Flourish

As a newly minted single mother, I am constantly feeling like I’m just hanging on and getting by.  I found myself almost two years ago in this position unexpectedly at 30 when I realized that my five year marriage was over.  I had to marshal internal and external resources I didn’t know I had to sustain a very new way of life. While this became both one of the most challenging experiences in my life to date, it also simultaneously became one of the most liberating decisions I’ve made.  I recognize each person’s story and path through relationship difficulties vary. We heal at different points, we move on or stay for different reasons, and our needs are uniquely our own. We must own all of these realities and decide for ourselves and in my case, for my son. Time has passed, a heart is mended, and I am now stronger.  I feel like a more engaged mother not only because I have to be, but because I truly am “parenting while awake” instead of on autopilot hoping dad was picking up where I slacked off.  I also found once I opened up a bit about my situation, the outpouring of love and support was abundant, especially from friends - old and new. It's been such a beautiful experience for me. It's changing me daily. I love my new life and would not change it for the world. I am thankful and grateful every day for the freedom I have to live, think, feel and most importantly love in the way that is truly mine.

But as of late, as I move into year two, I am beginning to look for ways to move beyond sustaining and onto flourishing.  I learned of this concept at work conference this winter that made me think of an old word in a new way.  The presenter challenged the attendees to move beyond thinking of sustainable community projects to ones that flourish.  So, I think about that word again “flourish” in this particular moment while I am surrounded by the enchantment of another New York City spring.  Flowers in bloom, birds chirping, the lush green trees outside my office are bright and billow in the breeze.  Nature is reminding me daily of this concept of flourishing.  So I ask myself quietly as I sip my morning tea, am I flourishing toward authenticity or merely sustaining?  I think it is much closer to the latter. So I ask myself another question, how do I move toward authenticity?

In trying to apply this notion of flourishing outside of my work context and into my personal life, I came across two complications: flourishing requires (1) multiple resources (assuming one has resources) and (2) self-awareness to develop a formula or process to flourish.  Let me try to untangle these two contentions.

Like with any new endeavor, it takes resources to begin, sustain, and most importantly flourish.  The kinds of resources I would argue are necessary for one to flourish would include financial, human and emotional resources.  So if for example I were to create a plan to flourish, it might look something like this:

• Financial resources might include an upgrade from the local gym to a national chain gym that has a sauna, swimming pool and the latest Yoga classes.  In my case, this would require an additional $160/month for gym membership.
• In terms of human resources required, I would invest time in engaging with friends, mentors, and family.   Spending weekly time with others takes away personal time, and usually time with friends includes meals, coffee or cocktails incurring further costs.  Let’s say an additional weekly meal with a friend would be at minimum $35/week at $140/month, not including the cost of time lost from personal time (to read, do laundry, run errands, to parent, etc.).
• And the emotional resources required might include some use of cognitive behavioral therapy techniques in developing positive thinking patterns and affirmative language.  One might seek out a life coach, therapist or self-help books to re-frame one’s psycho-social wellbeing.  Hiring a coach or therapist would be significant cost factors though let’s be conservative and say, I’d order a handful of used self-help books at $75.

In just one month, it could require at minimum $375 for me to “flourish.”  That’s an additional resource investment that I’m not sure I could take on.  Should it cost that much for me to flourish?  I don’t know, but it is something we should think about when we envision our lives blossoming like a spring flower.

Secondly, I also recognize that there is no formula to flourish.  Each person’s recipe for flourishing will require different ingredients (and resources!).  Just like each person has their own personality, disposition, aura, etc., I also believe that one’s formula to flourish should be tailored to fit an individual's needs.  Most importantly one has to have a level of self-awareness to figure out what the ingredients would be to flourish.  In having had the luxury to critically examine my life in the past year and a half, I imagine my recipe for flourishing would read something like this:

• 2 cups of balance
• 3 teaspoons of moderation
• 5 cups of patience
• 3 tablespoons of discipline
• a dash of persistence
• a sprinkle of creativity, flexibility and positivity

How would your recipe read?

In the end, the concept of flourishing is more complex to overlay in my personal life than I had imagined when I heard the remarks at the conference.  While I might have more questions than I do answers, what I do know is that it really boils down to the language and framing around how I choose to live my life. I now choose to flourish and will figure the rest as I go along.

I close this post with a quote that I simply adore that I found on a card I received in the mail, and it reads in Spanish:  “La verdadera magia consiste en aprender a tener una vida equilibrada y sana, y aprender a disfrutarla”  (The real magic consists of learning how to have a balanced and healthy life and to learn how to enjoy it).   So as I journey through life, I will remember that it is the everyday magic of enjoying a balanced and healthy life that will allow me to flourish in this world.

Mom Space

I am a mom. But I occupy a funny space in the world of moms. My wife, Lauren, gave birth to our son in June 2011, mere hours after same-sex marriage was approved by our state legislature here in New York, legitimizing our Canadian marriage just in time for the two of us to become three. For all of her pregnancy, I was there. For doctor’s appointments, doula hiring, birthing classes, and of course the birth itself, I never left her side. For some of these things, my compatriots were dads. At the special buffet room in the hospital for new parents, I joined dads filling up plates to bring to the new mothers. At the birthing classes, I tried swaddling the baby doll at the same time as all the dads. In many of these situations, it didn’t feel odd at all. I was the parent-not-giving-birth, along with many others. So what if I was the only woman in that little group?

When we came home from the hospital, though, it felt different. The world of parenting media is clearly demarcated. There are “mommy blogs” and “dad blogs.” Parenting magazines may aim to reach all parents, but their content is clearly aimed toward mothers, ignoring the prospect that a father might want to spend time reading about being a parent. At the beginning of our son’s life, most of the decisions we were making on a regular basis circled around breastfeeding, and I often felt helpless as my wife and son struggled to find their groove, but also strangely empathetic in a distinctly feminine way.

There was some commiserating I could do with other dads, but the general tone of their observations had a certain masculinity with which I couldn’t keep up.  I didn’t have to go back to work immediately like many dads I know. After Lauren’s parental leave was over, I took mine (grateful to my employer for being flexible about when I took my leave, and for treating me like the equal parent I am). I spent close to three months as the primary caregiver during the day, often tooling around the mall or local parks wearing Hank in a carrier, proud as a peacock, but also feeling like I was masquerading as a mom. Being a mom felt simultaneously deeply natural and deeply odd. What was I to do with all I had heard from moms talking about the transcendence of giving birth? What was I to do with all of talk about the bonding that breastfeeding brings? Dads presumably can’t fully understand these things either, but I have never felt like dad, not for one second.

At times it felt like a performance of sorts, as though I were performing motherhood rather than inhabiting it. I do not feel this way at all about parenthood, I have felt like a parent from the second I knew the baby was coming. I prepared for it intellectually and emotionally, and I have embraced the responsibility, joy, and challenges as fully as anyone. Yet, as Mother’s Day approached, I felt a strange sensation. Lauren and I approach parenting as an equal enterprise, from being up together in the middle of the night, to coming up with elaborate schedules to share housework as best we can. Nonetheless, her role as the mom who was pregnant, gave birth, and nurses our son is so preternaturally maternal, on a day like Mother’s Day, it’s hard to know how best to carve out space for who I am as a parent.

After spending a lovely Mother’s Day having brunch, going to a park, and playing in the sunshine, I realized: she is Mommy, and I am Mama. As our son nears his first birthday, I am doing my best to reject the constraints of nomenclature and simply be Mama, and all that means. Mama is usually the first one to hear when Hank wakes up, and Mama feeds Hank dinner, and Mama and Hank watch baseball together. It is in these moments that terminology is wholly irrelevant, and family just is.

Spring Fresh: Cocktail & A Nibble

 

Who we are.

Asheville via Brooklyn + East Village, NYC.  We are two good friends fortuitously brought together by a common love of food, design and afternoon cocktails.  Marissa’s a nutritionist and food writer in NYC.  Jen is a photographer, writer and stylist in Asheville, NC. Creating an indulgent balance through fresh, healthful food, we inspire each other endlessly and hope to pass on that love for beautifully prepared and easy dishes to you. Together we’re a whirlwind force in the kitchen, behind the camera and beyond.  And we relish every minute of it.

What you’ll find in this column.

To keep things intriguing, we’ll be mixing things up in our posts.  You can expect a smattering of fresh, seasonally-driven recipes, breathtaking photographs, tidbits on how to make eating well an effortless part of daily life, and simple ways to source and cook more sustainably.  Oh, and we’ll surely be musing on various related topics--from travel to family and relationships to easy entertaining and more--because after all, lots of things whipped up with love and intention come out of the kitchen.

Easy, breezy springtime entertaining.

