Send My Grandma to Italy

Always the coolest, Gram (second from left) parties with the girls at my sister's Bachelorette party in the spring of 2008.

Two months ago, only weeks before my little sister's wedding, my family received some devastating news: my grandma, only 72 years old, had stage 4 cancer of the lung, liver, lymph nodes, and spleen. It was a slow, dreadful diagnosis with each new test revealing worse news. The prescription? Immediate chemotherapy, with the hopes that it, along with other meds, would give her another year, and hopefully more.

My maternal grandma's real name is Raphael - but she's always gone by "Rae," and half of my name comes from hers (the other half is my other Grandma, Anne). She always been an amazing grandmother... fun, loving, and endlessly supportive, she's lived a simple life and never asked for much. Yet she's always dreamed big, and has always wanted to travel... especially to Italy, where her father was born before he immigrated to the states years ago.


Modeling her new curly blond wig, Gram is all smiles after seeing the launch of her new website. Her chemo treatments are going well, and she was feeling great for Thanksgiving.

When my Mom called me that cool September morning and told me the news about Gram, for some strange reason this little thought was the first thing that came to mind: We have to take grandma to Italy. I said it to my Mom on the phone, and she responded with, "I know. But how?"

I wouldn't let it go, and immediately started dreaming up a way to do so. I would build a website and tell her story. I would collect donations via PayPal. I would send it to everyone I know. I would ask my mother-in-law, Noreen, (a part-time travel agent) to keep her eyes peeled for deals to Rome and Tuscany. I would find a way!

After a month of writing, gathering and scanning photos, and living in front of the computer, I'm happy to announce that SendMyGrandmatoItaly.com is now live and functioning! Check it out, pass it on, spread the word, and please help me make my Gram's wish come true!

Welcome, Change

I've heard people joke that the only thing certain about life is death and taxes. I'd argue that they're forgetting something else we can always count on: change. I'd also argue that of the three, it's the most troublesome... because unlike death and taxes, change is a constant, weighing reality that often makes life feel somewhat like a day at an amusement park: one minute we're enjoying an ice cream as we stroll along peacefully, and the next we're dangling upside down, screaming at the top of our lungs... half amused, and half terrified.

This past month, for me, can be best equated with the Sky Coaster.

The first time I decided to take flight on the Sky Coaster I was fifteen, quiet, but never one to turn down a challenge. I booked my 20 minute slot for later in the afternoon and spent the entire day trying to ignore the butterflies in my tummy. When my turn came, me and my 2 fellow flyers went through a brief safety tutorial, signed a waiver, and stepped into our harnesses before being tugged backwards, inch by inch, up an 18-story tower. The closer we were drawn to the top, the more my insides fluttered and churned with anticipation, the world below shrinking and fading into a surreal tapestry of miniatures. We reached the top and for a moment felt completely powerless... no longer remembering why I had gotten myself into this situation. And then, 3...2...1.... fly.

We pulled our rip-cord, and for two full seconds I dove, face-first, arms outstretched, wind rushing through my hair... and for one beautiful moment I was free, flying, adrenaline pulsing through every inch of me. And just as quickly as it happened, the bungee cord caught our weight and we swung out... out... and up again, sailing over the park and our family below, screaming and laughing through tears. We reached our peak, and gravity pulled us back again for another ride. There we swang, back and forth, squealing with joy, until gravity finally won... our feet returned to earth, our faces wild-eyed, our hair messed, our spirits soaring. It took me all night to calm down, and for the few hours after I flew on the Sky Coaster, I felt invincible.

The ride began last month, when after months and months of feeling the stir of change on the horizon, I found myself at a job interview at Overit Media in Albany, NY. I knew that it was only a matter of time before the right opportunity found me, and I knew after two hours of chatting with my soon-to-be creative teammates, I knew this was it. It took a few days to iron out the details, but in less than a week my entire life turned upside down and I found myself in a nose-dive, thrilled with the inevitable plunge I had been stressing about for months.

That same anxious feeling that had ignited this change was also pulling us south, and just as I accepted the Web Designer position at Overit, we found ourselves flying around Troy, hunting for a new apartment that would put us closer to our jobs, closer to family, and closer to the hopping cultural scene we've been craving. We coasted back and forth... first wanting to live on the park, then considering buying a house, before finally settling on a beautifully renovated 3rd floor townhouse in the heart of downtown, complete with an in-ground backyard swimming pool. My heart was in my throat, the excitement too much to take!

Within two weeks we found ourselves completely entrenched in the ride of change that we could no longer escape... the inertia kept pressing us forward, and we found ourselves in New York, celebrating new jobs and new adventures with good friends, drinking scotch and wine at cigar bars after eating nachos and tater tots at a bar called "Trailer Park." And the pendulum kept swinging.

Days later we were picking up boxes at the liquor store, packing and sorting our things, cleaning, recruiting a moving team of friends, and reserving a U-Haul. And in three exhausting days last weekend we finished packing, moved in completely, and unpacked our entire house.

On Monday I collapsed... my body wrecked from the change train that just kept going... I took a day to rest and regenerate, but I could feel myself still swinging. The ride wasn't quite over.

And then Tuesday came, and in one last wave everything converged like fireworks, and life exploded in spurts and bursts of emotion. In the morning, our car was towed and we found ourselves forking out $150 to get it back. In the afternoon, we made a left turn in heavy traffic and collided with another car, smashing our front-end and ending up with a ticket - that made 2 in one day! And then, in the evening, our saving grace: Barack Obama was elected president.

Since Tuesday night I can feel the change bubbling, the excitement mounting, and a bristle of energy in the air. I'm tired... absolutely exhausted... but the pulse isn't slowing, and the tide hasn't come in. I can feel a hum of change under the surface of everything, and instead of waiting, waiting, and wondering when I'll touch the ground, instead I'm looking for the next gush of air - the next joyous spree of life, flinging me and the world in a new direction.

I'll be starting my new job a week from Monday, and the holidays are just around the corner. After that, John will be starting grad school at SUNY Albany, eventually phasing out his job at Skidmore College next summer. At some point, I'm sure, things will calm down again and I'll find myself standing still in the thrill of my own quiet moment, meditating on the churning of time that allows for these crazy ups and downs. For now, I'm loving the ride... and the rush of not knowing what will come next. But it'll be nice, I know, to find myself giddy and glowing, ready to conquer the world, whenever my feet do come back down to the earth.

Where did September go?

September whirled by like a tumbleweed in a tornado... I was so busy-busy that I almost didn't notice autumn sneaking up on me. But now fall has finally descended upon the Northeast - the days are crisp and cool, the air smells damp and fresh, and the leaves are slowly making their colorful transition, scattering themselves across the earth, and painting my daily pathways.

But despite the busy-ness, September was a month of pauses... moments of meditation on love, life, and family. It was a whirlwind of changes and new beginnings, with memories that will live in my mind forever.

The beginning of the month was first cast with a dark shadow. After my Grandma Rae went to the hospital for some mysterious pains, my family was bestowed with the most saddening of news: her diagnosis was stage 4 cancer, which began in the lungs, and had spread to her liver, lymph nodes, and spleen. The doctors estimated without chemo she'd have 4-6 months; but with treatment, they could buy her another year, hopefully more. After the reality of the situation set in, the family instead focused on the positive, and making Grandma as comfortable as possible. I decided that I would make a website (in progress...) to raise money to send Gram to Italy after her treatments are over. She's never been out of the country, and has always wanted to see the Vatican. I'll keep you posted on when the site is complete...

Not long after Gram's diagnosis John and I were driving home to Rochester for my little sister Natalie's wedding. (What better time for the family to come together for both my sister and Grandma all at once?) It's one of those events that you wait for your whole life... Natalie is my only sibling, and for our entire lives we've been pretty much inseparable. As children, we were as close to best friends as sisters can be. While distance and time has pushed us into completely different directions, we still love, support, and visit each other as much as possible.

Natalie and Mike's wedding was beautiful in every possible way. I went home late Wednesday night so that I could begin Thursday at home with my family... Natalie's bridesmaids and fellow Navy girlfriends Candy and Meghan were already there, and us girls spent most of Thursday putting together the biscotti wedding favors I'd brought from the Rock Hill Bake House in Glens Falls.

