Pink Cadillac

This past Sunday, my son had a basketball game at an ungodly early hour. Previously, this would have been reason to bitch and moan, but I'm proud to have noted that I didn't react that way. I didn't love dragging us both out of bed so early on a Sunday, but big deal; the weather was crisp, sunny, and glorious. I enjoyed the drive, watching the leaves begin to turn. My son was going to get physical activity. I had surgery three weeks ago, and felt grateful that I was able to move my body with ease to get out of bed. I was tired but calm, no foggy morning grumpiness. It's continuously gratifying to notice my increasingly relaxed responses to situations.

Recently, I was invited to a small birthday gathering for a close friend, that was being planned by someone else. I didn't want to go, so I politely declined, having in mind how I'd alternatively celebrate the birthday girl, whom I love dearly. I again noticed my appropriate response, which felt good. Rather than listing all the reasons why I didn't want to go, but probably going anyway lest the others in the group think ill of me, I simply said, "no thank you, I'll do something else, but have fun". That was it, no fuss no muss. I would have given a whole whiny song and dance in days of yore. No mas. Simplicity feels good.

 On the way home from the basketball game, we passed a little local museum that honors this quaint Jersey town. Chicks dig quaint! The museum was having an outdoor vintage Cadillac show. No way we weren't going! We jumped out to take a look. There was no charge, and there were sweet volunteers offering coffee and bagels. Local car enthusiasts were pulling in to proudly show off their collectors automobiles. People with a passion who just wanted to share their beloved hobby with others. No technology, no hashtags, no snapchats. I made my son and his friend leave their phones in the car, promising I'd be the photographer. I hate those phones, Man. Seeing my kids with them drives me nuts, especially since I know they enjoy life without them. I mean, so do I, and I have to pry my phone out of my hands also, which fills me with self loathing. I'm so much happier without it, but my music is on it, I write on it, blah blah blah, so there's always reasons to keep it with me. Still, I'm calmer without it. The pull these devices has on us it poisonous. Which is why I was so thrilled to partake in this wholesome, interesting, historical car show.

Of course the boys loved it🚗🚗. Men and cars😎. They loved the history, seeing cars from different eras. It was funny to hear them talk about how the 80's and 50's are interchangeable. Any year beginning with a 19 is just foreign to them. But we looked at the evolution of the vehicles, noting size, design etc. They got to sit in one. My favorite part about this activity was that it was spontaneous. There is no one that doesn't get a thrill from the unplanned. It's moments like these that can boost your entire mood, and make your whole day feel genuinely  productive. Had I been so focused on the early hour, or any other point of kvetchy negativity, I'd have missed this little gem of a display. Enjoying an outdoor activity on a beautiful Fall day is such a gift. What a way to start our morning🍂🍁🌞. I'm naturally a spontaneous person, who had been living a life utterly lacking in spontaneity. It didn't jive with me, but we get stuck in routine. That's over with. Freedom of mind, something I'm always working on, means freedom of being. Free to explore life's unexpected joys. At one point I squeezed my son and said, "with mommy it's always an adventure, right?" He looked at me sweetly, giggled, and agreed. I thought back to how I promised myself a year and a half ago, that I'd be the most interesting woman my kids ever knew. I'm proud that I am now living a life that honors that promise. With clear eyes, we are able to see what opportunities life has to constantly offer us👀. Try not to miss anything. Sight that brings spontaneous simplicity is so special.

Have a great day,

LB 🍂🍁🌼🌰🌻

OMG, I'm on IG

It was exactly one year ago, the afternoon right before the first nightof Sukkot, that I first posted on Instagram. As usual, I was very late to the tech party. I resisted any form of social media, viewing it as a vacuous hole of self aggrandizing white noise.

I am clearly a creative person with a lot to say. I have always been that way, thankfully. What I lacked was the right kind of audience that would be my sounding board for self expression. It was very stifling and frustrating. I felt stuck in that my channels for sharing were nonexistent. Yes, I love to cook for my family. I love to dress for myself. Play music for my own soul. Write for my personal needs. But it wasn't enough. I had a burning ache to share, and I didn't know how to do it. Looking at my drawer full of notebooks became stressful. Poems, lyrics, and ideas locked away, without the prospect of being known by others. Aspirations and goals fading with each year, as they tend to do if they're not nurtured. Dreams turning to fear that my life would never take further shape.  People have always told me I should do things with my talents. It took me a long time to admit I had talent, since it ceased being definable in my head. I would have done anything given the opportunity. I wanted to write greeting cards. I wanted to help people write custom, clever invitations, funny songs and poems for occasions. Anything just to write and dust off that muscle.

My dream was always to write song lyrics, as well as to hang with the Seth Rogen gang. I swear; I had vivid visions of just being with that group of friends and coming up with mischievous,  whip smart plots and witticisms all day. We'd just riff and see what happens. I even wrote a poem about it three years ago. On carpool line. After listening to Seth on Howard Stern, and crying in my car that all I did that day was get groceries and do some cardio. What was once enough for me was no longer enough. Speaking of Howard, and I still do this; nonstop fantasies about being a Robin type of cohost. I knew exactly what I'd say to Benji (that offensive idiot), Gary, and JD. I love Gary, btw. Ba Ba Booey forever. I'd continuously seek approval from Fred, the seemingly most elusive and hardest to please. I'd get it too, because of my quick wit and propensity towards the utterly ridiculous. Howard, the true King of all media, would silently knight me. That studio has been the only place I've wanted to be for decades. I've been a listener since I'm 15. Howard was an escape for me in adolescence, and continued to be throughout my entire life. He gave me a sense of belonging when I felt adrift as a grownup. If I wasn't yet aware of any real sense of purpose, at least I could laugh. I could pull over and piss my pants, listening to Howard impersonate his parents. I could listen to the super intelligent Robin reporting current events. This is admittedly my sole source of news. If there was a shitty evening at home, I'd seek solace in my mom van and just lose myself in wit, sharp observations, and belly laughs. This has always been my home. I dream of writing those spoof songs that rip apart certain staff members. I've got the Jewish humor thing down pat. The dark humor, the silly stuff, the self deprecation, the imagination. I'd sit listening to Sirius radio and feel my wackiness wasting away. I still want to be in Howard's club, except now there are so many other things I want to do too. Things that perhaps, are a tad more realistic.

It's very hard to have your dreams remain trapped in the tiny circumference of your own brain, because they aren't meant to stay there. I likened my thoughts to prisoners trying to escape, but if they were successful, to where would they run? This Shawshank comparison contributed to my Ambien addiction. I'm trying to ween that now, which I've only just begun to attempt given my increased amounts of inner peace. Peaceful, satisfied people do not need pills to fall asleep. It's those of us that cannot shut down or turn off our minds that can't drift off naturally. I've never smoked or tried any sort of drug. Truth. This was my only vice. I knew why. My head would pound every night knowing what should be bursting but couldn't. Ideas boiling over with nothing to catch them. Our entire beings are meant to be open and release. Muscles, tissues, our hearts, and souls, our bodies themselves, are designed to be in constant states of release and expansiveness. What we trap within us will eventually begin to erode. We are human beings, not dark, dusty attics built for storage.

My dear personal guide to life, a fellow LB, convinced me to start an Instagram account. I admire her tremendously, and would sit in Times Square and bark like a dog if she instructed me. She was like, you are an artist. You must express pronto. I was very skeptical. I didn't believe in myself enough. Bad conditioning and things I won't write about are mostly the reason for that. But some friends just know. I recall with a pounding heart and shaking fingers, pressing the keys that would start to send my stuff into the vortex of social media. I needed my 14 year old to do it the first few times. A good friend of mine who is a successful businesswoman advised me to pick one lane. That I could not do. I am too passionate about too many things to suffocate any avenue. We must give in to every area in which we are able. First to ourselves, then to others. It's not egotistical to understand I have gifts and talents. It's simply self awareness. You wouldn't go to someone who considers themselves a mediocre gastroenterologist, would you? Let Kanye talk about his gifts. He earned it. The instant you've decided you aren't worthy, you have already surrendered. It's over before it started. And that feeling sucks. "I gave up on discovering my own dreams years ago, and now I'm in a great place" said NO ONE EVER.