We couldn’t think of a better way to introduce our column and the launch of the Equals Project than with a celebratory seasonal cocktail and a market-fresh nibble to accompany it, perfect for a period of new growth.  Warmer weather, sunshine and loads of fruits and vegetables this time of year keep the options rolling.   Enough so that we’ll often volley ideas back and forth from north to south until we slam on something that gets our hearts racing just a little faster.  We love how food can do that sometimes.  Seasonal ingredients, which are inherently healthy and bring on bright flavor, are on the top of our “inspiration list” when we’re on the hunt for a new recipe concept—rhubarb, radishes, asparagus and strawberries made the pick here.  Jen picked up on Marissa’s memory of a fantastic rhubarb cocktail that hails from a trip to Copenhagen, and Marissa ran with Jen’s vision of emerald asparagus spears and ruby radishes.  And from there, we entered our respective kitchens and got to work.

Our schedules tend to be jammed (we’re guessing that sounds fairly familiar), so we generally seek out a balance between ‘easy, beautiful and delicious’ to keep things streamlined but exciting at the same time.   There’s nothing better than dazzling guests, or just yourself, with food and drink that looks more complicated than it is.  We’re all about ease and taking a few moments to kick back and enjoy yourself and those around you with a good cocktail or two.  Cheers!

~ J + M

Spring Smash

2 stalks of rhubarb, finely chopped 6 strawberries, de-stemmed and sliced 3 tablespoons organic sugar 1 tablespoon lemon juice

Combine rhubarb, 2 tablespoons of sugar and lemon juice in a bowl, toss well and place in fridge for at least two hours.  Combine strawberries and remaining sugar in another bowl, tossing well together and place in fridge for at least two hours or preferably overnight.

To assemble: Drain off liquid from rhubarb and discard. Divide rhubarb pieces between two low ball cocktail glasses. Drain off syrup from strawberries and set aside.  Divide berries between the two glasses, smash and muddle fruit.  Add 2 tablespoons of the strawberry syrup to each glass. Top w/ crushed ice and add 2 ounces of Bushmills Irish Honey Whiskey to each glass. Stir and drink.

Market Vegetables with Spring Onion, Bacon & Lemon Dip

1 bunch of asparagus

1 bunch of radishes 6 ounces low-fat Greek yogurt zest of 1 small lemon 1 teaspoon lemon juice 2 tablespoons minced spring onion

pinch of red pepper flakes sea salt to taste 2 tablespoons of bacon, finely chopped and cooked until very cripsy (from about 3-4 slices) radish flowers for garnish

Trim asparagus spears and blanch in boiling water for 1 1/2 minutes, plunge into an ice bath and set aside.  Clean and trim radishes and set aside. Mix the remaining ingredients yogurt through sea salt.  Make dip 30 to 60 minutes ahead of time to allow flavors to meld.  Sprinkle dip with crispy bacon and serve with radishes and asparagus.

All images by Jen Altman.

Find us at:

Jen - @fieryeyed | info@jeniferaltman.com

Marissa - @nourishnyc | marissa@nourish-nyc.com

From Vienna, Austria

Dearest Clara,

As the days are growing warmer and longer, it seems like summer is just around the corner.  I'm not sure where nearly a year has gone since we moved back to Washington, but I still find myself telling people that we just moved back from Vienna.  When we first returned, that statement came with a heavy heart and we've missed our life there enormously.  How could we not? Vienna was a tremendous time for us - all in all, nearly three years.  It's where your father and I learned to live as a married couple; it's where we launched on a million different adventures; and more importantly, it's where we embarked on our biggest adventure yet when you were born.  If for no other reason than that one, we'll always be connected to that very special city.

When I first found out we were moving to Vienna, I'll admit that I wasn't exactly enthusiastic.  I said it would be sleepy and slow . . . I said it would be boring and old-fashioned . . . I said I didn't speak German.  I've had to eat all those words - except for that I still don't really speak German.  But Vienna turned out to be such a grand dame of Europe, comforting in its own nostalgia.  It is a city where historic institutions are still living institutions, where what is old is being made new again simply for the fact that it is part of daily life.  As I found, it's a perfect place for people who like to get lost in memories---people like me.  Here are a few of the things for you to take away from Vienna:

• Every lady should know how to waltz - Dancing in Vienna is a little bit like drinking coffee in Vienna---everybody does it.  And if you don't do it when you arrive, you will definitely be doing it before you leave.  The balls are the most beautiful I've seen, with full orchestras and sweeping gowns.  The Viennese will say that they are probably not like they used to be, but for me they are like they will never be anywhere else.  Immediately, you notice that anyone Austrian seems to know what they're doing---the dance floor is orderly and elegant, swirling to the beat of the music.  Learning to waltz - 1,2,3 . . . 1,2,3 . . . is a basic skill that will follow you through life as you attend awkward school events, then weddings of family, then your own wedding, and finally, the weddings of your own children and grandchildren.  Even when the music is modern, these traditional steps won't fail you.

• Sunday (or some day) is a day of rest - Our first day in Vienna was a Sunday.  I remember because we quickly found out that everything is closed on Sunday.  Apart from museums and a few central cafes, there are nearly no commercial transactions on Sundays.  At first, we were panicked.  What about shopping? What about groceries? What about Target runs? We learned to adjust our schedules and to love the fact that for one day a week, we were protected from having to do the commercial grind that so often consumed our weekends.  We had the day to rest . . . to enjoy the outdoors . . . to sit over endless coffees in cafes and read the paper cover to cover . . . to enjoy a field trip . . . to work on photography . . . to see exhibits . . . to see a performance . . . it turns out there is so much to be discovered when you have one day all to yourself.  And it makes Monday that much easier.

• The beauty of the holidays are the traditions that go with them - Vienna loves Christmas . . . and New Year's . . . and Easter . . . and Summer Festivals . . . and a whole calendar of festivities.  And each one comes with it own set of traditions and markets and foods and libations.  Take care to notice people's tradition's for holidays---part of what makes holidays so special are the rituals that we build for them in anticipation.  Don't rush right to the big finale, take the time to enjoy each step in preparation.

• Always make time for live music - Is there anything more beautiful than the sound of a live orchestra? They are getting rarer in many places, but Vienna is not one of them.  But it's not just home to orchestras---Vienna has smaller groups and ensembles and it seems, music students and aficionados at every turn.  So much music came from Vienna that maybe it just sounds a bit better there.  Live music is a wonderful thing---when you hear it, even if by a street musician on the corner, take at least a moment to appreciate it.  Someone is playing so that someone else can hear.

• Enjoy the arts at whatever level you can afford them - Try to make time for enjoying live art of any kind.  Some of the world's most beautiful stages and museums were in Vienna and we enjoyed many performances: sometimes saving for special seats to be front and center, and sometimes, from high up in rafters for just a few euros.  Dress as if you have the most expensive ticket---people spend lifetimes learning their craft well enough to perform on these stages and have their work hung on these walls.  Being dressed appropriately is respectful of that.  And always try to have enough for a glass of bubbly at the bar during intermission.

I think to the end of my days I won't be able to hear about Vienna without my heart skipping a beat, at least a little bit.  Almost like an old flame that you never quite extinguished.  We'll be headed back this summer, and the notion that we would get one more last hurrah in this city that was our home for those three fantastic years has gotten us through this past one.  I know it won't be the same, but the beauty of Vienna is that it doesn't really ever change all that much.  Now that's a comforting thought to be enjoyed over a piece of Sacher torte, isn't it?

All my love,

Mom

Family Equality and the Legacy of the Struggle

The issue of marriage equality is one that's been in the news a lot lately, and therefore at the forefront of my mind. Obama's proclamation that same-sex marriage should be allowed, and then his discussion of his administration's refusal to uphold the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) is a giant leap forward for both the social view of marriage equality and hopefully for the continuing fight to legalize same-sex marriage. There are two issues at the core of the marriage equality issue that stand out to me at this juncture. The first is that I believe "marriage equality" is a misnomer. The issue is not about who can have a wedding; the issue is the right to family stability. The second is that while fighting on a state-by-state level may be necessary at this point in the grand scheme of things, the legacy of the battle should be a federal law that prohibits states from putting the rights of their citizens up for popular vote. While allowing same-sex couples to marry is framed as a marriage equality issue, it goes well beyond that. This is a family equality issue. There are over 900,000 same-sex couples in this country. I want to give you a statistic about how tall they would all be if we stacked them on top of each other, but that feels degrading and I don't know how tall they all are anyway. In 30 states, these couples are systematically denied rights that heterosexual couples enjoy, like hospital visitation rights, social security benefits, immigration rights, health insurance under their partners' plans, family leave to care for their partners, and rights to partners' pensions in the case of their death. I'm lucky to have found someone to whom I want to be married (and continue to want to be married, nearly 5 years after the fact) who is the opposite gender.