Our biscotti favors.

That night, my Mom and Dad hosted a family party at our house. The whole family as well as the groom, Mike's, parents and sisters were all there. John and I had the memorable (or, forgettable) experience of losing a game of beer pong to none other than my parents... beginner's luck!

Me and Natalie with cousins Rosie, Rachel and Gramma at the Thursday Night party.

Friday was pretty relaxing, surprisingly. My sister had scheduled everything so comfortably that there was ample time for sitting on the porch with coffee and catching up with the parents - one of my favorite home activities. And Dad, of course, hi-jacked the stereo and made everyone listen to Neil Young while we were getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. The rehearsal left butterflies in my tummy... being the Matron of Honor for a Catholic ceremony meant I had to stand up on the altar with the bride and groom for half the ceremony, as well as remember a bunch of random tasks: take Natalie's bouquet, straighten her dress, move the chair, participate in communion... But all of that quickly faded as we headed to our dinner at the Village Inn, a historic restaurant in our hometown, Albion. My sister handed out her gifts for the bridal party, and I almost cried when I read the engraving on my new beautiful bracelet: "My Sister, My Friend."

Mom and Dad with a sleepy Gavin at the rehearsal dinner.

Saturday... ah, Saturday. It was such a gorgeous day - sunny, clear skies, 72 degrees - just perfect. We girls began the day by hopping in our limo at 10am and being escorted to Battisti's hair salon in Chili, where we spent the next four hours getting beautiful. Not long before we decided to go, Candy and Meghan took off in the limo to the liquor store and came back with a bottle of Patron for the ride home...

The ladies before the big day!

This was pre-Patron :)

And me, Nat, and Mom after our cute 'dos :)

Everything, thereafter, went just a smoothly as the tequila (which Candy and Lindon, Natalie's best friend from high school and also a bridesmaid, nearly polished off before we even made it to the church...).

Natalie heads nervously to her wedding ceremony...

The ceremony went off without a hitch (my butterflies for nothing) and the newlyweds and rest of the bridal party all crammed into the limo and headed to the reception at Hickory Ridge Country Club. The night is a bit of a blur, but I remember lots of hugs, delicious food, dancing to Madonna and Paula Abdul, and bringing everyone to tears with my speech :)

The newlyweds head for their reception.

We partied late into the night, and when we finally came home the tired bride and groom opened all of their cards and presents in preparation for their flight the next day... they were leaving for their Italian honeymoon at 10am the next morning!

We left shortly after I kissed Natalie and Mike goodbye... a four-hour Thruway drive between my family and home. I couldn't have possibly asked for a better time at home or a more perfect wedding day for my sister - my best friend.

See all of my wedding photos

Four days later we were heading to the airport in New Haven, CT for our next September adventure: a five-day holiday in Mexico in celebration of my in-laws upcoming 40th Anniversary! More time to celebrate family and love, more time to rest my mind and take a break from work.

Neil, John's brother, and his girlfriend, Sol-Ana, met us at the airport bright and early, and we began our 3-flight trek to Riviera Maya, just south of Cancun. We arrived at our all-inclusive resort hotel, the Ocean Maya, just after dinner time, and were greeted with frozen cocktails and the humid, salty air of the Carribbean Sea.

The beach at Ocean Maya resort, Playa del Carmen, Mexico.

For the next three days we did little more than lay on the beach, order Margaritas and Pina Coladas from the swim-up bar, indulge in fresh Mexican delicacies, cookies, and cakes, lounge around the pool, do yoga on the balcony, hang out over drinks in the lobby bar... basically, a lot of resting and indulging, which everyone deserves now and then.

Yoga on the balcony!

Highlights of the trip were on Saturday afternoon after a rainy day, us "kids" took the shuttle into the nearest town, Playa del Carmen, where we watched the sunset, shopped, saw a monkey(!), and made friends with our bartender over slushy margaritas. On our final day, I decided to splurge and get pampered with my first-ever full-body massage at the resort spa, which helped me sink into a state of complete and utter relaxation, if I wasn't already there already!

On the beach in Playa del Carmen, a policeman takes our photo.

Sol-Ana gets peed on by the monkey!

We finished our venture with a night out at the resort Japanese Steak House, were we reserved a space at the Hibachi table and surprised the Yosts with an Anniversary cake, which was presented by the resort entertainment staff. Instead of dessert, a full ensemble of dancers and singers in full Mexican dress appeared, complete with confetti, whistles, and of course, cake. It was awesome - and they were totally surprised!

Hibachi de Mexico?

The Yosts get their Anniversary surprise!

The next morning we boarded our shuttle back to the airport, another three flights between us and home. It was over pints of ale at the Cleveland airport that we heard the news of the first bailout's rejection in the senate, and just like that, reality slowly descended back upon us.

See all of my Mexico photos

Now, back at home and back into the swing of things, fall is getting crisper, the leaves are now falling, and the world is in a tailspin with an economic crisis and election buzz. But if I close my eyes, I can transport myself back to the moments of peace I found in September... with a hot cup of coffee in hand on my parent's front porch.... with my feet up in a hammock peering out at the aqua blue of ocean.

It's there that I find myself retreating as the whir of change tumbles forth...

Practicing Imperfection

For as long as I can remember I've been a perfectionist. My father always reiterated to me that "if something's worth doing, it's worth doing right," words that still echo in my day-to-day life. Perhaps it was my tendency towards compulsive order and obsessive organization, but for some reason I interpreted those words as, "if something's worth doing, it's worth doing the best."

My life path so far has taught me that balance is key in all areas of life, which is why, lately, I'm trying to turn my attention towards insatiable need for control that finds me grappling in the dark, desperately searching for a perfect world that doesn't exist.

I know I'm not alone... women, I believe, by nature have a tendency towards a mental disconnect that happens between the dreaming, the planning, the expectation, and the actuality. This is the reason that some brides just about lose it from the planning of their own wedding - they want perfection and have such a white-fisted grip on the idea of control that they nearly meltdown and on the big day, their head is lost somewhere in the details. I think we all have varying degrees of this characteristic - and for some of us, perhaps it only shows its face during major events that we've spent years idealizing and dramatizing in our minds. A healthy dose of fantasy never hurt anyone, especially if it doesn't interfere with your enjoyment of the real thing.

My problem? I tend to want to control even the little stupid things that don't matter. For example: the order of the cups from tall to small in the cupboard. The amount of books in my to-read stack. The exact schedule and list of events that will occur on my day off. The number of years until I finally have my life figured out... You get the idea. The point is, the cups in the cupboard always be in a different order, my to-read stack will continue to grow, my day-off will never be as productive as I imagine it, and no one ever really has life figured out.

I was reading recently in my Yoga Journal magazine about the concept of transience. Part of yoga philosophy embraces the recognition that all things will, and are, changing, evolving, even falling apart - and into something else. It is the very nature of the planet that all things grow and die, then grow into something else, then die again, and so on. Nothing ever stays exactly the same. In the article, a man who was going through a particularly difficult moment in his life witnessed a group of monks spend 5 days patiently, diligently, from morning to night, carefully construct a colored-sand mosaic. He watched them meticulously, while hunched over but never complaining, sort the tiny granuals into a beautiful peice of art that - once finished - would be blown away, each grain of sand becoming something else. Similarly, John and I watched a documentary about the artist Andy Goldsworthy - a Scottish sculptor who works only with natural materials, and creates amazing work that by nature, is impermanent. His work included forming ice scuptures from melting icicles, strings of leaves flowing down a stream, or intricate piles of collected branches that would eventually wash - in a cylindrical demise - away to sea.

Both the monks' and Goldsworthy's art is about appreciating the process, allowing that process to evolve into something unanticipated, and celebrating the impermanance and imperfection of life.

To expect myself to snap out of it and magically stop trying to control every moment of my life would be taking a step backwards - it would be trying to control my need for control. Like all work on the self, it takes time, patience, and continual reassessment.

For the moment, I'm working on trying to trust myself and my path, recognizing and appreciating each thread of life without having to know where it's weaving me or without seeing the greater context of the whole tapestry. Instead, just enjoying each colorful place I come to and trying to remember that "this too, shall pass..." and that is what makes it so beautiful.