Instagram, my little fashtunkunah private one, gave my mental prisoners their first place of refuge. And it felt good! It was gratifying to write poetry that meant something to a follower, or share a recipe with friends. Sharing soothes the soul. Yes, it's too easy to plummet down the rabbit hole of time sucking likes, accounts, followers, blah blah blah. But it teaches us balance like all else in life. The inspirational sayings I read on IG sometimes get me through my day. There is so much uplifting material to be found. If this is the means of finding it, so be it. The day I went to hear Norma Kamali lecture, she, who built her career decades ago without all this stuff, told the crowd that using your iPhone to get yourself out there is simply and factually essential nowadays. If Norma could embrace this, so could I. It was almost permission from someone I so deeply admire. We follow each other, btw. When she likes or comments, I do a major happy dance. I'd never have connected to her otherwise. My little IG became a stepping stone to what has taken shape as Lady Blaga, in just a few months. I am blown away by the speeding train that my first, frightening post set on the rails. It led me to being more comfortable and confident in sharing. It led me to Tzvia, who zeroed in on my potential. It led me to dig, to delve, to divulge. It led to all of you reading this. Which goes back to my original dream of being seen and heard. It is not bullshit when people say when you want something badly enough, the universe will help you get it. It's alive via Lady Blaga.

I have been told I provide a voice for various things, especially within the Jewish community. One friend was inspired to finally pursue her dream of singing and recording. Another finally filmed the pilot she's been cooking up in her head. It blows me away that I have impacted anyone. It's proof that we are all roots on the same tree. Help, climb, support, reach. This applies to both ourselves as well as others. When I try to remember the timid, shaking leaf who didn't think anyone would care about her words, I see it's getting harder to remember her. That wasn't me, it was just a hollow version of me. It's ok, we have phases just as the moon does. We all have our barren winters and blooming springs. We are never just one thing. To view yourself as the same way means it's your time to shift. To create an idea, to choose a location, to press SHARE. Releasing with purity is like a boomerang. It will come back to you. Don't ever not give yourself credit. Work for it, be proud. People will listen, and the first and last person will be yourself. Bookend your own life, for no one can do that better than you can. It's ok to be trepidatious. Opening up isn't easy. But as the lotus emerges from the mud, so will you. What's not ok is not to try. Ignore anyone who tries to convince you otherwise. Delete their account from your life. The right followers will come. I love and appreciate you all very much. Thank you for finding me. 🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓 Lady Blaga

Fish People

I recently watched this documentary titled "Fish People". You can find it On Demand. My kids were off from school, it was one of those much needed pouring rainy days, and my little one and I were lying in bed. Bliss. He wanted to watch a movie, and I was cranky about it since lately I find tv so noisy and invasive. In an ear shattering way. I didn't think we'd find something to agree on, and I didn't want to watch ten annoying Lego movie trailers before vetoing the whole attempt. I should have given my son more credit. He's an extremely bright seven year old who loves nature documentaries. We happened upon Fish People. It was 49 minutes, so a minor time commitment.

It intrigued us both. It's about six or so different people across the globe, each who in their own way have devoted their lives to the ocean. There were surfers and divers from Hawaii, a pro ocean swimmer from California, an ocean photographer from Australia, to name a few. It was riveting. Listening to these people describe in detail about their lifelong love with the sea, one of the most powerful forces of nature, was deeply impactful. In a crying, thought provoking, I hate my life kind of way. You should know (though it's major TMI) that I had my period, and I made the mistake of listening to "Walking in Memphis" a couple hours prior. This song and my menstrual cycle are not compatible. Every time I hear it when "my friend visits" I can't stop crying. The film was beautiful. To watch how people could be so one with the elements. How they use nature to excite themselves, to soothe their pain, to use the ocean as a therapist, a best friend, a lover. The water as a means of giving to others.

One pro surfer in San Francisco dedicates his life to teaching inner city kids how to surf, as a means of healing and escape. His name is Eddie. I happen to love that name, and he was so handsome. I swear I wanted to fly to California, hunt him down, and marry him. Eddie, would you consider converting to Judaism? What a good person he is. I was so drawn in by the symbolic tide of observing how humans partner with God's earth to sustain each other. It's exactly how it's meant to be. I felt so sad. Living in an urban environment that's so centered on material things, coupled with restrictions in organized religion, makes me feel so removed from how life is supposed to be. It made me question how we raise our kids in such a materialistic atmosphere. That has always driven me crazy, but the drawer in which I put those concerns had been pulled open. I don't want to take my kids to the mall, I want to take them to the beach or on a hike. It pains me watching them play video games, when I'd be so much happier seeing them delight in nature. I know they'd be happier that way too! Yes, I try. And my children do love nature. But it doesn't govern our lives, and it should. I felt both inspired and gutted.

I called a friend crying about this. I said, "we are all making a mistake. We are wasting our lives, living so removed. The value system is off." She didn't disagree, and she and I have discussed this before. Anyone who knows me knows I often think and feel this way. The depth of appreciation these Fish People have for the deep, mysterious, vastness of the ocean was fascinating. They are not afraid. They embrace whatever lies beneath. They adjust to the tides, to the rhythm of the water. They may get held under but they always come back up for air. They trust themselves, and they trust the ocean. If this isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is. By not being afraid, they are free to explore. Diving into the sea makes them see inside themselves. The water is their home, not the enemy. The pro ocean swimmer swam in the 80's from Alaska to Russia, thereby improving political relations at that time. Her thinking was, if I can swim from one country to the next, we are not as far apart as we all think we are... Literal deep thoughts. This movie pierced my core, which is what good movies are meant to do. It gave me more ideas about how I can apply my passions to helping kids. It was a reminder that in order for me to feel happy I must constantly make nature a regular part of my life. I don't want to feel sad about this, rather I'll do something about it so that I'll feel happy. What bigger gift has God given us than all the wonders of nature? How dare we not receive those gifts graciously. Telling myself I could write about this immediately calmed me down a bit.

So thank you for reading this. Writing, like immersing in water, is healing and self soothing. I'm so grateful I can do it. It has always been there for me. Words are my waves. They move me, comfort me, excite me. Words are so precious. They are one of the chief ways we communicate. The ocean has its own language, one that is wordless. All languages are sacred. All are important. This film gave me a dose of mindfulness. I thanked my son for insisting we watch something. I highly recommend seeing this documentary. Please let me know if it moves you. There is no end to how much nature has to teach us. We only have to want to learn. 🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

Uncovering Hair

Thinking pink! The bright, neon color of this party dress is cause for celebration 👛🌂👑. A smooth, bold, clean burst of fun girlishness. I bought it a couple years ago and never wore it, since as I've mentioned in other posts, pink is definitely not my go to. However, just like I sometimes crave a gloomy, cloudy day, it's also occasionally nice to to be awash in a bright pop of energetic color.

I adore these shoes; they look like a watercolor painting. Giuseppe Zanotti shoes are more comfortable for me than most other heels. It's easier to be in a party mood when you don't feel the need to amputate your feet. There's actually never a party I don't bring sneakers or flip flops to. I love to dance, and just can't do it in heels. I always have a diaper bag of sneakers and socks to change into, even if it's a black tie event. Treating your feet well and enjoying the rhythm of your body is cause enough for celebration. Every woman groans in envy, and I always think; at what point did it become mandatory for women to have to balance on foot long needles in order to look good?? Don't get me started on laser hair removal, which I'm convinced was started by Dr. Mengele during his wild experimental days during the Holocaust. I mean, I do it, but there's no question it should have been a medieval torture tactic. Sigh; chicks, Man. Still, I'd rather be a girl and have methods and tricks for how to look nice. Men just get to change their ties and socks 👔,and no one really cares. I seriously always felt bad if a guy had rings under his eyes, a zit, or a gut, and it's deemed socially unacceptable for them to do something about it.

Everyone should have the gift of illusion. When I'm not loving what I see in the mirror, it calls for some other kind of smoke and mirrors. Up to the situation on my head. This is one of my all time fave accessories, duh. It's a straw headband from Magnetic Midnight. I had to own this, for obvious reasons! Bright, beautiful, and super bold; this creation belonged on my head. It fulfilled the fantasy I didn't know I had, of auditioning for "The King And I ". Or, attending Carnival in Rio. This piece is so fun and majestic.

The mood has got to match it; no sourpuss vibes here, or you'd look ridiculous. When I was married, I wore this to "cover my hair" at the Western Wall once. The point of this is to achieve modesty and symbolize your married status. Um... You wanna take this one or should I? Me? Ok, fine.