When I said "I do," I really meant for better and for worse so long as we both shall live. I meant that I wanted to become a family with him. Clearly, the most compelling reason for so closely intertwining my life with my husband's is that when it is time to do so, I get to delegate "the talk" with our kids to him, not so much because I don't want to do it, but because I want to laugh at him while he does it. A close second is growing old with him, and building a life with him without worrying about the structural soundness of that life if something should happen to one of us.

Happily ever after aside, I married my husband because heaven forbid anything happens to him, I want to be able to sit in his hospital room outside of visiting hours to hold his hand and whisper to him about our first date and the bike ride we took through the Vietnamese countryside on our honeymoon and about the time that he accidentally left me dead flowers for Mother's Day, but I forgave him because he spent the next fifty years showing me just how important it was to make it right. If it comes to this, I want to have the right to make the decision about when it's time to let go, and then I want to lie with him in his bed and stroke his hair (or his bald head—after all, I promised to love him no matter what) and reassure him that it will all be okay until he is gone and I am alone. And he wants the same from me, and will do the same for me, because we are two grown-ups and we love each other enough to laugh at the other person talking to an awkward teenager about condoms and responsibility and STDs.

Marriage to me, as to most people, is not about the wedding (though weddings are awesome and I cry at every single one I go to), or even about just the two people getting married. It's about the chance to start a family, to blend families, and the security of knowing that if anything happens to me or to my husband, my family, both nuclear and extended, will remain intact. If our kids are still young enough to be living at home (i.e. under 30) if something happens to one of us, marriage is our insurance that their lives will remain as stable as possible amidst the chaos of loss. Because we all know how hard it is to place a 26-year-old Humanities major in an adoptive family.

While publicly declaring our devotion to each other is important, the stability and rights that our marriage affords our family are more important. I would love my husband if we weren't married; however, I would not have hospital visitation rights, health insurance, the ability to take leave to take care of him if something happens to him, or rights to his pension to provide for our daughter if he dies. And let's not even start with the "different nomenclature for different types of families" thing, because that's just dumb. Seriously, what is the logical and legal basis there? If we're sure enough about our relationships (or our chances of being able to cash in on our wedding for our reality TV show) to get married, our relationships should all be called the same thing in the eyes of the government.

At its core, marriage equality is a civil rights issue. This week has opened discussions about whether same-sex marriage should be an issue left to states, or whether it is a federal issue. My strong conviction that marriage equality needs to be a federal issue stems from my discomfort with states putting the civil rights of a minority up for voter referendum. In each of the 28 states that have put initiatives on the ballot to amend their state's constitution as defining marriage as between a man and a woman, voters have approved the amendment. Regardless of what your view of marriage is, think about the consequences of this precedent. If you are doing something of which a majority does not approve, and you are not a suspect class (i.e. a racial or religious group) under the fourteenth amendment, your rights can be put to the whims and passions of voters in your state. Aziz Ansari has a particularly compelling point on this issue:

By default, everything that the president touches is going to be polarizing; I don't begrudge him hedging his first statements. Working incrementally to change the culture in order to change the politics is the least inflammatory move for Obama to make at this juncture. But this doesn't mean that the rest of us can't work at both state and federal levels to ensure that the rights extended to heterosexual families are also extended to LGBT families. While some argue that anti-miscegenation laws are not a viable parallel for the same-sex marriage debate, the Supreme Court ruling (Loving vs. Virginia) states:

Marriage is one of the "basic civil rights of man," fundamental to our very existence and survival.... To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is surely to deprive all the State's citizens of liberty without due process of law.

At the heart of the aforementioned Fourteenth Amendment, in case you haven't caught up on the episodes of Schoolhouse Rock that you have stored on your DVR, is the Equal Protection Clause, stating that "no state shall ... deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." If this isn't relevant, I don't know what is. Marriage is a basic civil right, and under our constitution, we all have equal protection of the law (though sexual orientation is not yet one of the categories of people granted special protection under this amendment). Legislating against same-sex marriage at the state level denies to gay and lesbian families the fundamental rights afforded to straight families. Even more abhorrent is states opening marriage rights to a popular vote. Opening a vote on the rights of a minority to an impassioned majority goes against what our country stands for. Isn't it about time that we set a federal precedent that states should not be allowed to open to referendum the rights of their citizens? This is the crux of why marriage equity is, and must continue to be, a federal issue.

Granted, a federal ruling like Loving may be some years off, as only 17 states had laws on the books opposing interracial marriage when the Loving decision came down. I can see that leaving same-sex marriage to the states (while working to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act) is a powerful incremental tool for change. Public opinion of the issue is changing and continues to change---even Obama calls this a generational issue---and it is tempting to work state-by-state and hope that all states will come to their senses. But let's face it. Those last states aren't going to tip without a push from the federal government. Further, I fundamentally believe that states should be prohibited from putting the civil rights of their citizens up for a vote.* This is why I refuse to believe that pushing for same-sex marriage state-by-state is the end push. After all, legislation is about evolution---evolution of thoughts, ideas, and policy. It is about putting into writing and into law our fundamental beliefs of what is fair, what is right, and what rights and responsibilities we have as citizens of our towns, states, and country.

As a secular and democratic nation, we have built into our governmental structure a tremendous power to evolve, and to plan for evolution. At this juncture in time, we as a nation have an opportunity to decree that no minority should have their civil rights decided by the vote of a majority. This could be the legacy of the movement for marriage equity. There will no doubt be social issues that come to the forefront of American policy in the next 10, 20, 50 years and beyond. When we have seen that leaving civil rights up to state referenda nearly always leaves states on the wrong side of history (see: school integration & women's suffrage), why would we continue to let this be an option? We may not all agree on policy, but we should all be able to agree that this egregious practice needs to stop. A federal ban on civil rights referenda would be a fitting legacy for the marriage equality movement, strengthening our democracy and protecting all families' rights from the whims and passions of the majority.

*If you want to see an exceedingly handsome man who saves people from burning buildings make essentially the same point, you can watch this:

A Trio of Chairs in Granada

A trio of chairs against a gorgeous wall of colorful tiles and Arabic inscriptions at the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. I strolled through this lavish Moorish palace one hot day in August, and this shady spot was a lovely place to escape the sun and take in the architectural splendor and rich history of Andalusia.

Preparing a Funeral for a Baby and Feeling the Influence of a Life

One of my dearest friends—my oldest friend from my 12 years in Brooklyn—spent many years trying to get pregnant.  She did IVF, and it worked!  She was pregnant!  We had so much excitement for this couple.  Our Brooklyn community of friends was overjoyed.  We hosted a ridiculously awesome shower at my home.  And all seemed to be the happiest of endings. Until the baby was born.

Immediately upon Beatrice’s birth, the doctors knew something was not right.  After several weeks, she was diagnosed with an extremely rare genetic disorder, one that was likely life threatening.  The baby girl would likely not ever be able to leave the hospital ventilators, even if she lived.

This put a lump in all our throats.  We were all just young professionals in Brooklyn. We spent our days hanging out with each other, visiting Coney Island or having picnics. We often crammed lots of people into a Mini Cooper and went on road trips. We sat around and talked about business ideas and our big New York dreams. We BBQed on rooftops, decorated our mid century modern apartments, worked long hours, and got together as often as we could for dessert nights. And now our friends had a 4 lb baby in an ICU incubator.  It felt like the life you hear about from off in the distance—the worst-case scenarios that never seem to hit home.

We had nearly just packed up our fancy baby shower. And now we were organizing a laundry schedule for the parents. Preparing a meal drop-off rotation. Collecting quarters for hospital vending machines. Pooling funds for car services so our friends wouldn’t have to battle the subway day and night. Dropping off books to read, snacks, etc. Little children from our church practiced songs to record for the baby. And friends worked on a baby quilt. It was an operation like I’ve never seen before. People literally just poured in to help. I took it upon myself to be the hub of the operation. I had the time. I was not able to have children myself. And my heart could not have been bigger for this family and this baby. Every ounce of myself wanted to do all I could to help.

And one more thing...I needed a purpose. I needed a purpose like my life depended on it. You see, my husband of 7 years had just announced to me that he wanted to leave our marriage. And that he wanted a divorce. And that he did not have children with me. No one knew this but me. I sat there watching my life unravel before my eyes while at the same time watching my friends’ lives unravel before theirs. It was like everything that was so near and dear to us was being stripped from us. But never in my life had I been more in tune with what was left. Even with a husband that was on his way out the door, even with a baby whose life was fragile...what was left was LOVE. Love for each other. Love for this life. Love for babies. Love for friends in need. Love for what we had. Love for serving each other and fulfilling each other’s needs. Never before had I so clearly seen that love & service are the greatest healing balms of the world, even in times of the worst imaginable circumstances.