Summer, my oasis

I'm surfacing just for this quiet moment, in the space between finishing chores and getting some sleep, to report from the eye of the storm. Here it is, nearly mid-August, and I'm up to my neck in summer... the whirlwind of parties, weddings, film shoots, birthdays, late nights at the computer, concerts, sweaty yoga, and life... in all of its beautiful, sunny glory.

I am a summer baby, a Leo if you believe in astrology, and when the sun shines, so do I. How I love the heat, the green, the grassy smells, the cool lakes, the chirpy nights, the hum of a fan, the flip-flops... even the skeeters are fine by me. I find myself drunk on my love of summer, peachy and positive on days when I should be downright miserable.

I want to keep this brief, as another perfectly comfortable night's sleep is calling me from the other room. But I couldn't bear to be absent for another month without at least attempting to recap all of the blissful moments I've been fortunate to live this past month:

• weekend of entertaining for good friends, cooking and crewing on the production of The Brave and the Kind
• buying a bikini for the first time in my life, and christening it in the great Lake Ontario on the 4th of July at Hamlin Beach
• hot-tubbing and scoring pitchers of Red Bull with Mark and Courtney in Rochester
• catching up with RIT professors at Jack Beck's wedding
• having an impromptu living-room dance party after shooting, one that involved me and Meghan and Holland piled on a wheelchair (and yes, we have it on video)
• taking care of Sarah and Bryan's kitties for much of July while they had urgent family issues (thankfully, her Dad is recovering...)
• watching The Dark Knight with Tom and Zhenelle, and joining them for delicious faux-sloppy joes at their camp in Warrensburg
• watching Lewis Black at the Palace Theatre with the Yosts
• making a website for my nephew, Gavin's first birthday
• spending a week in the 1000 Islands, doing yoga on the grass, cooking for everyone, swimming in the lake, and staying up all hours of the night drinking ice cold beers under the stars (and squashing swarms of mystery bugs) with the Brave and the Kind crew - and Susie, of course! I'm so glad she came!
• getting spoiled on my birthday... presents from Mom and Natalie, and a surprise birthday haircut from the always-amazing friend Trina
• taking a life-altering two-day fling to Montreal with my honey, where we saw Radiohead and figured out our lives
• salsa-dancing the night away at Ben y Tamara's fabulous wedding in Rochester

The Brave and the Kind cast and crew in the Thousand Islands, NY

I am blessed. I am truly, utterly, wholly blessed. Throughout all of these wonderful experiences, and each and every day in between, I've been deepening my yoga practice and practicing the art of presence: breathing, pausing, and acknowledging each moment as it exists. Summer is not quite over, but I feel that I've lived this one as fully as one could, joyfully drinking up each second and allowing it to wash over me, feeling all of it absorb into my well of memory.

Lucky, I am, but ungrateful I am not. I will remember this summer always, and this spirit of gratitude and awareness will not slip away as the summer eventually will.

An Event Apart, Boston - Or, fate finds me

Last Sunday, Johnny took me down to the Albany train station in the early afternoon for my evening commute to downtown Boston. This trip somehow get wedged into my brain back in January, and wouldn't let go. I was browsing online, like I always do, reading about Web standards and code, when I discovered a conference called An Event Apart. Founded by two of the most innovative minds in the Web industry, and dedicated to supporting the Web standards movement, the conference seemed like the place I needed to be. For some reason, I felt cosmically drawn to it. I had to go. I needed to go. I would find a way to go.

Never before in my life has any path seemed paved so clearly. From the moment I decided I needed to go, I found support, encouragement, a means, and a motivation. I even found the money. As I shivered in the over-air-conditioned train car, my shoulders aching from carrying four bags and stomach churning from the over-salted bag of almonds for dinner, I wondered what on earth I was doing. I arrived peacefully and too easily at my modest hotel, and tossed and turned all night with cold sweats. I was alone, with little confidence in my ability to fit in with this elusive group.

But from the moment I walked into the Boston Marriott Copley on Monday morning, everything fell into place and all fears were quelled.

From the kind woman that let me register early when I was the first person at registration, giddy with excitement, to the gregarious Frenchman who wouldn't have me sit by myself at breakfast, I was immediately both welcomed and comfortable. It was a slow unraveling, a realization that this great machine of which I'd been one small cog, was churning and moving about me, and I was not just some outsider, oohing and ahhing through the window, but I was really a part of it - I was understood, and I could understand - and I felt both ecstatic and relieved, like an adopted daughter finally meeting her real Mom and she's perfectly amazing.

I don't mind being sappy here, as I've been living in a Web Design bubble for years now, picking up shreds of knowledge here and there, bumbling around in different directions, always uncertain of what I was doing or where I fit in. The Web Standards community is a smart, quiet, humble group with a passion for creating great work that is motivated by a drive to do things well, to push the industry, and in effect, to change the world. They are the guys in the corner, the ones that aren't so quick to take the credit or make a quick buck, but instead spend every waking moment validating their code, making sure their work is accessible by everyone, from any device.

Everyone that I met was talented and excited; from Kelley, who handed out her own hand-made business cards, to Trace, who asked tons of questions and was a great listener, to Peter from Montreal who didn't get too upset when I spilled most of my cabernet on his white shirt, to Yoann, who said, when I asked him how I could work in France, "Give me your resume," and Matt, who was my all-day conference buddy, and was such a nice guy he managed to get the wait staff at the Monday night party to bring all the vegetarian hors d'œuvres right to my side. All of these people were so real and kind, and I felt home with them, like someone had revealed to me that I was actually an alien, then returned me to my home planet where suddenly everything made sense.

The presentations and speakers, too, were phenomenal. I had been nervous about whether I'd be able to keep up, whether the topics would be over my head. But I was surprised at how much I've brought myself up to speed these past six months; I found every discussion relevant, useful, and inspiring, and I actually followed along with every speaker - even on day two, with five hours of sleep and a presentation about Javascript by the Dutch, heavily-accented, Peter-Paul Koch.

But the real icing on the cake for me came at the very end, when six lucky attendees would be randomly drawn to win a website critique by none other than Jeffrey Zeldman, co-founder of the conference and A List Apart, co-founder of the Web Standards Project, founder of Happy Cog, and pretty much accepted as The Man when it comes to Web Design. I had submitted my proudest design, Shop5, and sat there in nervous anticipation, wondering what on Earth I would say if I actually was called up on stage... And then, before I could wonder any longer, I actually was called, and actually was, quite nervously, walking up to the stage! It's all a bit of a blur, but the highlights were this: despite some discussion about clarifying the site's message and getting the client to trust me, his comments were mostly complimentary - the logo was "punchy" and unique, and the design illustrated an "expertise."

I have to admit, after the word "expertise," I zoned out a little bit. Having shown up to the conference alone, with no idea what I was getting myself into and zero confidence in my capabilities, I left walking on air... having found a community that I naturally belonged to, good people to share that discovery with, and a firm "you're on the right track, kid" from the industry's master. I couldn't have possibly asked for any more.

Every thing about my trip felt strangely perfect, like a well-written book. I've been practicing, as part of yoga, a presence in the moment and a trust in fate - in other words, learning how to go with the flow, let go, breathe, and enjoy life as it happens. I arrived in Boston because of an intuition that I needed to go, and I spent every moment savoring it, and trusting that I needed to be there. Now, back home, I feel like a new person; like suddenly, up ahead down the path I've been walking, I can see a clearing and a burst of bright light. I've found confidence that I've never felt before, certainty about my career that I've never experienced, and a renewed drive to create amazing work.

Thank you, life.

Growing, not dying

A friend told me recently, "A business that isn't growing is dying." This friend just happened to be a Business graduate, and those words have been knocking around in my brain not because I'm interested in business theory, but because I think that statement can also be applied to life, or more specifically, to my life.

If I'm not growing, I'm dying.

I'm not trying to be morbid or overly dramatic; actually, this realization is quite assuring and hopeful to me. In fact, it explains a lot: why I become restless and depressed when my life isn't building towards something, or why I feel hopeless and anxious when I am unclear on a direction to take.

