compelled to get all up in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s business.

These days, I’m likening my life to theater (Tony Award worthy and Off-Off-Broadway), and the vantage point I’m choosing today is that of audience member. Spectator. Mezzanine crasher.

Pull curtain.

It was three years ago this week when I decided to move to Sweden. It was when I boldly declared that my 40’s wouldn’t be a star-studded revival of my 30’s. At that time, I couldn’t imagine that I’d have the mental, emotional, and spiritual fortitude to take the stage as a single woman (with a four-legged sidekick) on her own two feet, completely reliant on herself…and her word.

The first act of this performance has been equal parts elegant and electric; I’ve kept the cast small and the drama minimal. The score and scenery have been subtle but poignant. I’m proud of this piece of work.

Intermission.

My second act, currently being work shopped, is what I’ve been creating tirelessly. The costumes are delicious, the technology is advanced, and the adventure is boundless. It’s sexy, fun, and unexpected.

Fun fact: I came up with the name of this post a year ago, and knew it would be my return to eatingatme. I also knew that at that time I wasn’t quite ready to write this, but that I should write the title down for the day that I was.

And here we are.

And here I go.

Cue orchestra. 

#eatingatme

Piece On Peace

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It’s nearly four months since we’ve connected.

Hello, beautiful.

We’re heavy with thought and emotion these days, aren’t we?

Sinking into quicksand with:

health, home, heartbreak;

family, politics, finances;

future, injustice;

career;

and society assisting in the push.

Some days, I’m at the end of my rope. Others provide more lead with which to pull myself up.

I have concerns, deeply personal and also on a broader scale. However, unpacking the content of my weighty knapsack isn’t my focus at the moment. Today, I focused on four goals:

  1. Using my brain;
  2. Sharing my heart;
  3. Giving thanks; and
  4. Helping others.

Because in order for me to make long-term, far-reaching impact, I must start close to home, close to the vest…close. Calmly.

I must create and sustain peace here, where I currently stand.

So I have.

Today, I hope you found beauty in life’s imperfections and occasions to laugh until you hiccup.

I hope you found some peace.

For me, it’s made all the difference for my tomorrow.

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Here’s what you (the reader) and me (the author) know about me (the narcissist) after 4+ years of ingesting eatingatme content:

  1. I’m consistently inconsistent.
  2. I’m often unsettled but work diligently to live a positive life.
  3. I over think. Some may say I over share. (Fuck you, haters.)
  4. My potty mouth’s a passion. So’s my sarcasm.
  5. I’m originally from Buffalo, New York.

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = 5, at least in my case. I confirmed this last weekend.

I flew to Buffalo to surprise my sister, Kristen, for her 40th birthday finale (she, her hubby, and their two kids live in Las Vegas but were back home for a visit). I was raised in Buffalo alongside Kris and her brother, Robbie, who, 36 years later, I still refer to proudly as my siblings. Kris’ loved ones orchestrated a celebratory week that culminated in a Sunday Funday around the city on a party bus. I popped out behind balloons; there were laughs; some tears of joy sprung (mostly from me). There were renditions of Alanis Morrisette’s “Uninvited” and some Barbra Streisand song. There were many drinks.

This – plus copious amounts of hang time with my elementary school bestie, Kate; my extended family; and other longtime friends – occasionally evoked feelings of hiraeth, or a homesickness for that which is no longer (see Regina O’Callaghan’s post on this very topic, executed beautifully). I left Buffalo for college at age 18 and only returned for visits that were very much dictated by my mother’s scheduling. I rarely had an opportunity to enjoy the geography I knew as my birthplace and cradle. I always felt like an outsider and never thought it possible to reclaim my identity as a kid from the Nickel City.

Half way through the visit I decided that drudgery – a behavior that is VERY Buffalo – was no longer acceptable. Buffalo is my home and I want connection, dammit. I experienced love in that city. I danced professionally there. Hell, I learned to read and write in Buffalo. Now, my mother and grandparents are laid to rest there. This all means something very deep to me.

There’s a renaissance occurring in Buffalo; the excitement is palpable. Driving through Canalside and the Elmwood Village with Kris, Rob, our friends and family, and witnessing happiness and a love for life was electric. Eating fucking fantastic Cajun food at Toutant and revisiting my favorite hot dog joint, Ted’s, collided the new and eerily familiar brilliantly. Hanging with Kate and her husband, Jack (my Grade 5 crush), while their daughter, Emma, sang for us…this built a new structure for my hometown around my heart and headspace. I left feeling slightly more settled and invigorated. I also exercised my sarcasm muscle adequately and learned a few new profanities to share with you in later posts.

Hey. It’s Buffalo. It’s what we do.

Confidence And Cockiness Walk Into A Bar…

Whoever created this meme deserves a hug.
Whoever created this meme deserves a high-five and a lesson in the proper writing of an ellipse.