First, there is clearly nothing modest about this piece, which is why I like it. It screams "LOOK AT ME NOW OR ELSE‼️". So often, all these tulle, feathery concoctions that have landed on the heads of women in synagogue are the opposite of modest and demure. Believe me, I don't care, it's just an interesting social commentary...

Second, I am not married anymore. Which I guess means that when I now wear this, perhaps it symbolizes divorce? Wouldn't that be funny, if all divorced women all of a sudden were issued specific outfit instructions? I never understood why in synagogue, that a tiny doily folded into eighths pinned to the back of a head, should mean a lady is in the married club. It's kinda mean, if you think about it from another perspective of "if he liked it than he should've put a ring on it"💍👒.

What if someone never met the right guy and was still single in middle age, and therefore not only doesn't have a husband but also no children? Or if a woman was just abandoned by her husband. Or widowed and therefore unattached. The need for so many lines drawn and all these categories can feel insensitive. I'm perfectly comfortable showing up to Shul with my bare head, and I'll keep wearing an accessory if I want to for no other reason than I like it. Having something on my head for an hour a week didn't make me feel more married, just like not having something makes me feel divorced. It's all a state of being in your head and heart. Yes, religion has many rules that I'm not changing, or looking to change. But that doesn't mean we can't observe and discuss.

It isn't fair that a woman's personal business is on display for the whole congregation to witness and evaluate. People have pain and complications in their lives. A place of worship is meant to be a house of solace and comfort. I imagine it's very difficult for some people to show up and feel so exposed and visible. Prayer is a highly private endeavor. I know many married women who don't seem happy. A hat doesn't cover that up. Just like there are single women who are perfectly comfortable with their lives. Being single or divorced in the orthodox community has such a condescending, terrible stigma. It's undeserved. It does not mean we are broken people. It does not mean our children will be messed up. In fact, I'm certain that my kids are wonderful, kind, and well adjusted. My not wearing a doily doesn't change the fact that they have two loving, devoted parents who are working together to raise them well.  The goal of Jewish adulthood is to get married and have children. Reproduction to contribute to the population. Otherwise known as "family".  I said "family" I didn't say "partnership"....

What happens after synagogue when the fascinator comes off? It's seems like it's an illusion of security, which is dangerous. Covering up is a very slippery slope for humans. Little acts of external covering most likely leads to internal closing up as well. In high school, I wasn't allowed to take a final exam because it was 95 degrees outside so I didn't wear socks, therefore exposing my ankles. I assumed my floor length skirt would be sufficient, but alas it was not. I just can't see how this could be healthy; to transmit to anyone that the sight of an ankle is a bad, problematic thing. Didn't God give us those ankles? They're not sexual, they're actually bumpy and the bones protrude. Listen, I'm not saying buck the system. Places are entitled to their own ways of doing things. If a synagogue has rules, and we elect to attend, we must respect our environment. That being said, we must also wake up and be aware of what we are doing and why. If people center their lives around religion and don't give it much thought other than robotic movements, then what's the point? It can't enrich our lives that way. The more we connect to our actions, the more they'll resonate in our hearts. But there should be an increased level of sensitivity as far as the whole head covering.

Chicks shouldn't be singled out for being single.

Nothing good comes of that. It poisons the well of thinking in our daughters. The goal isn't a headband. The goal is love, truth, and contribution. Married or not, everyone can add to that intention. Even as a child, I was always the vocal one sticking up for my friends. Yapping on about schoolyard injustice. I write this not for myself. I'm very content with my station on life, and my ex and I indeed have a solid partnership that has been poured into the foundations of our lives. I say this because no one should ever walk into a Shul and feel unworthy, unwanted, and subpar. Bottom line, I love this freaking headpiece. I will wear it alone. I will wear it married. It covers nothing, nor would I want it to. It sits on top of a head that is filled with thoughts, questions, and ideas. Ain't nothing to hide about that.
 

Yo, DJ, Pump This Party 📀📀

I know I haven't written about this in awhile, but rest assured I'm still in DJ school. I think I have a harder time writing about it because it's so incredibly important to me. Out of everything I'm currently doing, and out of everything I'm going to do, this is really my dream. All roads for me lead to standing in a corner in a little club/ bar in Brooklyn, just playing music that is meaningful to me. Showing people a good time, making them move, making them feel. Helping them leave their lives at the door, and just release into lyrics and melody.

I get so lost in my music, whether I'm working out, cooking, or standing on a line. I can be in traffic forever (except if I have to go to the bathroom😝) as long as I can hear music I love. My headphones instantly create an invisible force field around me. I feel all tension in my body melt. Being a giving natured person who has tapped into her need and love to share, it makes perfect sense that I'd want to give others the same musical experience.

A DJ friend of mine recently told me that sometimes after a gig, people will just come up to him and hug him. I GET THAT COMPLETELY. Music is one of the most visceral, honest gifts we have in the world. It has the power to unite people across the globe, in all walks of life. Music doesn't judge. It cares not about your emotional issues, your weight, or your financial status. It loves you and will hold you up if you are dying, or have suicidal thoughts. It sheps nachas as you kiss someone for the first time. It memorializes and celebrates your life throughout every single moment. It's there for you if you are deaf. Through heavy beats and sign language, it finds its way into your body, though maybe not your ears. It pumps us up and calms us down. I could not live without it. Could not.

Like all things that excite me, my love for a heavy beat and a brilliant, or even just an honest, lyric are meant to be transmitted. A great DJ has the ability to heal and spread joy. Oh man, I can't wait for that. I won't care whether or not two people are listening, or two hundred. If I feel what I'm playing, then I will go to bed happy that night. I feel this way when I write. If I write something I'm proud of, then the process stops there. It doesn't matter how many hits, likes, or views it gets. It's gratifying enough putting out something of quality. If you shoot your arrow in the right direction with the right intention, it will land properly.

One of my favorite things about this particular journey is all the really nice people I've met at school. I see my instructors at Scratch every week. I love the encouraging, supportive, educational, and FUN vibe they consistently send me. It feels great how much they're rooting for me. IT IS HOW EVERYONE SHOULD TREAT EACH OTHER AT ALL TIMES. Recently I dragged SF, the Bert to my Ernie, clubbing in Crown Heights and Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Um, we came home at 6:30 am. It was wild. We felt like Thelma and Louise, minus the part about killing someone and covering it up. There's always next time!

We went to see a couple of Scratch DJs play in different venues, unintentionally meeting up with other fun DJ peeps who I know from school. The music was insane. Rogue, Noumenon, and Esquire are wizards! Everyone we met was so nice, so chill, so cool. No one was dressed up. No one had a shred of pretense. Just people out to have a good time. Living in a homogenous neighborhood can really bring one down. It feels stale and stifled. It can be a hard place to live, which is why I've retreated so much, burying myself in my true friends, my family, and my passions. Many DJs I've spoken to claim to be very antisocial. Despite performing in public spaces, it's a very solitary endeavor. You've got to be super focused, on your toes, aware of the crowd, and exact with counting beats. No wonder they loathe requests! By the way, loathe. Don't. Do. It. They'll put a hex on you. You live in the music, which lives in your head. When I'm interrupted while listening to something, it drives me crazy. It feels so invasive. It's like someone barging in on you while you're getting undressed.

A few months ago, I went alone to an event at my school. Different guest DJs were spinning. It was a room full of all kinds of people standing on common ground. We all knew why the other was there. Friends, strangers, colleagues, students, battle champs, it didn't matter. Everyone just showed up to hear, learn, and teach. I realized I was happier in that room full of strangers than I'd be if I was at a bar mitzvah knowing every person there. Just because someone knows you, it doesn't mean they recognize you. It was wonderful and unfamiliar to be in an environment of creativity and encouragement.