But all of this realizing shines a light on another bigger accomplishment that I am proud enough to write about. I think I have finally squashed my biggest roadblock: myself.

I am my father's daughter, that is for sure. And my Dad, god love 'im, is his own worst enemy. He could talk himself out of taking a shit for fear he'd have to wipe. That may sound harsh, but Dad tends to decide he can't do something before he's even tried. And unfortunately, he carries with him a healthy heaping of guilt. I am just like Dad, and up until this year I've truly been my own obstacle, always down on myself, always full of excuses.

I don't know what happened, really. Maybe I'm getting older, and realized HEY! I'm nearing thirty. Or maybe my husband's constant encouragement finally seeped into my brain. I'm honestly not sure what it was, but somehow I think it's connected to the idea of growing vs. dying.

To look honestly at your own life, realize that you want more, and understand that you are the only person with the power to change that reality is an extraordinary, if simple, revelation. And to actually persist in doing so delivers unending rewards.

Last January, I decided that I was going to make some serious changes in my personal life. It had nothing to do with anyone, but with my relationship with myself. I realized I needed to stop fighting myself, stop blocking myself from success. I needed to be my own friend, to realize my own potential, and to find satisfaction in improving my mental and physical being. Somehow, understanding that was the key to execution; I've been practicing patience, diligence, and presence, and I have poured my heart into yoga, food, and my work, which has become the holy trinity upon which I find meaning. In short, a deep connection to my mind, spirit, and body has been nourished, and I'm feeling stronger as a whole than ever before.

I believe that we all have our own paths that lead us to that feeling. And I also believe those paths will veer, and split, and not always remain unobstructed or easily identifiable. We may all have our own paths to pursue, but the desire to continue striding down each of our own, putting one foot in front of the other, is a universal calling. Growing, evolving, and improving our human condition is the drive of the soul, I believe, and once we stop moving - stop trudging ahead - we die. Either figuratively or literally.

Part of that growth, for me, is the understanding that this is it - this is my life. I can sit back and complain and talk myself out of everything I've ever wanted, or I can suck it up and get to work. So that's what I've been doing. And let me tell you, I haven't felt this clear ever before. And the funny thing is, I have no idea where I'm headed. I just know - without any hesitation - that I'm walking in the right direction.

The Brave and the Kind

I've written recently about my husband's tireless perseverance and passion for filmmaking. Luckily, he's also pretty damn good at it. Not only do I think so, our friends and family think so, but IndiePix Films - an online film distribution company setting the tone for innovative marketing and distribution - thinks so, too. Which is why they've agreed to fully fund and market John's next feature film, The Brave and the Kind.

It's been an exciting couple of months for us... first with the distribution deal for John's first feature, EVERY GOOD THING to RUST. John immediately connected with Jason Tyrell, IndiePix's Film Submission Coordinator, who was eager to extend the company arm into producing. Through Jason, the concept for The Brave and the Kind was born.

To be shot throughout the next 2 1/2 months, The Brave and the Kind is an alternative biopic, with characters that are all based on - and some played by - real people. And not just any people, but us. That is, me, John, and his family. The main character is John Yost, a filmmaker trying to find direction in his life. And while the script runs parallel to our real life, it veers down a completely different path, "wondering" aloud how our lives would be impacted by major life-changing events.

When John first began working on the script with our buddy Randall Meehl, he asked, "So when are we going to make a movie that's not about you?" Yes, it's true... John's senior thesis film, Johnny, was a similar, but more surreal, musical (there was no dialog at all) version The Brave and the Kind, and RUST was based on John and his buddies during an imaginary catastrophic event. But answering Randall's question, John says that this is the last time - he's done "exploring" himself, and is considering adapting a book if there is another film.

So all of this excitement is subdued right now, as we're both distracted by the colossal amount of work before us. The official film website, which will parallel the production of the film in the same way the script parallels our life, through diary entries and behind the scenes videos, launched earlier this week, with an official announcement scheduled after the Memorial Day weekend.


John with actor Ethan Weiss, who will be playing him in the film. A still shot from the first behind the scenes video. Watch the full video here.

While the shooting schedule is finalized and the timeline becomes clear, IndiePix is laboring over finding sponsors and growing the online life of the project. Sitting back and watching it all unfold, I am strangely calm about it all. We both, of course, hope for success. For John, that means the chance to find a broader audience and make another film with an even bigger budget. For me, that means watching my husband do what he loves and get the recognition he deserves. For both of us, it might mean skyrocketing us towards what we've always wanted: to be free from our burdens of debt, free to continue doing what we love on our own terms, free to go where we please.

But, we're keeping level heads about it all. The potential is there, certainly, and we both realize what a tremendous opportunity has been planted at our feet. Now it's just time to take the ball and run with it... no matter what happens, it's an adventure that we can only benefit from. I'll keep you posted...

Wedded Bliss*

"Moderation is key." "Balance is everything."

I've heard these little phrases throughout my life, and almost daily I find new applications to their wisdom. Too many cups of coffee and I'm uptight, anxious, stressed. Not enough and I'm a spacey slug. Too much work equals exhaustion, despondence. And too much play creates a disconnect, a lack of appreciation.

Not that I claim to be a relationship expert, but in my seven-and-counting years with my husband John, balance has been the single most important ingredient to our mutual content.

Interestingly, I think relationships of any kind begin with a certain level of selfishness. We want something outside of ourselves to bring us happiness that we cannot attain alone. Even if we feel solid in our own independence, we know somewhere inside that fulfillment must come from an external source. Eager and vulnerable, we seek love and acceptance from others, all the while trying - with varying success - to give it back. We all have friends, I'm sure, that demonstrate varying levels of selfishness in their relationship approach: on one end, the friend that gives and gives almost to their own detriment, never expecting anything in return; on the other end, the friend that - whether intentionally or not - only seems to surface when a need is to be fulfilled, prefers to talk rather than listen.

In any healthy relationship - and especially marriage - a healthy combination of the two is required. One must recognize when to listen, when to vent. When to be a provider, when to let the other be a rock. When to be present, when to allow space.

Since I've grown into an "adult," left home, and found my way, I have occasionally thought back to my young daydreams about marriage and relationships - seeds of idealism and fantasy surely planted by Seventeen and Teen magazines, not to mention the always-available slew of romantic comedies and sitcoms.

The Media seem to paint marriage, for young girls especially, as the apex of life's successes. With the exception of newer trends in media toward the dysfunction of marriage and the uber-cool single hipster lifestyle, Marriage is portrayed as the beginning and end of everything. It is what a girl yearns for her entire young life, thus justifying exorbitant spending on ceremonial absurdities.

And after the wedding? Few films show the truth about what happens after the confetti's been swept and the honeymoon is over. Anyone married will tell you: absolutely nothing. Yes, despite the supposed magic and lucid fantasies, you and your new spouse are exactly the same people after you enter into marriage, now only bound in a legal and spiritual commitment.

Fortunately for me, I figured this out before I tied the knot. In my vows I wrote, "I love you exactly as you are, right now, standing in front of me." I meant it, and today it's still true. John and I entered into marriage with no expectations other than to continue to be together.

Finding the balance in any relationship obviously takes work... honest, open communication (you've heard that one before, I'm sure!), a willingness to listen and grow, and a sincere, deep passion for each other are what help keep the balance in check.

Expectations are the biggest killer of any solid relationship... when we feel we must do something or that we are supposed to do something, real human desire is ignored and replaced with cold obligation. Squashing expectations has been one of the biggest joys of my married life: no, we don't have to have children - ever, even - if we don't want to. No, we don't have to settle down and buy a house. No, we don't have to buy each other meaningless material things on holidays and birthdays just because we're supposed to.

Instead, we try to live our marriage with soulful spontaneity, following our hearts rather than any prescribed pathways, always trying to see when desire is being swayed by obligation.

The joy that comes from doing what you love rather than what you think you should love radiates, and is contagious. My in-laws live this lifestyle whole-heartedly; they will drop everything to take a spontaneous trip, call in sick, sleep in the back of their van if they have to, and never complain when their own decisions make them a little uncomfortable. Their passion for life and each other is infectious and inspiring.