Confidence’s SEXY AS HELL. She’s POWERFUL, TRANSFORMATIVE, and GETS SHIT DONE.

How-ev-er…

Her evil twin – Cockiness – has a habit of showing up to the party, doing one too many shots of Don Julio Real, streaking through your cul-de-sac (gut bouncing like a basketball), and inevitably ruining the evening when he resists arrest.

Ain’t no one got time for that.

I’ve spent ample time pondering the difference between confidence and cockiness over the past four months. To qualify, I’ve spent ample time dissecting the minutia of the difference between the two as it’s pertained to my full-on stalking of full-time employment.

This, too, deserves some kudos.
This, too, deserves some kudos and a revision.

I’ve been told on no fewer than four occasions that I’m OVERQUALIFIED but OH SO CONFIDENT.

So when did sexy as hell, powerful, transformative, and gets shit done become the Hans Solo in the Dad vs. Kylo Ren battle for employment?

Answer: When you’re 41, it’s 2016, and employers have their pick of the litter for potential hires. The variety, the possibility…it’s like shopping for medical marijuana but not nearly as fun (from what I’ve heard…seriously, I don’t touch grass).

Fast forward: I’m starting full-time employment on Wednesday. The position comes with benefits (something that holds value to me at 41). It fits the bill for what I need. Yay job! But I’m still thinking a lot about this difference between confidence and cockiness…

It’s quite possible – if you know me, let’s just call it what it is and say it’s likely – that I came off as cocky in my interviews. Fine. I’ve covered some serious ground professionally; accomplished a lot; handled some serious shit. But maybe I wasn’t cocky at all. Maybe I was just authentic and showed that I play on a level where bullshit isn’t invited.

Either way, I’m fascinated by this topic, particularly because Kimberly Jones and I are launching a Periscope and blog series that centers on the renaissance of individuals who leap-frogged from one career to the next as a means to making it happen in a big way. (Head’s up: this will eventually become a podcast. We’re personable. You’ll like it. That’s fact, not cockiness.)

I’d love for y’all to weigh in. Are you confident? Perceived as arrogant? Know someone whose self-proclaimed amazingness is like nails on a chalkboard although props for getting exactly what they want while serving others?

Comment below and/or hit me up on social media. I want to hear your story!

Back to the Don Julio Real and deep thoughts.

Passion Play

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I consider myself lucky.

I’ve been in love five times in my life. Punched in the gut, sweet Jesus is-this-for-real, gasping for air agape-eros-philia heaven. Vastly different journeys. Thankful for each.

I’ve experienced intense professional satisfaction. Goals achieved that prompted my inner outside voice to yell “I DID THIS!” Work that served others while filling me up. Bold action that made me proud and changed me for the better.

And then there have been the moments that rendered me standing still at attention. The drill sergeant of opportunity screaming “TAKE THIS IN! Not everyone gets this chance, you hear me?” My favorite in recent history is from this past Christmas Eve eve. I floated on ancient hallowed snowy ground in Fengersfors, Sweden, observing the silent flicker of lantern light among the gravestones of the church’s adjoining cemetery. While tears rolled down my cheeks, I praised God, my mother, and each person who made it possible for me to be in that hour.

It’s now the eve of my 41st birthday, and I’m sitting exactly opposite of where I was precisely six months ago. Sweating in hot urban Vista, California, drinking bourbon, and crying hallelujah that my MacBook’s made it another day. Lots of uncertainty rubbing my shoulders but I still feel exaltation akin to what bubbled up in all the aforementioned scenarios.

This is what unconventional reinvention yields. Common vernacular might define this as “adulting” but I find that term ridiculous. It discredits the thought and labor behind getting it done; everyone inevitably becomes an adult with the passing of time. Reinvention – responsibility – takes dedication and sweat.

Tonight I’m present to what it means to walk, run, twerk in my shoes. I get the value of the almighty dollar and the freedom it provides; I’m also clear that it’s the last thing that should define you. I give a one-finger salute to the common, safe, and mundane; I’m striking balance between that which I love and what brings home the pasture raised organic pork. I’m in love with my life; find whatever work I do fulfilling; bloom from amazing opportunities.

As a result, eatingatme has also matured, and in the coming months I look forward to sharing my passion play with you. Collaborations with writers that inspire. Conversations with intriguing individuals who’ve run wild with renaissance and created magic. The launch of a legacy project that’s been 12+ years in the making.

THIS is the eatingatme 2.0 that’s providing satiation. Thank you, thank you, thank you to Regina O’Callaghan, Kimberly Jones, and Lori Krause for the partnership, vision, and fearlessness it’ll take to make our projects happen.

THIS is the outcome of declaring better for myself one year ago. This is what it means to learn from your history in order to live, not just exist.