I'm 39 years old. It's crazy it took this long to experience. It shouldn't be that way. This is how things should be all the time, and I felt a bit sad that I've never lived within that. I simultaneously felt grateful that I finally had this revelation. From that moment on, I decided it's that or solitude. I like myself way too much to feel I'm surrounded by the wrong people. I always say I enjoy my own company, and I do. I don't need people as white noise. Silence is so beautiful. It's underrated. I'm not afraid of my own thoughts, I can be alone with them. And eventually, I will play them for you, and we will connect while most likely never exchanging a word. Music, like love, is universal. Sing in the shower today, or in your car. Dance while you cook. Bust a move in front of your bathroom mirror. Send a friend a song you love, like I do every week on this blog. If you listen closely, you'll feel me saying something. Just no requests please, it's super annoying. In the words of Jay Z, "If y'all got love for me,I got love for y'all. And if y'all go to war for me, I'll go to war with y'all". Oh, and watch The Defiant Ones on HBO. Tonight. 📀🎧🎼❤️, LB

The Chosen Ones 🤔

So we just finished Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. My restructured family of six had a thoroughly enjoyable few days. It felt great to be back in my kitchen, making requested family favorites that I save for special occasions. Even though it was just us, I busted out my best china and silver. The flowers, food, and festive mood were all on point. Despite my wanderlust and large eyes for the world, I'm a true homebody at heart. There was great table talk, lots of Monopoly, focus on family, and synagogue. I have mentioned many times about my deep connection to synagogue and prayer. I was really looking forward to enjoying that dose of spirituality with my daughters (in our orthodox synagogue the men and women sit separately).

Growing up, synagogue on the High Holidays meant three hours of trapped boredom. You were not allowed to leave unless your bladder was bursting, and everyone's breath was terrible. Boredom would lead to gossip and chatter, which clearly was counterproductive to seeking a state of higher being. I, as well as my kids' dad, am much more chill with that. I believe in quality over quantity, so as long as we've showed up, communicated with God, and heard the shofar a few times, we can exit on a high note. We aren't the first nor the last to be there. I'd rather, as a parent, transmit a feeling of enjoyment for Shul , rather than a sense of entrapment. I want my kids to regard it as something they want to do. However as a child,  I learned how to sit and exist in a state of boredom, something most kids today simply don't know how to do. Being bored and un entertained is an important skill. Life does not owe us constant stimulation. Sometimes you just have to wait and be quiet, end of story.

Usually, when the Hebrew words in the prayer book don't grab me, or when I just want to learn the content from a different perspective, I read the English. For the first time, a lot of what I read was upsetting to me. First, the hundreds of pages devoted to guilt really struck me as tremendously manipulative and wrong. Fire and brimstone isn't loving or inviting. I love God, and I know God loves me, so please don't threaten me with the details of my impending, excruciating death in order to get me to comply. Who the heck wants to sit there reading that all morning? Having been conditioned to trust this as normal my whole life, I never paid attention. Judaism prides itself on being a religion where questions are encouraged, so I'm asking; why make religion about fear and guilt? I'm not asking to get answers, I'm asking just because there's no reason not to. I know the answer, and I'm certain it's the wrong approach. I want my kids to be good people because they know in their hearts it's the right way to be, not because they fear punishment.

Second, the amount of people in the synagogue on the High Holidays is famously quadrupled. This is not a comment on regular attendance; that's not of interest to me, nor is it my business. It's what it represents; we are taught that if you sneak in to this building before Yom Kippur is over, you juuuussstttt may make it into the Book Of Life. It's a loophole that is, once again, highly manipulative. It's like the teacher himself telling the students to not bother with studying all semester; just use the cliffs notes before the final and you'll pass. It all goes back to escaping illness and death. It's like a video game of how to outrun the Grim Reaper.                     

The content of the prayer book that really bothered me this year was all the mention of how Jews are the Chosen People, another notion I never questioned. I'm in the club, I felt special and superior to the rest of the world. Feeling that way is something to savor, not question. If you're fortunate to be born amongst the selected, shut up and go with it. As my eyes are opening up, taking my heart with it (perhaps it's the reverse), I'm increasingly uncomfortable with that idea. If God created every single person on earth, do we really believe He bothered with making MOST OF THE WORLD substandard?? That a tiny minority is truly better than everyone else? It's so elitist, snobby, and obnoxious. In yoga the knowledge that each one of us has the same beautiful, magical spirit feels so right. It's what connects us all. It's what makes each one of us a root in the tree of life. Learning this has given me such an increased gratitude for life. A dear friend of mine, who isn't Jewish, recently said, "you all live so sectioned off, and then wonder why most people don't like you". This person has many close Jewish friends. He said it from a place of love, not antagonism. It struck me in its correctness.

I was discussing the idea with my yoga teacher recently, how Jews are prohibited from getting tattooed. It will keep you out of a Jewish cemetery. I'd always felt I'd be the perfect candidate for a tattoo, since I love words and using the body for expression. However, I probably would have chosen something stupid that I'd regret later, so I'm not entirely sorry to have the threat of being separated from my children in eternity looming over me. Plus, no 75 year old woman looks hot with a tattoo. Men, of course🙄, seem to get away with it better. Quel surprise. I recall learning the reasoning behind this prohibition in high school. That since Jewish people are One, we can't do things that mark us as different from one another. I always liked this concept of unification. However, my teacher responded to that with, of course our bodies are all so clearly different; it's our souls and our spirits that are One. The exterior doesn't matter. The bodies are so temporary. What's INSIDE is what matters. This was so clear to me. I felt bathed with revelation, which is always a yummy feeling.

A friend of mine recently got a dog, after many years of thinking he'd never want one. He loves this pup. His wife, in telling me her husband's change of heart, said something so great. She recounted how in learning he loves his pet, he said,"it feels good to be wrong." I loved that, and I can relate so much. It indeed feels wonderful to be wrong because when we clear our heart of wrong, of untruths, we then make room for right and truth. Being open hearted and filling that space with other views, different thoughts, new experiences and understandings, is what makes us appreciative to be human. Which is why I no longer believe in the elitist Jewish club. Everyone is special, not just us. How can we teach genuine kindness to our kids and instill superiority simultaneously? It's contradictory. It isn't nice. And it's not respectful of God, to assume most of His creations will be left in the dust one day. See ya later, REST OF THE WORLD, the messiah only has room for US. I'm not comfortable with that anymore. It feels good to be wrong. I also always used to love the reverence of the service in which a small section of the congregation, descendants of the high priests, bless the rest of the community. This holy act is so serious, one must not glance upon the priests during the blessing. It occurred to me that this was even more exclusive still. That even amongst ourselves, we are dividing and deciding who is higher up on the totem pole. This was always my favorite part of the prayers. This year it turned me off. This is what I thought about during services this year; not begging and pleading that I don't get hit by a bus this year, or that lightening won't strike me if I "do something bad". Rather, I kept my palms turned upward, receiving newness. Not of a new year, but of a new day.

Every day signifies a new year, not just these two or three of the holiday. I contemplated the turns my life has taken, and how I'm ready for more. I thought about how proud I am of my family and it's unconventionality. Because after all, we are indeed the same inside. I gave myself over not to fear written in a book, but to my trust in God and His universe of support. The grounding in the ground, the limitless sky. The changing of the seasons that will soon occur. The flow of life. No punishment, just belief. It's a gentler approach. We need more softness in life. I love being Jewish, but I like being human even better. All of us were chosen to have our spirits catapult through space and timeand land on this planet for however many years. If you have ever lived, you have been chosen.  Best wishes for a happy and healthy life, The B 🐝                             

One Year Later

It's the start of another Jewish new year. As I reflect back on the course my life has taken since last Rosh Hashana, I'm amazed. New Years are just that; an entire year of your life that can be brand spanking new. Most people live their whole lives doing the exact same thing all the time. One of my favorite IG quotes is "how dare you do the exact same thing for 75 years and call it a life". This can be hard to read, since it calls you out on your shit. I mean, with all the things out there to learn from and experience, there is no reason at all to not take advantage of the gift of a whole new life cycle. God is like, wake up people! He literally commanded us to use that shofar as an alarm clock. He even instructed us to listen to it a certain number of times to ensure we don't just keep hitting snooze. The shofar holds power, not the actual horn of the ram, that's magical thinking, but in what it symbolizes. Of all the nutty things Jews observe, this is one of the good ones. The piercing sound of anything causes us to stop and take note. An ambulance leads us to be momentarily grateful for our health. A police car causes us to pass judgement and take stock of our morality. A fire truck makes us feel relieved our home isn't in flames. Another kid crying or throwing a fit gives us a fleeting air of superiority ("my child doesn't act like that"🙄).

The shofar isn't meant to just jolt us two days out of the year. It has the message of "Dudes, feel this way every single day. PAY ATTENTION". You cannot make any sort of changes without first paying attention to what needs to be altered. Acknowledgement is first and foremost. Chances are, if your life is entirely linear and stagnant, there's something you aren't dealing with. It doesn't mean there needs to be a constant restructuring of one's life in drastic ways, but there is ALWAYS room for major improvement. We are never to stop going forward. Years bleeding into years is a red flag. People wishing each other a Shana Tovah, a Good Year. How does one define a good year? It's pointless to define "good" as "same", then people would wish each other a "same, uneventful year".  Good has got to mean really, truly good. Not that no one got sick or died and that you once again outran the Angel of Death, but that you maximized your time here. It's like that saying "everybody dies but not everybody lives". Drake sings that line on Nicki Minaj's "Moment for Life". It gets me every single time.