When one becomes two, it is even more important to approach life with flexibility, open-mindedness, and rigor. Expectations only bring disappointment, and ignoring your heart can spawn inner grief hollowness.

My advice (not that anyone asked) is to live wholly, honestly, and allow relationships room to grow. For John and I, it's worked beautifully; I feel content in my individual self, supported in my ever-evolving marriage, and a peace that can only come from pure, unconditional love.

* Bliss is a delusion. From balance comes peace and happiness.

An extremely uncreative but much-needed update

Spring is finally here... and with the radiant sunshine has come the anticipation of summer, the antsy excitement of life blooming and hope gleaming. Forgive the sap, but I am just sparkling with energy these days.

And in true Yost-Wright fashion (we are indeed an energetic team), the next 5 months are pretty much booked solid with weddings, parties, weekend trips, film shoots and concerts. The whirlwind has already begun...

Last Weekend
We scooted off early Friday afternoon towards Rochester, NY, where my parents live and where my little sister, Natalie, was visiting for the weekend. She'd flown up from Pensacola, FL where she is stationed as an Occupational Therapist for the US Navy. With her she brought her new son and my adorable little nephew, Gavin, as well as her fiancée, Mike to tie up the loose ends for their upcoming September wedding.







I had told her I wasn't able to come... so it was a sweet surprise when we rolled in Friday night. The weekend was fast but fun, with a girls-only shopping trip on Saturday afternoon and a mini-bachelorette party Saturday night at the local bar. My gram, aunts, and cousins all came out and we owned the place... the entire night was spent flinging ourselves around the dancefloor to early 90's dance-pop. We didn't leave town without Greek omelets at the Village House restaurant on Sunday morning...

Mid-Week NYC Romp
And in movie news... John's feature film EVERY GOOD THING to RUST premiered in New York on Wednesday evening as part of the NewFilmmakers series at the Anthology Film Archives. I took a couple personal days and we headed down for a night on the town... Meeting up first at IndiePix, the company currently distributing the film, and then I slipped into my heels for the movie night (note: Manhattan is NOT the best place to break in new heels...).

It was a night of reunions with friends showing up that we hadn't seen in years... after the screening we announced the next feature film, The Brave and the Kind, which is being produced and funded completely by IndiePix, then gathered at the Telephone Bar to reconnect with old pals. What a night! We closed down the bar at 2am, then headed to Brooklyn where we stayed and closed down another bar at 4am, before heading to our friend Katie's apartment for snacks and Wii (well, some of us crashed at that point...)

We didn't leave unscathed however, as we picked up a nice $65 parking ticket... New York never fails to remind us on every return visit why we chose to leave...

Salem, Mass
Friday night after work we packed up the car yet again and printed up our Google directions to Martha and Dougie's place in Salem, Massachusetts. First, though, we stopped briefly en route in Albany for the Albany Center Gallery's yearly Photo Regional, where John's "Stumps" piece was on display. After shooting the shit with some Skidmore professors that happened to be there and downing some red wine, we jumped on the Mass Pike and made it to Salem by 10PM.

We hadn't seen Martha and Doug since they lived out in the middle of nowhere in Maine 2 years ago, but since Martha scored a kick-ass job as the Director of New Media for the Peabody Essex Museum, they've moved back home for another adventure. Star chef Doug took no time moving to the top. After only four months in the area, he starts next week at Grill 23, one of Boston's premiere steakhouses.

The weekend was a blur of rain, wet dogs, red wine, cozy blankets, dancing, candlelight, delicious food, and oodles and oodles of great conversation. Hanging out with those two never fails to be spontaneous and wonderful, and we left today with hugs and promises to not let another two years pass before we do it again.

Next Weekend
The whirlwind continues as friends Dustin and Stacey come to town. We're headed up to Indian Lake for the weekend where we've rented a cabin and plan on canoing, BBQing, bonfire-ing, and more. And knowing Dustin, Keystone Ice is sure to be involved. Ahhh, life is good.

Now
Time to breathe, time to work. Got lots to do to make up for all the fun, and as I like to say: work hard, play hard. Cheers.

An Ode to Hindsight

I may only be 26 years old, but I already can see glimpses of the transforming perspective that comes with age. I've heard many older adults talk about it... the patterns, pathways, and little evolutions that become visible as time goes on.

What I've been tuning into these past few years is intuition. Some may call it "women's intuition." Others just "going with your gut." But whatever you want to call it, there are gentle nudges and tiny beams of revelation that peek out from inside my conscious and make themselves known. I have no idea where it comes from - similar to the creative process that happens when I am designing a website or print layout - something just surfaces and makes sense.

Intuition might also be called a self-conscience. A quiet whisper or a little poke that you're doing the right thing, going the right way... or the opposite. Having the gift of hindsight, I can recognize the moments when I've ignored my intuition, only to find later on that my first instincts were correct.

But it takes time and clarity of thought to listen and learn from intuition. It's like trying to dial in to a fuzzy radio station; sometimes you can't just turn the knob, you have to mess with the antenna, change your position, or move the stereo itself. Early on, intuition can send mixed signals, and making a decision is like stabbing into the dark.

The perfect example of this in my experience happened in late 2004. John and I spent six months after his college graduation living and working at the International Film Workshops in Rockport, Maine. We had a fabulous summer and because our student loans were on deferment, we were able to save a large portion of our earnings. We'd decided when we first took the jobs - which were temporary six-month positions - that afterwards we would take our savings and move to New York to pursue our careers in film.

Our six months was nearing its end in October, and we began looking for jobs and apartments in Brooklyn, where many of our college friends had moved. We spent almost a month digging through Craigslist, sending friends to scout out apartments, until eventually we found something that would work for us and began the application process. After two weeks of emails, faxes, acquiring co-signers, and filling out paperwork, we were denied the apartment! Stunned and angry, now with only a few weeks before our jobs and lease in Maine would end, we didn't know what to do. We felt burned by the city and took it as a sign: we weren't meant to go.

If I was in tune with my intuition then, I might have tried to extend my position and lease in Maine. I might have kept looking for an apartment in the city. I'm not really sure. But what I wouldn't have done is what we did do: within a week of being denied the NYC apartment we decided instead to move to Austin, Texas.

Blinded by our frustration with NYC, we decided to take a completely different and drastic route. We took our savings, arranged a sublet near the University of Texas, and a week later, we packed up our pickup truck and started driving. It wasn't until we arrived that we realized the miscalculations of our hasty decision: despite having a nickname of the "Third Coast" for film production (after LA and NYC), the job market in Austin was scarce. We were told by neighbors almost immediately upon arrival that Austin had the highest ratio in the country of PHD holders working as waitstaff. We also learned that we had mistakenly found an apartment in the most expensive area of the city. Not a smart move.

Five weeks later we were broke, lonely, with zero job prospects and wounded egos. Despite how much we enjoyed Austin, we re-packed the truck and headed back home.

In retrospect, my intuition told me from the beginning that Austin was a gamble. I chose to ignore the feeling of uncertainty in my gut, never admitting its existence until we fully realized our mistake. But while I know that today I'd make a different decision, I don't regret those five weeks for a second. A whirlwind of self-evaluation and soul-searching, our brief stint in Texas was a priceless learning experience. Not to mention the lingering memory of unmatched Tex-Mex!

But being young(er) and choosing to ignore my gut, I was riskier and perhaps, some might say, a little daft. I hadn't quite come to embrace the power of that little twinge of guidance that, at the time, mimicked a concerned parent.

The older and (hopefully) wiser I get, the more I appreciate the voice of insight that comes when needed. Tuning in and considering all perspectives seems to provide a sounder base for decision-making as well as a clarity of consequence. I hope that one day I can look back and connect the dots - wholly confident in my presence and contented by the paths I've chosen, knowing fully that somehow I knew it all along.

Actions speak louder

I was psyched today when I noticed that someone turned the lights out at Google: http://www.google.com/intl/en/earthhour/.