It wasn’t long before my husband made an exit and left the state. Two days later that sweet little baby passed away. Just before I received word that she died, I had the sweetest moment that I will never forget. I finally received from a tech friend the recording of all our friends’ children who were singing words of peace and comfort and joy for that baby and her parents. I was listening to it in my home, alone, and sobbing, but feeling more love and peace and comfort than I had ever felt in my life. A couple of hours later, I got the call from Bea’s parents, saying that Bea had just passed. I consider those children’s singing voices a tender mercy from God. Those voices filled my home that evening. And my heart had never been more full of love and hope and gratitude for what really matters most in this life.

Normally the presiding head of our church congregation would be in charge of the funeral. But he was out of town. And so one of his counselors, his wife (both my dear friends), and myself worked day and night to plan that funeral. We were all under 30. We had never planned a funeral before and had no idea what hoops it would take to quickly bring together a smooth event for the family. But because of the multitude of people willing to jump and help and beg for assignments, we organized a luncheon, flowers, musical numbers, speakers, an organist, car dispatchers, people to drive family to Greenwood Cemetery from the church, even water bottles for the graveside service in the blistering July heat. Women cooked day and night. Men so tenderly helped with every need. People of our church & friend community helped in every way imaginable. A 13-year boy even showed up on his skateboard the morning of the funeral to help set up chairs. The feeling of service & love that all the men, women & children felt that day is something that none of us will ever, ever forget.

At the funeral, my friend later wrote that “the baby’s grandfather gave what would be considered the eulogy. But rather than talking about the life and accomplishments of the deceased he instead expounded upon all of the service, love and charity that this beautiful little girl inspired in those who surrounded her.” She made us better people. She gave us hope for this life and all the goodness that can exist. She reminded us of what it feels like to offer love so freely and willingly. She brought us closer to what God represents. She brought us closer to whom we all have the potential to be. I will always be thankful for Bea.

A Series of Unfortunate Events, Sort Of

It didn't begin well, to say the least. The first time I traveled to Europe on my own, I started from Asia. I'd been in India for ten days, traveling in Mumbai and Bangalore for work. The best flights back to New York from Bangalore were all on Air France, which meant connecting in Paris---and since the price was the same whether my layover lasted an hour or a weekend, I naturally decided upon the latter.

My last evening in Bangalore was one of the best I've spent in India. We started off at TGI Friday's (apparently all the rage in 2008 Bangalore), but wound up at a divey outdoor bar, complete with picnic tables and ice cubes I that was forbidden by my colleagues from even thinking about---beer from the bottle only for me. We Americans are delicate.

At midnight, I hopped into the world's tiniest, rustiest taxi and headed for Bangalore's brand-spanking-new airport. So new, in fact, that a fresh highway had just been built to take people to it. A highway with which, sadly, my young driver was not familiar. When we passed the clearly-marked exit for the airport, I assumed he knew a better way; it was only when I found myself speeding backwards at 40 miles per hour that I knew he'd made a mistake. My life flashed before my eyes in concert with the headlights we were passing as we backed up past the ramp, then zoomed onto it and up to the airport.

After waging a fruitless battle for an electrical outlet (midnight is rush hour at international airports in India), I boarded the plane and settled into my cushy business class seat. I started perusing the copy of Le Figaro they'd handed me when I boarded, brushing up on my French ahead of what I expected to be a restful night of Champagne-induced slumber. It was when I went to recline my seat that I saw them: a hundred bug bites---at least fifty per foot---standing out in stark relief against my (let's face it) pasty white skin. The outdoor bar---while truly awesome---did not have mosquito netting. And having planned on spending the entire day inside, I hadn't sprayed my ankles with Off. And did I mention that I'd forgotten to lay in a supply of anti-malarial pills before the trip? Oops.

So there I was, one death-defying taxi ride and 100 potentially malarial nibbles into my wistfully romantic solo trip to Paris. I spent a decent amount of the flight determining just how much to tell my brother via email, lest I fall out of contact and have to be rescued from a delirious fever by the concierge. (As little as possible, I decided.) Eventually, calmed by calamine lotion from the flight attendant, Clarins products in the Air France lavatory, and, of course, champagne, I slept.

What had really relaxed me, though, was the knowledge that even if the worst befell me, even if my cab crashed in the Bangalore suburbs, even if I developed malaria alone in a hotel room in the Marais---I could handle it. I would be fine. I would figure it out. I was 29, independent, and flying to Europe on my own for the weekend---from Asia. I was a grown-up.

Seeing as Air France went on strike that weekend and I had to find a new way to get home to New York, I got to prove it to myself all over again really quickly. That's the thing about adulthood: it's a pretty permanent state, once you enter into it.

Looking Forward: No Mistake About It.

I read a passage from Charles Bukowski’s Factotum a few weeks ago that made me laugh. Then, when I finished laughing, I wrote it down, cut it out, and taped it to my wall. “If you’re going to try, go all the way,” it reads, “Otherwise don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives, and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail.” While I certainly have no intention of freezing on a park bench, going to jail, or, worse, not eating for several days, something about this quote—the first line, in particular—struck me.

For most of my life, I’ve put a fair amount of effort into avoiding mistakes. From big ones (should I move across the country?) to small ones (is that comma in the right place?), I’m something of an over-thinker. Sometimes it’s a tendency that serves me well. Other times, I worry so much about the potential consequences of an action or decision that I err on the side of caution - or don’t end up doing anything at all.

My blog is a good example. For two full years, I mulled over the idea of starting it. Part of me couldn’t wait; the other part was full of trepidation. Would anyone read it? What if people didn’t like it, or me? Was I brave enough to make certain aspects of my life—however small—public? 

At long last, on a hot summer day in the backyard of my favorite Brooklyn coffee shop, I wrote my first post. Again, this was two years after I’d first had the idea to start a blog. A lot of thought had gone into it, but still, I felt completely unready. It wasn’t perfect. I was setting myself up for a whole lot of mistakes, or so I thought. But the fact was, worrying about this had gotten me nowhere.

When I pressed “publish” on that post, my heart leapt. I thought I might faint. Nine months later, I can’t imagine what my life would be like had I not pressed that button. The blog is far from perfect, and, honestly, I’m still more or less figuring it out as I go. But the process has been so rewarding, there’s no way it’s not worth the effort that goes into it. It’s brought so many wonderful and talented people into my life. Creatively, it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.

From time to time, I remind myself of this whenever I feel hesitant about taking a risk. The nagging voice is still there: What if I fail? What if this is a huge mistake? My feeling, though, is that at this age—or any age, for that matter—very few decisions can be considered a mistake. Everything’s a learning experience. The bumps along the way are challenging, but challenges mean growth. Challenges mean experimentation. Challenges open doors.

Without a doubt, I’m often still guilty of choosing safety over risk. But I’m trying to remember to take chances—and not only that, “to go all the way,” as Bukowski writes. I want to look back at this time in my life and be proud of the things I did. I doubt I’ll even remember all of the countless things I worried about.

By the way, the Bukowski passage continues for a few more lines before spiraling into raving hyperbole. Somewhere in the middle, though, he repeats that first line—“If you’re going to try, go all the way.”  Then, he writes, “There is no other feeling like that.”

I’m just beginning to find that’s true.

The Early Days

 I never failed to love him. I never faltered, but I was terrified from the outset. His small fingers scared me, they seemed so breakable, so fragile, like tiny twigs. When I fed him he was a bird under my wing, cooing until he fell asleep again. The nurses were rough with him, and would turn his ragdoll body over onto his stomach to burp him, his neck around their large fists. Could you hold a baby like that? Like you were about to choke it? Apparently you could, because he always burped and let out a little sigh of relief.

I can remember the early days at the hospital, with its long quiet hallways and soft colors. With the cherubic nurses and scratchy sheets. It felt easy there. I have no bad memories of the hospital.  It wasn’t the most ornate hospital. I don’t even think we had a TV in our room, or if we did, we didn’t watch it. I don’t recall fluorescent lighting, just the soft blue light that came in through the large picture window we had in our room. I believe it overlooked the courtyard, it was lovely, but I was too in love to even notice. We have a picture of me dancing with him the day he was born, and imagine, I felt well enough to dance! 8 pounds, 9 ounces and I felt like dancing, it was like a dream. I had wanted so badly to meet him for so long. Pregnancy had been a sickness, an illness for nine months. The day he arrived, I felt like I could conquer the world. In a mess of humanity and blood and tears and vomit, I delivered him. Or did he deliver me?