Last year, I prayed for certain things as we all did. I've watched in wonder as many of those things have come true. It's as if I'm watching my life in a film, as an objective observer. Its a fascinating and humbling thing to see your life take shape. It can't just be luck or Mazal, that's too haphazard. We accomplish only what we set into motion. Not with empty words once a year in synagogue, but with persistence and a clean heart. This morning in yoga, as tired as I was from holiday cooking (which I enjoyed so much), I wanted to mentally prepare for the New Year. I no longer place such emphasis on these dates on a calendar, since every single day is the start of your life all over again, but such is the nature of tradition. My thought in class was this; with each yoga position we change shape, take on new motions and physical and spiritual formations. We keep flowing, keep breathing, doing our best in that moment. We are so aquatic, and water never stops moving. As we take on new shapes, we learn that we will achieve newness no matter what. We are safe to keep going. We are more pliable than we give ourselves credit for. We are supported by air and earth. We are meant to move with the cycle of the atmosphere. The more we realize what's out there, the more exciting life becomes. Pray for new, be new, create new. Don't just rely on God to give it to you; He is very busy. He's given you all the tools. Let's get to work 🔧🔨🔩🔑🚪

so you had a bad day

I recently sat in a group circle at a healing yoga workshop.  It was comprised of a lovely group of women, most of whom were new to me. When it was my turn to say how I'd come to be there, I briefly described my fairly new relationship with yoga. I never thought of it this way, but I heard myself saying, "there are no more bad days". This choice of words was so interesting to me, and it seemed to really resonate with the group. Everyone nodded and understood. I gave it thought after the class. I wanted to delve into those words that accurately tumbled out during an honest moment amongst strangers. It's really true though; while there are and always will be, difficult days, I can't recall a time I labeled an entire day as "bad". Believe me, I've had many one could sum up as such. Divorce is no picnic. Telling your children about divorce is one of the scariest, worst things you may ever have to do. It was easily the most terrifying moment of my adult life. After I did it, my whole body crashed for four days. The weight of the pressure of revealing that truth, absolutely pummeled me. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. There are difficult days dealing with a marriage too. No relationship is always totally smooth. Married couples can have bad periods that last months. Loneliness and strife will find us all, married or not. It's part of life. We have been given a vast spectrum of human emotions, half of them super shitty. This most certainly includes raising children. Hard days at work, a lousy moment with a friend. The list goes on. And it always will. To daydream about reaching this fantasy state in our lives, when all will be aligned, thus allowing us to finally be happy, will never happen. Even if all your circumstances are in sync, emotions and situations change minute to minute.

We can control almost nothing in our lives. Energy is constantly flowing in all sorts of directions. Take a mood swing. Blissful one moment, enraged the next. Your mood can be consistently cheerful one day, but your child's can be bitchy, therefore causing drama that you hadn't factored into your day. The plan you had to be happy that morning, despite your purest intentions, has been derailed by any of a number of things. Accept that as a possible looming reality. You're really never at the wheel, even though you cleaned, detailed, and gassed your car like a good girl should. Wanna know why I think I no longer have crappy days? Purpose. When you aren't certain and clear on your purpose in life, even seemingly great days feel shitty. Feeling adrift, even under a veneer of togetherness, is an extremely unsettling feeling. You may try to distract yourself with shopping, errands, putting down someone else, but the subconscious gnawing continues. Many mothers jump to the silly martyr excuse, that their purpose was to have kids. I did that, and it's lazy bullshit. First of all, then how do you account for the years prior to giving birth? Second, what an insane amount of pressure to put on your children, for forcing them to provide you with a reason for your existence. It's like expecting a baby to heal a marriage. It's actually the opposite of a selfless mommy martyr. It's selfish to dump your purpose onto any other person, especially a little kid. Find it yourself. Yes, that's a scary prospect ,but so what? It's our responsibility. There's no way around that. Out of basic gratitude for having been born, we simply must. We owe it to ourselves, to God, and to everyone we love. Some of our purposes are the same, some are vastly unique. Everyone can give and receive love, but not everyone will be a talented painter. We can all use our bodies to physically hug and kiss, but half the world shouldn't be legally allowed in a kitchen to cook for others. We can all smile, but we all can't teach math (I sure as hell can't). Some of our purposes are highly specialized and individual.

There was one Michael Jackson and one Stephen Hawking. But every single human being has the ability to be nice to someone else. To love. To support. I'm not talking about a sociopath with faulty wiring. I mean typical humans. We can all share, we can all receive. Often these abilities can be buried under years of emotional sediment, but the capability is indeed there. Many years ago, I did do some yoga regularly when I lived on NYC. It drove me crazy that during shivasana, when we are meant to lie still on the mat at the end of class, sealing in our practice, that I could not keep the palms of my hands facing upwards. It was an awkward, intensely uncomfortable feeling. I couldn't articulate what the issue was at 23 years old, but I never forgot about it. It was this: for whatever the reasons were, I was not able to receive. An upwards, open palm is receiving of the energy of others,of welcoming what the environment and atmosphere is trying to give you in that exact moment. In order to fill yourself with that, there must exist an opening in which to do so. I was closed on certain levels, so even the small act of positioning my hands a certain way was difficult. I tried but then would flip them back downward. I would recognize the same bodily discomfort when my stomach would clench, or I when I would wake up with a locked jaw and my fists balled up. I would literally pry my fingers open. This is how significant a closed palm is. If you can't even be receptive while you're asleep in a subconscious, relaxed state, certainly you'll be closed in a conscious state. Our bodies are not what we are comprised of, they are just the external part of us. However, our bodies are our most important messengers. The human body is so complex; if one of the thousands of things that make it work are off, everything feels off. The physical pain we get used to is staggering. Instead of tapping into why we get migraines, we usually just accept that we have migraines. Back pain, inflammatory bowel disease, a curved spine, headaches, the list of how stress manifests itself goes on.

 In yoga, not only do you elasticize and become aware of your physicality, but of your emotional and mental state as well. All parts of you are forced to, as they always are meant to, work together. People feel safe on the mat because things are finally starting to feel aligned. The trick is to keep the feeling of safety and openness with us all day. This is not easy, but it becomes easier through intention, purpose, and awareness. Denial perpetuates problems. Facing shit gets rid of it. It sometimes is just that simple. Uncovering and discovering my inner parts had brought me tremendous joy. We are made in god's image, therefore we are infinite. There is literally an entire world inside you waiting to be looked at. If you don't uncover it no one else will. No one else can. In the above mentioned yoga workshop, the gist was that we fatigued our muscles, then lied down on our backs and just shook. We just all lied there, silently quivering, releasing years of built up pain and trauma. It was wondrous. I softly cried with gratitude at the sheer ability we have to heal ourselves. It is so sad our children are not being raised to know this, and even sadder most people grow old and die without ever knowing their own power. This went on for about twenty minutes. No one wanted it to stop. It was incredibly humbling to have been introduced to this gift. It felt like possessing a magical power, which it indeed is. This, folks, is why I no longer have "bad days"; because I know this. I cannot not know it. At every miserable, disappointing, irritating moment in life, you can steer yourself to a safe port. Bad times, yes. Always. It's unavoidable. Expect it. But understand there's a way out of your own pain. As my teacher Betsy says, "You are all you need." I've referenced that before, but I say it to myself constantly. This notion brings me comfort. Comfort helps get rid of bad days:).

Seek and hold onto those you find comforting. Eliminate those who bring discomfort. Open your palms, receive what it means to be soothed by those people. Receive what it means to take yourself down from a ledge. An open heart, together with open hands and an open mind, make so much room for good stuff. You are incredible because each one of you is all you need. Retracing back to how I started to speak about purpose... To heal yourself, to heal others. To comfort yourself, to comfort others. To open yourself, to open others. Knowing I can do this, understanding the reason for my existence, is a sure way to wake up smiling every day. Unclenched jaw. Open fingers. A relaxed belly. Open eyes, open in the real way. Many people with perfect vision cannot see, just as many blind people are deeply intuitive. I will keep honing and discovering channels in which I can honor my responsibility. It feels awesome.