Have you seen this? The traditional all-white Google homepage is now all black. But for one day only - today - to garner participation in Earth Hour. Tonight, from 8pm til 9pm in your respective timezone, people will be turning their lights out - literally. In an effort to raise awareness of climate change and encourage human beings throughout the planet to reduce energy, cities across the world are participating by powering down tonight for 1 hour.

Earth Day is soon approaching, too, and I can't help but be excited and optimistic about these moments of reflection and realization that as the planet's only species capable of building up cities and mining resources, we can also care for the planet that gives us life.

Yet lately, I've been in situations where I've overheard other people scoff at the notion of Global Warming. I've listened to others proclaim it as a hoax. I've argued with my own father about how it's a scam to get us to purchase expensive hybrid cars and funky lightbulbs.

But really? I'm confused. I've been quiet about this subject for long enough and the time has come for me to say what I've been thinking all along: Who cares!?

Yes, really, I mean it - who gives a shit whether Global Warming is a hoax, or a scam, or a lie. I'll refrain here, of course, from asking the burning question on my mind - WHAT do the bad-guy-liars and scamming scientists have to gain from this "hoax"? Because clearly, getting people to think about the planet and take care of it by providing facts about glacial melting and changing climates across the world must indeed have some sinister motivation behind it.

Instead, I ask what does it matter if Global Warming isn't true? What does it matter if the scientists' findings are wrong? Perhaps this is indeed just a natural cycle that occurs every so many years and perhaps Earth is indeed more powerful than us and can heal itself. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

But to get to my point: even if it isn't true, what harm can it do to care for the planet? What is so horrible about reducing our carbon emissions? Being less wasteful and more mindful of our impact? Choosing to support companies and products that preserve the Earth and care for the following generations?

Or could it be that we're too lazy and too comfortable? It's a lot easier to proclaim that something is "bullshit" than it is to actually make a change in your life - to actually make some sacrifices.

I don't know if Global Warming is real or not. I've heard shouting on both sides of the argument that is equally loud and equally valid. But regardless of who is right, protecting the environment and treating our planet with the utmost respect can only improve our life here for ourselves and every generation to come!

So rather than choosing a side, rather than standing on a soapbox and shouting about which study says this and which study says that, why don't we all just shut the hell up and start taking some action? We all know what we can do to reduce our own impact on the planet, and there is mountains of info out there to help point you in the right direction.

If we all take some responsibility to be nicer to each other and this world we all have to share, then I truly believe we can prevent any major catastrophes that may or may not happen. And either way, we'll create a beautiful, cleaner Earth to call home.

Honestly... how can that be a bad thing?

Out like a lamb

This month has been tough. Bitter cold days, limited sunshine, and stress mounting in all areas of life. John and I have been caught in the thick of it... stuck indoors, drinking too much, whining too much, frustrated with being broke and having to once again defer one of our mounting student loans. Well, you know what they say about March, though, right? In like a lion...

The tables finally feel like they're turning for us. All of the hard work is finally paying off.

Today John had a much-anticipated meeting in New York with an online distribution company. For a few months now, John's been discussing the idea of a second feature that would be marketed completely online, with a pre-production blog allowing visitors to follow along with the making of the film. Shortly after lunchtime John called me at work, his voice lighter and more optimistic than I've heard in quite some time.

"We're making a movie!!!" he proclaimed.

Exhale... spring is coming after all! I've been on air all afternoon, excited about what this means for my hard-working husband who pours every ounce of himself into his projects and has never really been rewarded with all that much interest, let alone money. But this time will be different. Not only is he supported with dollars, this company is also going to completely market the film, distribute the film, and generate buzz and interest online. Woohoo!

I am so proud of John Yost. He hasn't stopped working since the day we met... I remember it clearly: he was a Freshman in film school, determined to make the biggest and best production the Freshman class had ever seen! His older friends helped him acquire the equipment he wasn't supposed to have, and at screenings his "epic" showed more effort and technical skill than any Freshman project before it. He hasn't stopped since. Producing a film - or two - every year thereafter, my relationship with John has been synonymous with my relationship with John's projects.

In 2002, John spent a week in Norman, Oklahoma attempting to chase tornadoes with a team of scientists and a video camera. The following year he shot 8 films, including his own called "Johnny", completing his BFA with an emphasis in Cinematography. We road-tripped in 2003, bringing a Bolex, 16mm film, and a car mount, shooting vast landscapes out west. After graduating, John used the gear available to us at the Maine Workshops to produce "Fog," and later borrowed another Bolex to begin documenting friends for "Motion Portrait Film." Scattered in between, a variety of photo experiments and series', including the ongoing "Stumps," the Shining-inspired "Crooked Lake House," and Crewdson-esce "House."

It wasn't until late 2006 that John decided he wouldn't be able to rest until he made a feature film, and weeks later - literally - began production of EVERY GOOD THING to RUST. It was unclear, even after the film's premiere, whether or not it would garner any serious attention or lead to anything else. And John was ready to put down the camera for awhile, having satisfied his feature-bug.

And now this.

March has been especially tough on John, who's been living this new film every day - thinking about it, talking about it, writing it, editing it... all with no idea if it would ever come to be. I've always believed that someday other people would notice how talented and dedicated John Yost is to his work. He is the embodiment of a true artist - committed solely to his craft, driven by his passion for his work, and not distracted by the hordes of wannabes in the film and art world. John doesn't want to be the idea of an artist; John just is one.

Congratulations, honey!


Video documenting our honeymoon in Greece; ATV-ing around the island of Santorini.

Keep checking www.thebraveandthekind.com for more information on the upcoming movie. It will officially be announced in late April, 2008.

Second Opinions

I'm looking for advice here. Though, I can't promise I'm going to take it.

All of this started last spring. I was sitting in the waiting room at the dentist reading some lousy women's magazine - I think it was Elle - when I stumbled on an article about skin cancer. It was loaded with product plugs and the overall tone was a fearful one: anyone can get skin cancer - anyone!... so be afraid, go to your dermatologist, buy the fifteen-dollar sunscreen. I was completely aware at the article's intent, but having a friend - younger than I - who recently was diagnosed and had to have skin grafts on her face - well, I was, on some subconscious level, affected by it.

I should also note that I have a host of other minor skin ailments - mild breakouts on my face, eczema, and annoyingly sensitive skin. So at my annual physical I decided to ask my doctor to take a look at my skin. Was a skin cancer screening necessary just to be safe... or was I being silly? I've gotten some severe sunburns throughout my life, have fair skin and a nice shower of freckles. He took one look at my speckled shoulders and said, "It wouldn't hurt to see a dermatologist."

Months later my appointment with an apparently-popular dermatologist finally arrived. I was excited to finally get some answers and peace of mind. However, after making my way past the assortment of product posters on the walls and sitting in a smock for 15 minutes, I was given a quick 3-minute scan and assured I was fine. She barely made eye-contact with me.

"But what about my face... the blackheads..." I attempted to stall her robotic routine.

She peered at my forehead, "Oh... I think a little Retin-A would clear that right up. I'll give you a prescription and some samples."

I couldn't think of a response, and she was so quick - so uninterested in what I had to say - that I never did think of one until I left that evening, tossing the prescription slips and samples in the trash: What can I do naturally?... What can I eat? Can I take certain vitamins? Is a prescription really necessary for a few little whiteheads?

The questions kept streaming in, and months and months after the appointment I became more and more irritated with the insincerity of that brief encounter with a dermatologist. My skin continued to fluctuate between acne and eczema breakouts, and I became convinced that I needed a second opinion.

In January I had my second appointment with a dermatologist, and while they were not quite as obvious, all the signs of a formulaic business were there. The posters for botox and other magically beautifying products plastered the walls, the check-in-check-out windows reminiscent of a Dunkin Donuts queue, the waiting, waiting, waiting alone in a cold room for 20 minutes in a paper gown.

This time I was prepared: I didn't want a prescription - I wanted advice. I had particular spots that I wanted checked out. I was ready. The doctor came in and was much nicer than the first, but brought with her a PA, armed with laptop and digital camera. I showed her my complexion, slightly mottled by whiteheads.

"Oh..." she said, squinting to see them. "I would recommend some Retin-A..." and off she went on the schpeal about applying the prescription every night before bed...