The hospital was quiet. I could hear no other women screaming in pain, no babies crying, just silence. There were five nurses and two mothers, a wonderful ratio. In retrospect, I don’t know why I was in such a rush to leave the wonderful arms there. It felt comfortable, like we could handle anything. When we had to change his diaper for the first time and the black tar of meconium was there, we just pressed a little red button and a nurse arrived to do it for us. That first night, he slept in the nursery, and even the next night, when he awoke in the night I just held him and brought him into bed with me. There was no fear.

The great fear started the moment we left the hospital. It arrived in the form of the overly sunny day (his sensitive skin!), the other (many) reckless drivers, even the small bump in the road. Anything could hurt him! He was delicate! Don’t touch him with your germ filled hands! Those first few weeks I was scared to take him out of the car seat carrier when we were out and about. He just seemed so frail and the concrete so hard. But we did leave the hospital; we had to begin our new life as a family. And it was that first night home the fear really set in, inching under our skin. How could they allow us to just bring him home like that? Didn’t they know we had no idea what we were doing? His breathing was so quiet I was constantly terrified it had stopped. Just up and stopped, that I would lean over the crib, and there would be a little doll, not moving. I could picture it so well. That was the scary part. Little did I know this is the curse of a mother, the clarity with which you can picture horrible things happening to your child. For months afterwards, every time I went over the causeway bridge I could picture our car breaking through the barricade and soaring into the water. It was only a few feet away. All I had to do was let go. In the midst of life, we are in death.

The Beginning

To write this piece I inevitably have to go back some years and take a look at my former self. It’s like talking about a completely different person. You know when you get together with friends, have a few drinks, and reminisce on what you did and what you were like in high school? Well my story . . . my story generally blows most people's out of the water. Now, I know there are many who have more dramatic tales than mine. The stuff that happens in some people’s lives no Hollywood screen writer could ever make up. However, what I think makes mine a good one is that I came out a well-adjusted, fully-functioning, professional member of society. It could easily have gone another way. I first started thinking about suicide when I was 10 or 11. It blows my mind to write that sentence. I come from a large loving family; I wasn’t abused by my parents; nothing extraordinarily tragic happened to me; nor was there a single event that precipitated my depression. But just like some people don’t produce enough insulin and have diabetes, I have an irregulation with serotonin and suffer from depression. And it happened when I was very young.

My depression took me and my family on quite the journey of drugs, in-patient psych wards, and reckless behavior. Most nights were a real struggle not to harm myself. And of all those countless nights where I stayed up crying and wishing it would end, there were only 3 times in the span of 7 years where I gave up on all the things that usually held me back and said “Fuck it. No more.” And each time I was always saved. I recall years later my psychologist telling me that out of all the patients he’d seen throughout the years, he thought I would be one of the few to actually kill myself.

It was a struggle to keep it together. At one point, for a brief span, I was going to individual drug therapy, group drug therapy, family drug therapy, NA meetings, and seeing my individual psychologist…every week. To say the least my dance card was booked! However, counseling, the right medication, and a large helping of my parent’s unequivocal devotion to keeping my butt on this earth were huge factors of me being here today.

But there was something else.

My middle sister by 4 years had done a program while in high school where she volunteered as a health educator for the summer in South America. She did it a few times and eventually had a significant role in leadership. By the time I was old enough to consider it my parents were well familiar with the organization. Also, at that stage I had made progress with my emotional stability and general behavior, so more trust was established.

So when I was 17 for 2 months myself and another girl worked in a remote village of 800 Zapoteca Indians in Southern Mexico. Our project was to do health education and build latrines. I worked long hours doing manual labor in a skirt. I ate beans, rice, and hot coffee with virtually every meal. I slept on a cot in the post office because the families were too poor to take on two more people in any individual home. I had immersed myself in a completely different language, culture, and comfort zone, and I thrived on it.

I can remember the exact moment when I knew this is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Dusk was approaching and I sat on the hard packed mud ruins of stairs leading down to the remains of what used to be someone’s adobe home. As I sat there watching rain clouds gather over the mountain valley, I knew I would never try to take my life again. My struggle with depression hadn’t ended but I would never again have a hand in my own demise.

(To be continued...)

[image by Jenny Huang via flickr]

The Quiet Moments in Between: Still & Solitary in Egypt

Egypt is a complex place: as a visitor, I found it beautiful but sad, and ever-evolving yet stagnant, post-revolution. I visited in November 2011 for three weeks and barely scratched its surface, but still got a taste of some of its layers and maneuvered parts of the country at varied paces: the street chaos of Cairo; the still, surreal landscape of the Sinai Peninsula, where the desert meets the sea; and the pharaonic temples in Luxor, where tourists and touts mingle among massive ruins under a hot sun. My first visit to the Middle East and first time navigating in a Muslim country, these weeks were challenging despite exploring with someone who called it home. While I never got used to the ceaseless cacophony of car horns and street noise of Cairo, by the final days I had become comfortable enough to weave through—and walk in front of—moving cars, as everyone else did: becoming one with the traffic, the movement of the city, the chaos itself.

Oddly, as I sift through my photographs six months later, I notice most of my shots capture the quiet moments in between—seconds of stillness and solitude, and of people alone, with their own thoughts, much like me as I wandered and tried to wrap my head around this new place. In this gallery, you'll find images from Cairo, the Sinai Peninsula, and Luxor.

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Happy Mother's Day (to the whole damn village)

The conversation might begin with concerns about whether motherhood and feminism are incompatible (I mean if the newspaper of record positions motherhood and feminism on opposite ends of a spectrum, where does that leave all the mothers who happen to think women are full human beings). Maybe it turns to a question about what the “Mommy Wars” actually entail.  We’re all busy, is it that we missed the latest reality show? Are there actual weapons involved? Other than the condescension and self-righteousness we’re told we wield like daggers, of course. There may even be some mutterings about whether it's healthy for motherhood to be elevated to such an exalted status. After all, not everyone dragged into the conversation is in fact a mother and no one wants to be left out of a debate that makes the cover of Time. The problem is this is a fictional debate that serves no one well. When parenting is a battlefield, it’s difficult to use each other as resources and learn from one another’s stories. When we’re told to be on the lookout for other mothers who are judging us, it’s easy to miss all the people who are supporting us in our endeavors to strengthen our families and our communities. And when mothers are put into a special box, we lose the other parts of our identity that make us complete and well-rounded individuals.

It’s not a matter of mothers versus other mothers (this Babble piece rocks that point). We’re all doing our best with the resources and opportunities at our disposal. And it’s also not a matter of mothers versus non-mothers. In a thoughtful essay on why she hates mother’s day, Anne Lamott takes issue with the idea that mothers are somehow superior beings.  Mothering isn’t an individual experience; it isn’t even a purely female experience.

The mothering that helps my children thrive on a daily basis comes from their father, their aunt who lives next door, a phenomenal nanny, a family friend who is practically a part of our family, my dear friend and business partner, and numerous grandparents, not to mention the various teachers, doctors, etc who play significant roles in my children’s health and development. That list would grow exponentially if my husband and I added all the individuals who mothered us throughout a lifetime of experiences.

On this coming Mother’s Day, I’m going to spend less time thinking about mothers and more time thinking about mothering. I’ll still write thoughtful notes to my mom, my stepmom, my mother-in-law, and my grandmas, but I’ll also do my best to thank the other mothers in my life—the best friends, the family members, and the mentors—who mothered me into the person I am today.

There’s no war here; there are enough thank yous, kind words, and lessons to spread around.

What Are You Reading (offline, that is)?

We love to hear what our friends are reading when they step away from the computer.  Drop us a line and let us know what's blowing your mind. Erin Loechner, Design for Mankind: I loooove reading offline - it's a ritual that I don't often get to indulge in. But when I do? I feel relaxed, invigorated and inspired all in one fell swoop. Right now I've been engrossed in an old copy of Elephant Magazine, a fantastic art publication. I've also got copies of Anthology, It's Nice That and Artichoke in regular rotation on my nightstand!

Joslyn Taylor, Simple Lovely: Blood, Bones & Butter by Garbrielle Hamilton I just finished Gabrielle Hamilton's brilliant account of her journey to becoming a chef and owning her own restaurant, and I can't get it out of my head. I'm love  a good food memoir (Ruth Reichl's books are among my favorites), and I think Hamilton's is one of the very best I've read. Her writing is lyrical, beautiful, honest. It is perfection.

Life by Keith Richards My husband and I never (ever) read the same thing, so I thought it would be fun to try it once so we could talk about books more often. We agonized over which book to kick things off with and ended up settled on Keith Richard's memoir Life, as it satisfies our mutual passion for music and our fascination with the rock and roll lifestyle (which we so do not live). I'm completely digging it so far.

Vogue Sometimes it takes me two months to get through a full issue, but I read every single article, religiously. It's just really smart...so much more than fashion. There's brilliant food and culture writing and excellent political interview. If I had to pick my dessert island reading material, it would be this.