Love, LB

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Emotions

I have always been a gal that loves photography. All aspects of it. The creativity, the precise capturing of moments, the ability we have to elasticize time. Decades later, we can snap ourselves back to that exact second in time by looking at an image. Imagery is so powerful, in that one glance can evoke deep, sometimes buried, feelings. With all the talk about how vital it is to live in the present moment, it's still important to look back on our past. Your present is a result of your personal history. Go ahead, look back. As long as we don't rely on the past to keep us happy in the present, it's safe. When we attach to the past too much, it can mess with our head, and alter our current perceptions. Missing the "good old days" sends the message that new days aren't as good. We cannot change the past, no matter how many times we mentally rewrite certain scripts. As long as we know this, and focus only on how we can change in the now, then by all means, reflect away.

Cameras are one of the greatest inventions of all time. They document and capture entire life spans, leaving invaluable treasures to be discovered by future generations. One of my favorite things about this blog, is that I'm documenting my life for my children and grandchildren. And please God, all the many generations that will come. I want them all to have a strong, clear, and vivid picture of who I was. Who I am. I love being on both sides of the camera, taking the photos and being in them. Being such a detail oriented person, it's the tiny things in life that capture my heart and attention. I love spotting the less obvious. It makes one appreciate and absorb the beauty in everything. My favorite photographer is Diane Arbus. Many years ago, the New York Times magazine featured a famous, old photo of hers. This was the first time I'd heard of her. The photo, which remains my favorite to this day, was of young identical twin girls. While the girls had the exact same mirrored features, clothes, and haircut, there were startling subtle differences. One was neat, not a hair out of place, stockings straight. A calm, complacent smile on her young face. The other twin had messy hair, her headband was askew, her stockings wrinkled. She did not look at serene as her sister. Rather, she looked annoyed and unhappy. The imagery struck me; how despite the obvious mirror imagery, these children were clearly so different. That underneath a facade that looks one way to outsiders, all kinds of shit is bubbling and percolating. I wondered if twin B was jealous of her more perfect sister. If she was sick of being compared to her. If she felt she would never be as good as her, would never be the teacher's pet. I felt resentment through the page. I remained curious if their lives had diverged into different paths, one easy and happy , one fraught with struggle and feelings of inadequacy. I wondered if twin A was aware of the differences, and if she was secretly pleased to be the "better one". If every little annoyingly sugar coated move was a passive aggressive🖕🏼to her sister.

Everyone likes to be in the lead, at any stage in life. I saw this photo pre Internet, so I took my copy of the magazine to Barnes and Noble so I could locate the coffee table book I figured it had to be in. That book still sits on my living room table, in a stack of other artfully arranged books that hold significance for me. Diane Arbus was known for capturing and honoring many ugly sides to life. She paid very close attention to that which most people turned away from. The unattractive, the sexually deviant, the mentally challenged , the freaks; they were not inconvenient to her. She was a visionary. Her imagery burns into one's mind. You feel her power through her lens. How dare you look away from certain aspects of life, simply because they don't subscribe to your expectations...

Since starting Instagram this past year, I've been really experimenting with photography. I love posting and sharing. I love the editing, filters, and coming up with witty captions. Since I'm a bit averse to technology, I used to stand on a soapbox about this. I didn't think it was philosophically healthy to need to control our memories. To alter images to make them look perfect felt phony to me. If someone was blinking, or turned their head, then that's the reality of what happened. Leave it be. I thought it was a negative indication of modern technology; how the need to shellack everything becomes obsessive. I can whine about this forever, but it ain't changing. I may as well join the party, even if I have to be coaxed onto the dance floor. It didn't serve me well to stand on ceremony about this. In fact, it held me back. I really do love social media, since it's given me a platform to express, share, and connect with all of you!

One of my favorite things to photograph is beautiful,  fresh food. When I do a Lady Blaga food shoot, which is always super fun and challenging, I pour all my creativity into showcasing my JESScipes in the prettiest, freshest, yet natural way. I prep before, during, and after shots. It takes a lot of work, since Tzvia and I will bang out ten recipes at a time, but I'm always on such a high during the process. In Israel this year, I took a lot of food shots I'm really proud of. I got to combine my love of marketplaces, fresh ingredients, color, and Israel. My family was always 🙄 because I'd lag behind zooming in on a pile of dates or something.

I do a lot of photo work with Sky Frame in NYC, with the ultra talented homie Frankie. We've done various projects together, and I blew up a series of food pics, poster size onto metal. They came out awesome. I hung them up in my kitchen, and they look so sharp and vibrant against a stark grey wall. A clean line of bright, delicious beauty. Most of all, as I stood back absorbing my "work", I felt like a true artist. I have expressed myself more this year than I ever have in my entire life. I've seen projects come to fruition. I have proof of my personal growth and artistic evolution. It feels freaking great. I had an extra shot of gorgeous, juicy 🍓that I didn't have room for. I joyfully gifted it to SF, who hung it in her kitchen as well. The fulfillment in adding beauty and happiness to my friend's home is huge for me. I decided that will be my gift to loved ones, rather than buying an impersonal hostess gift. No one needs another set of lame serving pieces. My yoga teacher recently had a baby boy. I gave her another enlargement I'd made, of turquoise hearts painted on a wall, in the city of Zfat. This city in Israel is the birthplace of the Kabbalah, the book of Jewish mysticism.

This special woman required a special gift💙. Again, the feeling of pride I had when I gave the photo was deeply gratifying. It's a piece of my heart. I had some other images I hung in my sons' rooms too. I couldn't wait to tell them that mommy was the photographer. It's amazing how that little four chambered organ can keep giving and giving of itself, and always regenerate. There's always more to give. Always more to share. Always more to see and capture. We are so blessed to have an innate hunger to want to remember. The more proof we can gather of the wonder of the world, the happier we will be. It certainly works for me📸.

Learning to Fly

This is a post I never thought I'd write. Ever. Lend me your ears, and I'll sing you a song...

I recently took my first post divorce trip. I decided to go to Israel for several reasons; I speak Hebrew, have friends and family who live there, and feel very comfortable and safe since I've been there many times. I have a whole world of places to explore (so exciting!) ,but so far there is no other place where I feel this happy and alive. I've been visiting Israel since I'm 8 years old, but this invigorating attachment towards it began three years ago. I wonder if it's possible to feel so fully charged and blissful in the places we actually live in... It's such a shame we don't.

I took this trip alone. My smile was plastered wide on my face the moment I stepped onto the plane. Mind you, this was prior to my knocking back an Ambien, 10 mg of melatonin, and 3 Dramamine 😜💊💃🏼, but still, I was one happy Lady. I I love that I can go places alone and fully enjoy myself. All I needed was my music, a book, and wide eyes to observe my surroundings. I'm in a place where my spirit, mind, and heart are open, which allows me to soak in everything around me to my core. It's an intense and gratifying feeling when we feed off the energy of a new atmosphere. Strangers aren't strange. New isn't unfamiliar. Differences are learning opportunities. Engaging all our senses to become one with where we are is wonderful. Tasting new foods. Watching and listening to other people. Shaking their hands and hugging them. Inhaling different scents. Understanding how much we have in common underneath it all. Being in awe of the beautiful, varied tapestry of humankind. Realizing how much more we must learn about each other, and how blessed we to have the capacity to do so. No matter how far we can travel, we are never finished discovering. Geographical exploration, like self exploration, is infinitesimal. It's never over. How scary would it be if it was?? Imagine if one day you woke up and realized you had nothing more to see, nowhere else to go, no more to unearth about yourself. Sounds bleak, right? When nothing else is new, then everything is old. We keep going forwards or backwards. Life is fresh or stale. We are either growing or remaining stagnant. There's no third option.

This trip was monumental for me. I'm going to write about it incrementally; one post won't do it justice. I want to now share with you the most impactful part of this trip, which has also been one of the most impactful events of my entire life. This story is about the Power of New (alternate excellent post title).  As I've mentioned before, I have a crippling phobia of heights. I do not recall having this fear as a kid. I skied (which included using the chair lift) relaxed on balconies, rode horses, slid down slides at amusement parks. I was never a daredevil by any means, but I didn't hold myself back from most enjoyable activities. I'm not exactly sure when my fear developed, but it has taken residence in my mind for decades now. Key word; "mind"...