"But I would prefer not to have a prescription if necessary," I interrupted, "Isn't there anything natural that I can do? Certain things I can eat? Vitamins I should be taking? Cleansers I could use?"

She looked mildly annoyed and ignored most of my questions, choosing to answer the only one that involved me purchasing something. "We have a great line of skin care products that might help..." In seconds there was a brochure in my hand with a photo of a beautiful, blemish-free woman on the front and some scientific, French name. "We can get you some free samples."

She proceeded to check out my freckles and the spots, growing concerned at a particular tiny red spot on my chest. Leaning in close, she summoned her assistant with the camera. "Hmmm. That one looks strange. Could be basal cell carcinoma..." She went on to explain that basal cell was a very-treatable, non-life-threatening, very common form of skin cancer. Caught early, it was absolutely nothing to be concerned about. But they needed to slice a tiny piece of it and have it biopsied to be sure.

Hmph. Skin cancer? Biopsy? I grew worried just at the words. She was prepared for my face of concern, and reiterated that it was nothing to lose sleep over.

A month later I returned, butterflies in my stomach, for the biopsy. I am terrified of needles and all things medical, and I told the nurse as much as she numbed the area and removed part of my tiny spot. "You'll get a letter in 7-10 days with the results," she explained. "If you don't hear from us in two weeks, please call."

Um, ok. So a letter. I left the office feeling slightly nauseous, afraid to peek under the band-aid until later that night. When I finally did, I was surprised to see she had removed a chunk of skin larger than the spot itself - but only half of the spot itself. Why didn't she just remove the whole thing? I thought.

So I waited. And waited. Two weeks went by without my realizing, then last week - finally - I got a letter. "The results of your skin biopsy showed an atypical mole. There is no cause for alarm, however, this lesion will require further excision... we have scheduled your excision for April 3rd...."

What? An atypical mole? Further excision? Another procedure? They must be kidding... this "lesion" was no bigger than a chiclet! First I was scared. Then I was irritated. Then I was angry.

I researched atypical moles online and discovered that 1 in 10 people have one but they are considered "precancerous." Some doctors think that there is a slight chance that an atypical mole can turn into melanoma - a potentially deadly form of skin cancer. But statistics I found online say that it's highly unlikely - and melanoma can form from anything. Furthermore, atypical moles are only of concern when they change. If they grow bigger, change pigment, or morph in any way, then there is real cause for concern.

I called the office and told the nurse I thought the procedure was excessive, was overkill. Why didn't they just remove the thing to begin with? Why couldn't I just keep an eye on it? She couldn't give me a very good reason why they hadn't removed it already, but explained that this was a better-safe-than-sorry procedure. Yes, it was unlikely that my atypical mole would turn into anything... but, she had seen atypical moles turn into melanoma before.

I didn't cancel my appointment. Yet. But I've been researching it and talking about it with different people. My sister, who is an occupational therapist and knows her stuff when it comes to medicine, is equally torn: is it really necessary to have such a tiny, easy-to-monitor and most-likely-insignificant spot removed... just because it might turn into something? Or are they just trying to get more insurance money out of me for an unnecessary procedure?

I'm not sure. But next week I'm going to cancel my appointment and attempt to find a homeopathic doctor for an alternative opinion.

My overall feeling about the whole thing? In a health care system driven by money, we have to be incredibly cautious and aware of what "doctors" proclaim. If the signs are there - say, purposefully placed cabinets full of expensive, well-designed skin creams with brochures and posters in the examination room - we have to pay attention. The mere fact that this doctor would not offer me any advice or answers that didn't involve another appointment, a prescription, or a purchase at her spa next door (no kidding), has me thinking. The inhumanness of a letter to inform me of my results and already-scheduled appointment (it was clearly a form letter, with certain parts filled in from a computer database). The dividing of all procedures into as many appointments as possible.

All of it put up red flags for me, and while in the past I might easily be swayed by fear-tactics, I'm trying to use my head here. I'm not going to start lopping off every abnormal spot on my body because it might, maybe, someday turn into something. Instead, I want to know what I can do now - on my own - to keep my body whole, strong, and healing itself. A preventative approach, a holistic approach, a human approach.

If anyone has any thoughts, similar experiences, or recommendations for a third opinion, it is much appreciated.

SAD, Snow, and Suffocation

It's happening again. No matter how well I may be able to predict my own behavior, knowing it is going to happen doesn't make it any easier to avoid.

March is approaching and the snow is ever falling. It's been constant these past few days, and the sun is hidden behind bleak skies of gray. Last week, I must admit, the sun was shining unusually often, but being horribly ill with the flu, I missed every day of it, stuck inside like a leper. Not that I would have gone out and "played" or anything, but it would have done me some good to catch some rays of vitamin D just meandering to and from my car and work.

I'm feeling all of the symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Fatigue. Lethargy. Laziness. And just an all-around shitty mood. Lately, I don't want to get out of bed in the morning and need several cups of coffee to keep me going. I feel bored and tired most of the day, and things I usually enjoy doing - like cooking dinner or yoga - become annoying tasks preventing me from doing the only thing I currently enjoy: sitting on my butt, eating chocolate and drinking wine. Real healthy, huh?

I hate to clog my blog with whining, but the reality is that my slacking off in blog-writing is directly related to my affliction: I just don't feel like there's anything worth writing about.

I daydream daily about escape... living somewhere far away where winter is brief and sunshine reigns.

The outdoors has never been an obsession for me. I'm not really into sports, I hate bugs, and I tend to avoid activities that involve getting dirty or super sweaty. But I'm not one for total immersion of anything... my life requires continual balance. For me, it's all about atmosphere. I'm a visual person, and my entire mood can be set by a beautiful sunset, a brisk walk down a sun-dappled path, or a scenic drive. Even sunshine streaming in windows gives my whole being a glow. In the summertime, I still work on websites and watch movies and practice yoga... all indoor activities. But it's completely different when the windows are open, the sun shines in til 9pm, and you can walk around the house barefoot and half-naked without freezing your ass off!

It's frustrating that I've been enduring this yearly meltdown my entire life, and even more frustrating that change feels impossible. We are stuck. Just as stuck as I am in the house right now, the snow still piling high out the window, we are financially strapped, and moving anywhere is out of the question. Our student loans are packed around us, suffocating every sliver of freedom, just like the cold white stuff outside.

For now, venting about it here is lifting my spirits ever-so-slightly. And tonight, I'll self-medicate by finishing the bottle of shiraz on the counter and gnawing on some more of my Valentine's chocolate. While venting about it is fine and dandy, doing something about it is even better. And I'm a girl of action. I vow to myself that someday I'll actually go an entire year without pissing and moaning about how miserable the weather is... because I'll be somewhere where I won't have anything to piss and moan about, and this - this venting, this feeling I have in my gut right now - will live only in memories.

Cheers to Your Health

The last time I wrote I was in complete denial. I knew that my body was fighting something, but to what extent I was strangely oblivious... I spent that Saturday night staying up late and drinking a couple beers, only to spend a long eight hours tossing and turning with cold sweats, waking up to a full-blown flu.

So often in our Western society we take things for granted: food, shelter, freedom. And, as the saying goes, we never really truly grasp what it is we have until its gone. It's not easy to keep things in perspective - to realize as your eating breakfast that somewhere in this world your peanut butter toast is a delicacy, or to remember as your huffing and puffing about your distant parking spot that you should be so lucky to even have a car. Such, of course, is the case when you get sick. It is the ultimate reminder - the ultimate kick in the ass - that HEY! you've got a body that's mostly healthy! Keep it that way!

Laying flat on your back for five days with head-to-toe body aches and a fever sure renews your appreciation for the body's normal state. And it also reminds you - in an almost terrifying way - just how inextricably linked you and your body are. Without it, quite literally you are nothing.

Thinking about all this, and having been downright giddy the past few days thanks to my rejuvenated health, has stirred up thoughts about food and exercise and how horribly unhealthy so many of the habits in our culture really are....

In a culture where virtually every social activity and holiday is connected with food, we certainly have a lot of garbage in our grocery stores. Aisle after aisle of over-processed crap, void of any nutritional value.