Kathleen Shannon, Jeremy & Kathleen: A Guide to the Good Life: The Ancient Art of Stoic Joy by William B. Irvine I always had the idea that stoics were cold. Emotionally unavailable. Perhaps even a little asshole-ish. But reading this book has redefined what it is to be a stoic and has me as gung-ho for the philosophy of life as Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead had me on juicing. Though, I've yet to buy a juicer. Fortunately, no materials are required to practice being a stoic. Irvine takes a modern approach to sharing the history of stoicism (from back in the good ol' days), stoic psychological techniques (such as negative visualization - it's fascinating!), stoic advice on fame and money (a good kick in the pants for many of us blogging types), and finally ways to practically bring stoic way of living into our modern lives. If you're a fan of Leo Babauta's Zen Habits and Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project you might enjoy this book.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho This book was gifted to me from a dear friend years and years ago. I only finally recently read it while on a long flight so I could look intellectual and deep to my fellow passengers. I had no idea what kind of metaphysical trip I was in for. This book follows a boy's fantastic journey through Spain and the Egyptian deserts as he finds the meaning of life. It's the kind of story fit for a Disney cartoon circa 1964 that you have to properly view with a joint in hand. Then just this past weekend I overheard a hipster with a beard (in Brooklyn, go figure) talking to a girl about reading The Alchemist. So clearly it's impressive and cool. But it might also change your life. So there's that.

The Writings of Florence Scovel Shinn including: The Game of Life and Your Word is Your Wand by Florence Scovel Shinn I almost left this off the list because ol' Florence gets a little too Jesus-y in her writings for my "atheist" tendencies but all that God talk aside this book was kind of a game-changer for me. Florence Scovel Shinn was a metaphysical feminist in the 1930s and spouts off some really radical stuff about universal laws, being meticulous with your words and the whole concept that everything (good and bad) starts with a single thought. And all in the 1930s! Which makes the whole book that much more intriguing to me.

Erin Loechner: Stories I've Only Told My Mom

If you didn't already know the incredibly talented and just plain sparkly Erin Loechner from Design for Mankind, then maybe you recognize her from her HGTV home renovation column, or maybe it's from her brand new site Design for Minikind (it's just as smart and stylish as Design for Mankind, but for littles and their parents).  In any case, Erin is one of those people who exudes warmth and positivity.  She's also incredible at supporting people in becoming their best selves (case in point: resource parties), a mission we can fully get behind here at the Equals Project. In honor of Mother's Day, and mentoring, and the bravery it takes to claim the path that's right for you, Erin is letting us share this piece she wrote for Stories I've Only Told My Mom.  If you are a mom, you have a mom, or you've ever sought wisdom other women's stories, we highly recommend you download this beautiful anthology, edited by Sarah Bryden-Brown.

Stories I've Only Told My Mom by Erin Loechner

Dear Mom,

It was Tuesday and I think I was 7. I know it was Tuesday because I was wearing my day-of-the-week underwear and we both know how dutifully I relied on my unmentionables to celebrate the passage of days.

I don’t know that I was 7 for sure. They didn’t make undergarments for that sort of thing.

I told you I wanted to be a receptionist when I grew up. I had seen a classified listing for a receptionist in the newspaper that afternoon while we snacked on Little Debbie’s Zebra Cakes (my favorite) and Walnuts Brownies (yours). I’m not sure where my sisters were -- probably playing basketball at the neighbor’s house like normal children. I liked to read newspapers and eat treats littered with high fructose corn syrup, watching you grade your students’ English essays and circle typos with a red Papermate.

You peered over your Sally Jesse Raphael style glasses and smiled. “A receptionist for whom?” you asked.

It hadn’t occurred to me that this mattered. I would be typing, talking on the phone and greeting people daily. I would be The Gatekeeper Of The Office. The Hostess Of The Lobby. The Fixer Of The Fax Machine.  Every day. And I would get paid for it! $17,000 dollars. Every year. What else mattered?

“Who you work for always matters,” you answered as you corrected a 4th grader’s misspelling of the word “tomahawk.”

Do you remember saying that, Mom?

It changed my life.

I did, eventually, as you know, become a receptionist for a high profile music executive in Los Angeles. I was paid much more than $17,000 a year and was, indeed, The Gatekeeper Of The Office. But after four months of collating concert paperwork and babysitting Sharon Osbourne’s countless canines, I remembered your words.

“Who you work for always matters.”

I quit that day, Mom. Somewhere between papercuts and expense reports, I knew I wanted to live my life with integrity and do work that mattered, for someone who mattered.

Someone like myself.

Since that day, I’ve had many odd jobs as I attempted to supplement an income that could support the life I wanted to live --- inspiring creative artists, designers and writers to pursue their dreams.

As you inspired me to pursue mine.

And along the way, I never accepted a job from someone that I didn’t believe in, and in doing so, created a professional life of integrity. Your words of wisdom on that Tuesday have shaped the way I present myself as a business owner, entrepreneur and writer.

I am now, proudly, The Gatekeeper Of Encouragement. The Hostess Of My Life. The Fixer Of Un-Inspired Souls.

Thank you, Mom.

p.s. Want to know a secret? I made exactly $17,000 working for myself. Dollar for dollar.

p.p.s. I loved every Tuesday of it.

The F Words: Food & Feminism

Welcome to The F Words, where our mission is to share the stories of remarkable women through food, to explore the ways food binds us to one another in the present - as well as to generations past - and to do all of this without dismissing the complicated relationship second- and third-wave feminist women have to the kitchen and cooking.

My name is Meg, and I'll be your guide on the (assuredly) delicious, (definitely) exciting and (potentially) thorny journey. If you're friends with my mom, you might know me as Queenie, author of the food and travel blog Queenie Takes Manhattan. If not, hi! It's awesome to meet you.

I write an awful lot about food - and sometimes even more about Bourbon - on my blog, but I rarely touch on one of my other great passions: feminism. It's not because I'm scared of the word, it's just that feminism can be a tough thing to bring up in a food-centric context. I'm far past the point of thinking that feminists should shun the kitchen because of its associations with enforced domesticity and limited options, but I'm also not always entirely sure of how to articulate how I feel about the intersection of cooking and my feminist ideals. I think it's time to see if other people can help - and to prove true to my roots, I say we get them to give us some recipes, too.

To make sure my victims - I mean, interview subjects - know there's nothing to be scared of, I'll go first. But I promise that some seriously exciting, brilliant women will grace this space in weeks to come. In the meantime, let's hit it.

Tell us a bit about your day job. I work in user research and experience design, which basically means I ask people questions about what they want and need and tell their stories to other people all day long. On a good day, that is.

How did you learn to cook? Oh, gosh - in all sorts of ways. I grew up surrounded by people who love food, especially my mom and my au pair. We ate out quite a bit, but Mom and Lori were also both great cooks. Snack food was at a minimum; if you wanted something to eat, you had to make it yourself, so I mastered chocolate chip cookies at an unnaturally young age. My grandmother, Nonie, taught me how to bake pies, and I figured most of the rest of it out (including the savory side of things) when I moved into my first apartment after college. I remember calling my mom to find out how to cook meat in an oven - I’d mostly learned how to grill things like steak or chicken, and had no idea how to roast anything.

Do you prefer to cook alone, or with friends or family? Either alone, or with close friends or family - but really, I can cook with anyone who isn’t too much of a control freak. If I’m preparing a meal with someone else, I like it to be with someone who isn’t going to be looking over my shoulder the whole time. I love to cook with my best friend, Louisa. We have a pretty awesome rhythm when we’re together in the kitchen.

What's your favorite thing to make? Depends on the day - and the season - but I always find it really satisfying to make a stand-out dessert, like a gorgeous chocolate cake or a blueberry pie in the height of summer.

If you had to choose one cuisine to eat for the rest of your life, which would it be? Probably either Vietnamese or French - baguettes and strong coffee are common themes, you’ll note.

What recipe, cuisine or technique scares the crap out of you? Chinese food. So many new techniques and combinations to learn about, if you want to do it right. I need to find someone to coach me through it.

How do you think your relationships with your family have affected your relationship to food and cooking? My family is seriously into food. My mom is a great cook, but she also loves to dine out, and I feel really lucky to have eaten so many amazing meals even before I could (legally) drink the wine that came along with. I grew up with an appreciation of fine dining and simple, home-cooked food - the only food snobbery I know is a disdain for stuff that tastes bad. I also grew up with divorced parents, and my mom was single until just recently. That meant that - starting sometime in late adolescence - my brother and I had to fend for ourselves at dinnertime fairly often. I started us off with grilled chicken, salad, and Uncle Ben's wild rice (that spice mix was amazing), then graduated to stir fries, and, eventually, homemade pies. My brother was - and is - in charge of eggs.