I met a new friend in Israel, YM(R). We were introduced by a close mutual friend, and made plans to hang out. In talking and getting to know each other, I predictably rambled on about my aversion to heights. It's become part of my neurotic New York frightened Jewish repertoire. My cute shtick. It's as factual for me to discuss as it would be if I stated that I have a nose. Everyone has fears, right? This is mine.  Picture Fred Armisen as Joy Behar on SNL, saying, "so what, who cares??" YMR, I know you're reading this and won't understand it, but that's an American joke about Saturday Night Live.

I love meeting new people, and have never had difficulty opening up about myself. I probably like new people a lot better than I like most people I've known for a long time. Again, the Power of New. Good conversation while forging a connection to another person is medicinal. It's because humans are wired to connect. When we make those connections, we are aligned with our purpose. We are playing on the universal team of humanity. It just feels right. A few days later, this friend planned a surprise for me. I can't remember a time in my life when that's happened. New. I was definitely trepidatious but obviously intrigued. Mostly excited, a bit nervous. A normal combination of feelings.

NEVER DID I IMAGINE THAT THE SURPRISE WOULD BE A FUCKING PARAGLIDING LESSON.

Trying to argue out of it before

I arrived to my secret destination dressed for a boat ride, which was what my assumption was. I was wearing a bikini, layered necklaces, and a ruffled linen crop top. I was not dressed for a suicide mission. If you know where Kamikaze pilots shop, please tell me so I'm prepared next time. New.

My heart at once both dropped and rose in my throat as my "Beyoncé on a boat in St Tropez" fantasy quickly became death on a stick. I was pissed. I was so upset at being put in this position that I really, really did not want to be in. I did not want to feel anger towards this incredibly thoughtful person, who went to all this trouble to arrange something for me. I felt like such a dick refusing a gift, and I was honest about that. I said, "why would you force me to do something I don't like?" He reasonably responded that I never tried it so I don't know if I don't like it. That was irritating in its fairness. It sucks when you're on a rant about something, and someone makes a better point than you. When a helmet is involved, you want to win your argument. He was determined to help me overcome my fear,  to which I firmly insisted that I'm perfectly comfortable having fears. Not everyone is meant to do everything. We don't all like the same things. Different strokes, different folks right? Isn't that a thing?

He assured me that if I did this, I'd carry this lesson with me the rest of my life🙄, that I'd emerge from the situation a stronger, better, more evolved person. I lobbed back that I had zero interest in being miserable for the next 20 minutes. That I hadn't planned on shitting my shorts that day. That it would be pretty gross if I threw up on myself. That if God intended for people to fly, He'd have given us wings. That I refuse to ride a camel since I'm way too high up. My list went on.  People, Israeli stubbornness is alive and well. Absolutely nothing I said resonated. Even when I said, "why is nothing I'm saying resonating?" Americans talk, Israelis do. There lies a huge cultural difference that is based on a number of things. Israel is an active military country. It is a small country that is unfortunately, always under the threat of real danger. It is constantly under actual attack. There is no time for stupid bullshit. No time to be afraid. The people there are all taught trust and bravery from adolescence. The army is mandatory there, beginning in their late teens. They must trust their squad, they must trust their commander, they must trust their government. Kids there understand what it means to surrender to life and death situations. To literally place your life in the hands of another is a wild concept. People have trouble placing their lives in the hands of God, let alone another human being. They are so lucky that this lesson is embedded into their mentality. Most people spend so much time being suspicious of others. By learning to trust, they become, and remain, united. If you can trust people, you also will trust and welcome new experiences. Every Israeli I know has an everlasting, unshakeable bond with their army buddies. They are best friends and brothers for life. It's beautiful.

euphoric after

In yoga I love learning to trust the universe, to trust myself. That has gotten me through things I never thought I could survive. It is incredible what trust can do. It seems to heal and repair almost anything. This is what YMR was trying to teach me; to trust myself that I could get through this. That on the other side of this new experience, I'd discover a more courageous Jessie. One who already existed, but who buried herself with doubt,so she was sometimes hard to find. The Scared Jessie was so used to not seeing the Brave Jessie, so she forgot she existed. You know the outcome of this story. The two Zohan cast members I was dealing with (YMR and the paragliding instructor) basically harnessed and helmeted me kicking and screaming. I lifted up my knees as I was told. With the instructor on my back, I went up. And up and up and up. I did not cry or scream. Nor did I crap my pants or puke. Rather, I smiled. I laughed. I had a very nice conversation with the instructor about both our personal lives (only me). Granted, I couldn't look down, and I did not like the speed. About three minutes in I thought ,wow, he was right. I have no problem crediting others, and this guy sure deserved some. I was composed enough to give him the finger while he filmed me from below🖕🏼. He laughed, and I was surprised he could see it. It's amazing what we are capable of seeing in other people.

He saw I was capable though I didn't know it. He saw I needed a push to become a more actualized individual. He saw someone holding herself back, and he saw how he would try to fix that. It was a huge act of kindness. Once I took flight, both literally and figuratively, I in turn was able to see how generous this was of him. I have never, in all my life, known someone who was so determined to give me a lesson like this. New. This is the height of human connection. The epitome of selfless giving. The gifting of non tangible things. Love, courage, joy, faith, trust. Things we can't touch physically, but that touch us emotionally. Friendship, support, laughter. We see the invisible when we feel safe enough to open our eyes. We can almost visualize what was just minutes ago, only atmospheric. To have someone believe in you is life changing. It breathes new energy into you. Both the giver and receiver are jolted back to life. Awakened. New. The pride I continue to feel from having gotten through this experience successfully is overwhelming. Part of me can't believe I did it, but now an even bigger part of me believes I did. This new awareness of what I can do will propel me forward in every part of my life. It has already. There is no such thing as the heart being too open. We have more room for expansion than we will ever understand. This is what I will chase and collect; people who want me to be the best version of myself. This includes me. My mantra the other day really rattled me, because it was something I never thought of before,and it just popped into my head. New. It was this, "I'm here for you". I was talking to myself. When we can come home to ourselves, we can soar higher than we ever thought possible. We lift ourselves up. We aren't scared.  Know. Knew. New. Thanks, Man. I owe you one. I'm still never going bungee jumping🖕🏼. Maybe this is why I love 🇮🇱so much; when we visit a place of bravery, be it on the map or within ourselves, we are infused with that quality.  And we don't want to ever come down from that high.

Love, Lady Blaga

PS: I had to do it or he told me he'd have called me Lady Blah Blah, for preaching self growth while not doing it myself. Very impressive in its truth and cleverness. It's a good thing when someone calls you out on your shit. Listen, learn, and live. Everyone we meet is for a reason.

Makes No Sense

The sense I'm talking about here is vision. I refuse to see how any objective can be to be loved blindly, or to love another blindly. That is not the same as loving unconditionally. To love another without condition, is to mean that despite anything and everything, you still love that person. Words, actions, circumstances, mistakes, or faults don't derail that love. There's truth in unconditional love, that's why it's a goal; people will always drift towards truth, even if they don't know it.

I have definitely seen situations that are indeed blind love. It may often make for a more pleasant, less combative, uncomplicated coupledom, but it ain't for me, Man. I don't ever want someone looking at me through an unrealistic filter. I want to be seen, understood, and known completely. I welcome someone knowing more about me than I might know myself, which is saying a lot since I'm quite introspective. Having that person delve deep into the core of my being, shining their flashlight into every nook, cranny, and crevice, and choosing to happily stick around. This comes from having a sure, healthy sense of self. If you aren't self aware, actualized, and comfortable with who you are, chances are you don't want to be seen in a raw, exposed state. It's too scary.  Wanting to be fully seen is, no doubt, emotionally brave. I like to consider myself of that ilk. I am not physically brave, as I've mentioned. But it has set in with me that I'm emotionally brave. I'm not shy. I don't fear feelings. I embrace all kinds of tears. I'm still learning about myself, meeting myself. I don't ever want to be the vision or idea someone had prior to meeting me, then fit me into that preconceived notion. Things belong in boxes, not humans.

I do not want someone thinking I'm perfect, and being blinded into an utter lack of awareness. I am real. Perfection is not. It's weak to not be able to view your partner with true clarity, and I don't want a weak partner. I gather that an inability to recognize the not so great truths about others, is fear based. That if one admits certain things about the person they need to view in rose colored glasses, then the relationship may crumble. Roots are bumpy, knotty, and gnarled. But they are immovable. They produce infinite, beautiful resources. That being said, I do not want criticism either. Truth isn't mean, it's just honest. To be fully seen to the extent where the knowledge of me is so vast it can't be put into words, that's what I want.