My diet changed dramatically in early 2006 when I worked as a prep cook at Perelandra Natural Foods in Brooklyn Heights. Responsible for baking the daily vegan muffins and chopping the veggies for the homemade soups and salads, I was introduced to qunioa, soba noodles, agave nectar, seitan, and the unbelievable capabilities of tofu, which produced everything from delicious stir-frys to vegan cheesecakes.

My dear friend and the head chef there once said something to me that has been burned into my brain: "I don't eat really well because I'm scared of dying someday. I eat really well because I don't want to spend the last 20 or 30 years of my life suffering from poor health."

I think of those words whenever I catch myself overdoing it... and after spending a week horizontal, they ring truer than ever.

Personally, I have grown addicted to how good food makes me feel. Eating fresh fruits and vegetables and dishes made with whole, hearty grains and pure, additive-free ingredients makes my body run like a well-oiled machine, which - in turn - positively effects every other aspect of my life. And after spending much of my life with an unhealthy, out-of-whack relationship with sugar (read: serious binge-eating) I have finally struck a balance with my sweet tooth.

After gaining confidence in myself and reading the book French Women Don't Get Fat (a fascinating read!) I've decided that not only can I have sweets, but I can have some every day as long as 1. I have just a little taste and 2. it is real, pure, and high-quality. And I'll tell you what, it works so well and I have been so spoiled with my household stock of delicious, organic dark chocolate, that I barely flinch when someone offers me a Snickers or an M&Ms... why waste the calories?

Anyway, every body - no matter how healthily tuned - gets sick. But how often and to what degree can be drastically altered by what we put in out tummies. I'm ecstatic to be well again... and have promised myself that I'll continue to eat as well as I know how. I certainly don't want to spend my last years on this planet feeling the way I did last week!

Rest Essential

It's been three weeks since I've written, but what's incredible about that is that during those three weeks not one day went by that I didn't sit in front of the computer for most of it.

Having multiple Web sites of my own that I maintain, and working as a Web and graphic designer, I literally am on the computer from 9am until 5pm, 5 days a week. Luckily for me, design was first a hobby and second a day-job, so typically - after going home from work, taking care of menial tasks like laundry, dishes, or eating dinner - I park myself back in front of my own computer and go back to work.

What am I working on? Right now my list of Web projects is so long that I had to break my to-do list into realistic chunks, organized by site, so that it's not so overwhelming. But first and foremost, I've been working steadily on the redesign of my friend Trina's site, trinabags.com (she makes beautiful, functional, homemade and custom-designed hand bags). After that, a pet project of mine (literally) called Toonces TV, which will essentially be a video blog for my soon-to-be-famous feline, Toonces. And after that? Redesigning and streamlining my husband's multiple Web sites, which include his personal portfolio site, Nameinuse.com, and the Web sites for his recent and upcoming films. I'm also hoping to spend time optimizing and expanding CollegeAftermath.com, a project I started over a year ago. And somewhere, at the bottom of my to-do list is "redesign RaeanneWright.com"... my personal site which has been vacant for nearly a year now, which I intend to combine with this blog and beautify in some incredibly creative way.

And on top of all that, I'm teaching myself more and currently going through the painful transition to standards-compliant CSS design from out-dated, traditional table-based layouts (I apologize if that is the equivalent of Greek to my readers). In English: I'm relearning how to make Web sites the right way, since I was self-taught and learned 100% of what I know from other people who weren't necessarily doing it right to begin with.

The cumulation of all this learning and all this Web work and all this sitting in front of the computer? A severe need to flex my muscles - literally - during my time away from the screen. I've been going to yoga twice a week now, and practicing more intensely at home, too. So ironically, despite the hours and hours I spend on my ass, I'm feeling stronger than ever and am reaching new levels in my practice that I never really imagined.

All of this is good, yes indeed. It's all in line with my New Year's resolutions and goals for 2008, which were, in short, to improve my body and mind. Check. And check.

This past week, though, I think I've pushed a little too hard. Work has been extra-stressful, and I've worked a couple late nights, thus taking it out harder on myself once I make it to the yoga mat. This morning, I made a ridiculously organized to-do list for the weekend, carving out my Web goals and deciding what was doable in two days. Shortly after? I felt the distant twinge of a sore throat swelling and the mild throb of a headache... I was getting sick! My body has had enough, and is failing. I take pride in my rock-solid immune system... but flus and colds have been going around and picking off pretty much everyone I know, and I wondered if it was only a matter of time.

So rather than spend the afternoon parked in front of the computer editing code, I spent the afternoon parked on the couch sleeping with the cat and drinking hot tea. I'm feeling better, as you might have guessed by my return to the computer, but I've decided I'm taking today off. After a few emails and a blog post (all on my to-do list, of course), I'm clocking out for the week. I need some rest, and my body is demanding it.

I'll be as far away as I can be from my well-worn computer chair until.... well, probably tomorrow.

Not Settling, Not Dwelling

Winter is a good time for contemplation. Being cozied up in a warm apartment, secluded from the crisp, cold world, it's easy to become a bit preoccupied with your life and the path down which you're headed. John and I have always been consciously self-aware, but lately, being kept indoors by brutal January weather and having an anxious clarity that comes from easing off the evening wine consumption - well, we've just been thinking and chatting quite a bit more than usual.

Earlier this week, in his blog, John wrote about how we are "thinking about the next thing." Like clockwork, time has proven that usually around six months after we've moved to a new place we begin to think about the next step. And coming upon our sixth month in Glens Falls, we're assessing the situation and curious about where this path is leading us.

Coincidentally, today we are heading to a House Warming party for a couple that we've become great friends with during our short time upstate. We were fortunate to attend their wedding this past summer and we were psyched when they bought a house just across town. It's gorgeous - with hard wood floors, fresh, modern paint, a back patio and lawn and open, spacious rooms.

My heart swells with happiness for them; they are hard-working, wonderful people and they have found a home together that completes them. And lately, I've been hanging out with a lot of people like them; People who have beautiful homes and adorable children and families full of love and energy.

And part of me is a little jealous. Not jealous of the houses or the the kids; I know that if I really wanted that, I could have it, too. But envious of the satisfaction that comes along with that life - the feeling of fulfillment and success that I see in their faces.

My adult life thus far has been a continual cycle of learning, growing, experiencing and above all - wondering what will bring me - and us - that contentment. Our conversations revolve around a truth that, at times, makes us feel alien in this place - be it Glens Falls, New York, America, or just this world in general. That truth is that we are seeking some sort of life adventure of which there is no clear path - but settling is really not in the cards. At least not yet.

I can imagine someday, years from now, perhaps finding a place that I can call home and feel fulfillment at just being there. But as of now, I have yet to live in a place that I want to stay for more than a few years. I have no interest in acquiring any more things, but instead enjoy the lightness of knowing my life can be boxed up and relocated in a matter of days. No strings attached, no complications.

I also can imagine someday choosing to have a family. Although right now it is incomprehensible, I am not foolish enough to believe that time won't change me.

I am swirling around my point, which is that I am learning to come to terms with the fact that I - that we - are different. And that's OK. I've written in the past about a fear of settling, a concern for being an endless drifter that approaches middle age with no real roots and a head-full of regrets. But this winter, I'm moving on. I'm focusing on accepting who I am and not dwelling on who I am not.

My biggest weakness - clearly inherited from my father - is my proneness to worry. I stress. I wonder. I dwell. But by realizing this trait about myself I'm accepting that I'll be doomed to a life of regret and uncertainty if I don't embrace who I am and stop feeling bad about it!

I'm not really sure where life is taking me - but I have to admit, so far it's been a damn good ride. I follow my gut. I do what I love. I try my best to be a good person, be honest, work hard, and leave behind me a trail blazing with great memories, admirable people, and work I can be proud of. I am not settling just yet because I know, intuitively, that it's not the time nor place. And I'm not dwelling on it any longer. When the time comes to take the next leap - be it in a year, be it in three - I'll know it, and will do it gracefully, carefully, with much thought and consideration. Regardless, I am accepting that we are seekers, accepting that everyone has a role in this mysterious world, and embracing the beautiful complexity of discovering where each of us fits.

And for the first time ever, I'm feeling excited about it.