Even today, home cooking is strongly associated with women's traditional place in the family and society. How do you reconcile your own love of the kitchen with your outlook on gender roles? I’m a single woman who lives alone (and loves it), so when I cook for other people, it’s entirely by choice. And when it comes to cooking, I'm pretty much a choose-your-choice feminist. (That isn't the case for all things, but we can talk about that in another piece sometime.) If a woman cooks, it's not an anti-feminist act. And if a woman doesn't choose to cook, it doesn't make her a better feminist. People should do what works for them, whether that's ordering in, taking out or having another member of the household do the whole thing. Someone assuming I should cook because I'm a woman, though - that's not okay.

That said, I actually think that home cooking is less fraught these days than the professional culinary world, where women are still actively encouraged to follow the (traditionally less prestigious) pastry track. While most (not all - you know who you are, slackers) hetero couples I know share kitchen duty (either cooking together or trading off cooking and cleaning), cooking for money and acclaim is still primarily thought of as men’s work. Which drives me crazy, for the record. When a woman does it, it's considered routine and expected. When a man does it, it's worthy of applause and statues. Step. Off.

Tell us a bit about the recipe you're sharing. When did you first make it, and why? What do you love about it? This is my brother’s favorite cake. I tend to gravitate more toward fruit desserts, especially in summer when peaches, plums, berries and the like are in season. My brother? Not so much. I mean, he won't turn down a strawberry-rhubarb tart, and he loves apple pie at Thanksgiving, but when it's up to him, it's going to be chocolate. And so even though his birthday is smack in the middle of July, I bake this cake for him, because I am an awesome sister.

It’s chocolate-on-chocolate, with a little bit of coffee thrown in to bring out the flavor of all that - you guessed it - chocolate. It’s also super crazy easy, which isn’t always true of cakes. It’s based on Ina Garten’s chocolate cake recipe; I’ve tweaked it a bit - notably by adding more coffee - but the luxurious simplicity (the thing I aim for most in my own cooking) is the Barefoot Contessa at her finest.

Perfect Chocolate Cake Adapted from Barefoot Contessa At Home

For the cake: Butter, for greasing the pans 1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for pans 2 cups sugar 3/4 cup good cocoa powder 2 tsp. baking soda 1 tsp. baking powder 1 tsp. kosher salt 1 cup buttermilk, shaken 1/2 cup vegetable oil 2 eggs, at room temperature 1 teaspoon good vanilla extract 1 cup freshly brewed hot coffee

For the buttercream frosting: 6 ounces semisweet chocolate (I use Guittard!) 1/2 pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature 1 extra-large egg yolk, at room temperature 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 1 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted 1 tablespoon instant espresso powder

Make the cake: Position the racks in the top and bottom thirds of your oven, and preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter 2 round cake pans (8- or 9-inch both work.). Line the bottoms of the pans with parchment paper, then butter and flour the pans.

Sift together the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, and baking powder into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Add the salt and mix on low speed until combined.

In another bowl, combine the buttermilk, oil, eggs, and vanilla. With the mixer on low, gradually add the wet ingredients to the dry. Add the coffee and stir just to combine, scraping the sides & bottom of the bowl with a spatula.

Divide the batter evenly between the pans and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, swapping pans from top to bottom about halfway through, until a cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool in the pans for 30 minutes, then turn them out onto a cooling rack (parchment paper side down) and cool completely.

Make the frosting: Chop the chocolate and place it in a heat-proof bowl set over a pan of simmering water. Stir until just melted and set aside until cooled to room temperature.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the butter on medium-high speed until light yellow and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the egg yolk and vanilla and continue beating for 3 minutes.

Turn the mixer down to low, and gradually add the confectioners' sugar. Beat at medium speed, scraping down the bowl as necessary, until smooth and creamy. Dissolve the coffee powder in 2 teaspoons of very hot tap water. On low speed, add the chocolate and coffee to the butter mixture and mix until blended - but don't whip! Now you're ready to frost!

Frost the cake: Peel off the parchment paper from both layers and place 1 cake layer, flat side up, on a flat plate or cake pedestal. With a knife or offset spatula, spread the top with frosting. Place the second layer on top, rounded side up, and spread the frosting (steps for making it are below) evenly on the top and sides of the cake.

From Washington, DC...

Lessons for Clara is a weekly series of posts intended for the author’s daughter based on her travels and observations, showing that we really are shaped by the places we go, the people we meet, and the experiences we have.

Dearest Clara,

We’re going on 6 months in our new home.  I say new but it’s not really.  We lived here for years before embarking on our adventures in diplomatic living but this assignment has brought us back to Washington, DC – headquarters, capitol city, and home.

In some ways, we feel just as much fish out of water as we would in any other country – we’ve been away for a while and we’ve forgotten all the things that go with living here in the US: the pace is faster, everything feels bigger, and there seems to be more of just about everything.

We’re only here for two years and soon this will be just another assignment, so I’m hoping that you take the following lessons from Washington with you:

• The freedom to say just about anything is a privilege… I always hope that you’ll know the ability to say freely what is on your mind, regardless of topic. That’s not always the case for many people still.  In fact, if all of your grandparents hadn’t left in pursuit of that, we would have turned out very differently. This is one of the most valuable rights we have and it came right here from Washington.  Be mindful of what a gift this is.
• …but just because you can say anything, doesn’t mean that you should.   Speak your mind, but don’t do it in a way that can be hurtful to others, speak in a way that is informed, polite, and constructive.  Speak loudly if you need to, but don’t speak rudely.  If you’re going to make a statement, ask yourself, is this going to move the dial forward on something that is truly important to me?
• Participate in the democratic political process; it will be what you make it.  We’re right in the middle of an election year and the ads are rolling, the pundits are talking, and sometimes, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the process.  I know it will be tempting to think sometimes that one voice doesn’t matter, but I assure you it does.  Much like the freedom to say anything, being able to participate in the political process is a valuable right and gift that others have worked hard for and one of the things that make this country so unique.  Do not take it for granted.
• Reach across the aisle.  There are often two opposing sides to every issue, but one look at Washington will show you that if you want to get things done, complete projects, and make progress, often in life you’ll have to reach out to the other side and compromise.  Hear others out - they are approaching something from another point of view.  Find your common ground and start from there.  It’s easy give up at an impasse, but it’s more rewarding to find solutions that benefit both sides.
• A twinset and pearls are always appropriate – This is a conventional town but conventional can have its advantages.  It’s predictable, and when you’re not sure if you want to stand out, go with the basics that always work.  Pearls earrings will always be acceptable and show good taste, and a twinset…well, you’ll always have a sweater to keep you warm.

With all my love,

Mom

The Art and Science of Becoming a Mother

Last year, at 37 years old, I underwent fertility treatments. After three failed rounds of intra-uterine insemination, my husband and I got incredibly lucky with a single, successful course of in-vitro fertilization.  Our treasure of a baby daughter, Isadora Rose, was born on 12/28/2011. Motherhood fits me like a glove and is something I have wanted from my first memories of childhood.   I used to mother every living thing and inanimate object in my midst.  I once ruined my coveted Babar and Celeste dolls after having coated their trunks in Chapstick “in case they got dry lips.”  I even sustained a macerated bottom lip when my brother’s pet turtle clamped on to my mouth…you see, I had dropped him while trying to feed him and leaned in to kiss his little face in apology.  You get the idea.

So it might surprise you that at age 22, I had an abortion.  My circumstances at the time were likely similar to many middle-class women who make that choice.  I was fresh out of college, living with two friends in Berkeley, CA.  I had one of my first highly challenging social work jobs on the way to graduate school.  I was also still occasionally sleeping with my ex-boyfriend from college.  In my personal life, unlike my educational and professional trajectory, I was vulnerable and I was in more than a bit of denial.  I had a rocky road with this ex that included a brief engagement and at least two breakups.  And then it happened – I got pregnant.

Reflecting back on who I was at 22 unearths many complicated feelings.  I vacillate between feeling a tremendous amount of compassion for who I was then and being harshly critical of a young woman with all the advantages to know better.   Mostly, I want to tell my younger self to hang in there until the next decade when things would get infinitely less awful.

Despite my lifelong desire to have a child, I knew that at that moment, I was in no position to do so.  I was not emotionally or financially ready.  I did not have a reliable partner.  I had dreams of furthering my education and becoming a clinical social worker.  Of course, I had more resources at my disposal than most, but I understood that this was not the time for me to become a mother.   Still, it was not remotely an easy decision to end the pregnancy.  Growing up in a socially and politically liberal family (in which I could count on support no matter which way I chose) served to bolster my confidence, but it did not take the weight off my shoulders.

As I carefully considered my options, the reality of my situation crystallized.  I asked myself the tough questions – Could a person who had been careless about birth control really be trusted to raise a child?  Could a person who still had to borrow a portion of the rent from her parents support a family?  Could a person who struggled to disentangle from an utterly inappropriate relationship be a model for a child?   Ultimately, I decided the instrumentals were workable – I could secure another job, I could garner additional financial support, I could move home, etc. – but where I was in my emotional development made the kind of parenting I always had in mind a long-shot.

As a person who had long fantasized about bringing a child into this world, with all the attendant joys and responsibilities, I wanted to offer a baby nothing short of every opportunity.  At 22, decent parenting was certainly within my grasp (in fact I had known many fantastic young, single mothers), but excellent parenting was not…I simply wasn’t there yet.  This is to say nothing of what having a child would mean for my own educational and professional prospects.

The debate in this country about reproductive freedom is almost always oversimplified.  Being pro-choice does not mean being cavalier about abortion.  Even though abortion was the right choice for me, it is diminishing to imagine I took the decision lightly.  In fact, I had the luxury of considering all angles and being intentional about my choice.  So many women, because of socio-economic, religious or cultural constraints do not have the same control over their lives.

And here is the truth about my life after the abortion: The ex in question responded negatively to the pregnancy and essentially disappeared, confirming my assessment of having an unreliable partner.  I applied and was accepted to my graduate school of choice.  I went on to establish a successful social work career, albeit one in which I would have struggled mightily to provide for a child.  And I continued to make huge mistakes in relationships until I was finally ready, at age 34, to be with the right person and to nurture a marriage.

When I discovered that I would require fertility treatments to become pregnant all those years later, I was understandably baffled and immediately reflected back to that “missed opportunity” at age 22.  For the first time since, I engaged in magical thinking about the abortion: ‘I squandered my one chance at having a baby.’  In my lowest moment, I even wondered if I “deserved” another chance at a child – maybe somehow I was being punished.  Mercifully, it all worked out as it should and with the full capacities of an adult woman with a career, relationship security and the emotional stability requisite for parenting, I had a child.

I have experienced painful challenges on both ends of the procreative spectrum.  The choice to have an abortion was gut wrenching, particularly in light of my lifelong desire to become a mother.  Later, the choice to undergo fertility treatments was heartbreaking and the process grueling.  It can be argued that these were the two most critical decisions of my life.  I am grateful that the power to make them ultimately rested in my hands.

Mother's Day for an Infertile Woman

Mother's Day is very much celebrated at the church I attend in Brooklyn.  On those Sundays, a couple of people from the congregation are usually asked to speak on the subject of Motherhood.  Last year, I was asked to speak.  At the time, I don't think the person asking me realized that I had been infertile for 7 years.  I am glad he didn't know, as he may never have asked me otherwise.  My heart was just pounding out of my chest when I received that phone call because I was so grateful I would have the privilege to speak on a subject that is so near and dear to my heart.  I accepted the assignment immediately.

Here's some of what I shared with that congregation.  I couldn't hold back the tears on this one. They were tears of gratitude.  They came before I even said the first word at the pulpit.  I just felt so grateful that day to see how far I had come and to be able to share with everyone what motherhood has meant to me…….

Mother’s Day

May 8, 2011

I am happy to be able to speak on Mother's Day - one reason is I can stand and tell each one of you women how much I love you and admire you for all that you do.

Also, I'm just personally happy that I could feel so at peace with speaking on Mother's Day…even though I am not yet a mother.  You should know that feeling this peace is a miracle to me.  There were years when I did not enjoy this day and didn't even want to be near this building on Mother's Day as it was too sad for me to be around so many mothers when I couldn't be one myself.  But, because of the human ability to transform & overcome our trials and become something more than we are, I am not the same woman that I was back then.  I’m grateful that I can now celebrate this day, not because I am a mother, but because of what the desire for motherhood has done to my life.

Just like all of you moms who want to be the best you can be for your children, I do too.  And I’ve had a long time to think about what it means to be a good mother and to be a good influence.

I’ve come to realize learning to face our trials with strength is one of the greatest things I could ever learn in my quest to be a good mother.  Because if I couldn’t overcome my own trials, how on earth would I be able to teach my own children how to face theirs?

Overcoming trials is no easy feat.  But doing so is a gift to the world.  It’s a gift to your spouse, your children (born or unborn) and really, all humanity.  It allows you to live with more character & strength.  It allows you to be free of the toxicity & negativity & pain that you normally might send into the world.

Prior to figuring this out, there were a few other sources of great sadness in my life.  In addition to the infertility, my former husband had been suffering for many years with some mental difficulties, a situation that brought lots of anguish and uncertainty into our home & marriage.  At the time, I was barely getting by.  I was reacting to my circumstances with insecurity, fear & loss of hope.  But I began to realize that I was choosing to react that way – my pain wasn’t just a result of my unfortunate circumstances, it was a result of how I chose to react to my circumstances.  In the face of criticism, I was letting harsh words ruin my soul & self-worth.  In the face of an uncertain marriage, I was letting thoughts of losing my husband & being alone fill me with tremendous insecurity & fear.  In the face of infertility, I was letting the fear of not being able to conceive bring me feelings of inadequacy.  In the face of a life that was not what I had envisioned for myself, I felt a loss of purpose.  I looked at other mothers’ lives with envy.  And I wondered how I could ever have meaning or purpose in my life if I didn’t have a husband and a family.  For years, these reactions compounded and affected me so greatly that I no longer was living with peace & happiness.  I did not even have the strength nor the energy to help or think about others around me, because I thought my plate was already “so full” and I was already spread so thin because of my own unfortunate circumstances.

BUT, I was blessed to have a wake-up call.  Someone pointed out to me that if this was the way I chose to live my life, I would be teaching my children to live this way as well.  Once my eyes became open to the revolutionary idea that I had a choice in how I reacted to my circumstances, my long-time desire to be a good mother kicked in full force and I deliberately began practicing reacting to things in a more positive way.  And I mean it when I say I practiced!  I would actually look for little opportunities in my life where I could try to make changes & put this new way of life to the test.

And so, as I practiced, I worked to transform my usual fear and negative thoughts by surrendering my natural self/ego.  I didn’t always know how to do this.  But I realized it meant that my deepest thoughts and feelings & emotions of my heart needed to be turned around and fully aligned with a greater purpose – for me, it was surrendering to oneness with God.  That meant giving up the tendency to be full of fear, frustration, anger, selfishness, pride, judgment, doubt, or worry in my day-to-day experiences and instead – and surrendering fully & completely to the attributes of love, patience, faith, kindness, forgiveness, hope & charity.  Even in those awful moments!  Even in the face of infertility and divorce!  It is a huge sacrifice for most of us to surrender and to give up our natural selves.  Even though this was a hard to do, love for my unborn children literally fueled it gave it power and made it possible.  This turned out to be the greatest offering of love I have ever experienced.  This choice to live my life motivated by love has transformed my life more than any other decision I’ve ever made.  There is no force more powerful than love.

It didn’t come as naturally in the beginning, but little by little, I began conquering all that I had before me.  If there was a reason for me to be deeply offended & hurt, I remained still and took no offense as the offender simply clearly was not at peace, which is a sad place to be in.  If there was a reason for me to be angry, I responded with compassion for the pain someone else was in.  If there was a reason for me to be impatient, I remained hopeful and calm and whole.  If there was a reason for me to blame, I had compassion for another's state of life and forgave with no conditions, as I knew I would be fine, either way.  If there was a reason to feel hopeless about my future & the loss of my marriage, I trusted that trials of this life could be for my greater good and that adversity was necessary to build true character.  If there was a reason to feel insecure or humiliated by eventually being rejected by my husband or being newly divorced & single in New York City, I believed that it was my divine right to be full self worth and that I could face my single life with confidence.  If there was a reason to judge, I had sympathy for another’s weaknesses.  And if there was a reason to feel sorry for myself & my circumstances, instead I actually felt grateful for the privilege of learning from this mortal experience, no matter how grim my life seemed.  This time of my life was amazing and sanctifying.  My existence had changed.  And today I celebrate why this process began – it was because I wanted to be a good mother.

(Photo above taken by photographer Chris Lindsay in my home, 4 years ago.  At the time this photo was taken, I was just barely learning how to become completely at peace with my infertility & years of a hurtful marriage.  I love having this photo as a reminder of that pivotal & beautiful time in my life.  My first marriage ended unexpectedly maybe a month after this photo was taken.  I am now remarried to the most wonderful man ever, though we have not yet been able to have children - but we feel good things are in store.)

K's maternity

[gallery link="file"] One photographer captures another's pregnancy through the lens of their friendship.