It is a magnificent compliment when someone cannot define you. I'd be hurt if a few malnourished adjectives were all it took to sum up my entire existence. Especially if those words could be so easily used to describe the person next to me. I often leave funerals so frustrated, as I'm certain the deceased was better and greater than how they were just portrayed. This is macabre on the surface, but I'm going to leave very specific instructions on how I want to be sent off. I don't want superficiality in life, and I certainly don't want it in the afterlife. With all this talk today about "owning who you are" and  "do you, Girl", how can that be if we can't be totally exposed to a significant other?

They're called "significant" because they're so important. Not so we can check off the "married" box on a medical form, or so that we don't feel alone. They're important for our growth. If you're growing a certain vegetable, you must give it exactly what it needs, specific to that species. Before giving it what it needs, you first must SEE what it needs. Understand it. What type of soil required, how much space it needs from the other stuff in the garden. How much sun it needs, how much water. Everything grows differently. Same with raising kids; we strive to know our children inside and out so we can best give them the individual tools they need to grow. We generally don't feel scared to get to know our offspring, in fact we pride ourselves on it. So why do adults have such roadblocks in interacting with each other? In medicine, blockages must be surgically cleared. Emotional blockages must be cleared too, to pave a clear, open road for two people to travel together. Hearts open. Eyes open.

We are so blessed with the gift of sight.

To not use it fully is to not appreciate that gift. If God gave us the capacity to see, to really see, then if we don't do that, we go figuratively blind. Don't be afraid to be seen. Vision creates love. And love creates everything else.

Genesis

I'm writing this post from Israel, my current favorite place in the world. I'm in the heart of the desert at a gorgeous hotel called Beresheet, which translates to "Genesis". Genesis is the first book in the five books of the Torah. Oh, you didn't realize this was Hebrew school😉? I've been coming to Israel alone for the past three summers. The first two times were for the bar mitzvahs of sons of dear friends. As I reflect back on the last couple years of my life, I am frankly amazed by what a changed person I've become. Prior to my first trip, I was petrified to get on a plane alone. It was just not something I'd ever done without my family. I did not think I could do it. Surely I'd get lost, my passport would go missing, my luggage would be sent to China, what would I do all by myself, who would I hang out with, I didn't know my way around, etc. I had been conditioned to believe I was a helpless moron who needed her hand held throughout life. Fast forward a couple years later, and this solo trip, the longest I'd ever taken, is a completely opposite experience. I feel brave, I feel in control, I feel resourceful. As I've often mentioned, I enjoy mass quantities of solitude. I'm a huge reader. Armed with a large stack of books, my DJ notebook to do homework (though that hasn't happened yet), and my headphones, I felt so ready to go off into the world by myself.

Israel was a good post divorce starting point. I speak Hebrew fairly fluently, and I have some friends here. I have a lot of family here too. In a Jewish country, there is an out the gate feeling of safety and familiarity. It's a country of Peeps. Despite that it's an actual war zone, there is a feeling of inherent security in Israel. Maybe it's because your waiter was likely a sniper in the army💪🏼. I am very proud of the fact that I can be absolutely anywhere myself as long as I can read and write, which I can. I never feel lonely when I'm alone. I never have. While most women seem to require the presence of others to go to the bathroom, I've just never been that person. That quality is serving me well now. The theater, movies, a restaurant, all thoroughly enjoyable by myself. It's actually often preferable, since I don't feel any pressure to make annoying chit chat. I speak very little, which purifies speech altogether. I kinda feel like I'm on one of those silent meditative retreats, a goal of mine at some point. Without the clutter of speech, idle chatter, and gossip, my mind is cleaner. Which in turn leaves me open to soak in my surroundings.

I love nature, and I have a deep appreciation for the elements. Having began my yoga and meditation journey a year ago, I am using all I've learned to powerfully breathe in where I am and who I am. Awareness is an encompassing phenomenon. If you have it in one area, you have it in other areas as well. Staring at the view of my room, which is a massive crater in the desert, I at once feel both powerful and humble. Strength and smallness. A balance of staunch individuality, yet the striking knowledge of being part of a whole entity. I'm so grateful I came on this trip knowing (somewhat) how to meditate and think this way. It's enhanced my time here tremendously. I've done it alone among sand dunes, as well as on a bustling, loud marina in Tel Aviv. When your own voice is loud, it drowns out whatever noise is around you. Though I took a couple of days to visit Beresheet in the Negev, most of my trip is on the beach in Tel Aviv. I am wild about this place. It's a hot, sweaty beach town with an electric nightlife. The energy here is palpable. Every day, I pack up a few essentials in a backpack, and wander around taking it all in. Then I park myself on a crowded beach. For several shekels, I rent a lounge chair and umbrella. Done. No fussing, no deliberating, no wasting time trying to "figure out what to do". I read until it's dark out. I eat all my meals on either the beachside restaurant or at one of the dozens places on the marina. I feel totally safe walking around at night here, something I'd never do at home. I can listen to the ocean forever. I love the sensation of my feet in the sand. I am endlessly amused listening to loud, aggressive Israeli banter. Israel is constantly at the risk of real, life threatening danger. So the people in this country make every minute count. They live fiercely. I fucking love it. At Beresheet, I was hit with the symbolic meaning of the place in direct correlation to my life. This is a new chapter for me, a new beginning. I am creating new storylines for myself. I'm evolving, growing, reaching further points of self actualization. That is my responsibility as a human being, out of gratitude to God for having created me in the first place. Once we are created, and we have begun, we never end. Yes, we die physically, hopefully after a very long time, but our spirits are infinite. We have beginnings, but we do not have ends. We are never finished. Things change shape and form, but they don't vanish. This is my belief, and believing that, even if there's no proof, enriches my life. For the same price, I may as well believe. For the same price, I may as well make the most of my time in this body. Beresheet. Genesis. In the beginning...

Construction Site

I'm fortunate to be doing some construction work on my home right now. My contractor is wonderful. This post is about him. I know that usually, the contractor/homeowner relationship is often contentious. Schedules run way behind, budgets balloon, frustrations build. This is understandable, since people generally don't like their lives interrupted.

These are clearly good problems to have, if you're lucky enough to

A) have a home

B) have one you can afford to fix up.

It is certainly atypical to not only adore your builder, but to write about him. My family has known AM for at least 8 years. He's old school Italian, wild about his family, and treats the homes he builds with the care of a mother taking care of her babies. He's a highly skilled pilot. He speaks multiple languages. His family is wonderful, and I've had the privilege of becoming close to all of them recently. It's very sweet; in the wake of my divorce, AM has assumed a fatherly, protective attitude towards me. I'm very appreciative. It's unusual when anyone absorbs another person's situation with such a full heart.

What inspired me to write this post was the renewed thought I've been giving to my home. When one enters a brand spanking new chapter in their life, they often see their familiar surroundings in a whole new light. This is certainly going on in my head. I mean, my life is now completely different, so it's natural for me too see many things with a fresh pair of eyes. I have a revived appreciation for many aspects of my life, especially my home. While what is going on inside the home has shifted and taken new shape, the house itself is obviously the same. This structure has been a constant in my life. There is great comfort in that. It is a safe haven when I need emotional and mental solace. It is a space that's mine. In the entire huge world, this is my tiny corner of it, and it was built by this incredible person. When I cook feeling love, the food is better. I imagine that since AM builds his homes with such love, love remains in the walls. Good energy keeps the floor boards together. Strength of spirit supports the beams. Solidity covers the skeleton, the bones of the house are never bare and lonely. Only a special individual can create this.

Last week I had a thought: when I cry, my tears are caught by the floors he built. When I burst out laughing, my laughter reverberates off his walls. When I put my children to sleep and crawl in their beds, it's in the rooms he made for them. When I open or close my front door, I'm greeting or exiting phases of my life.  When I cook, it's in his kitchen. The kitchen is the heartbeat of any home. That is the space in which I create, nourish, feed. I water the seeds that were planted long before I lived there. I pray many great things will occur within these walls; love, grandchildren, parties, holidays, milestones. To build someone a home is to give them a massive keepsake box, in which to fill up with all kinds of memories. That is a very big deal. When your heart is clear, it's easier to have awareness and appreciation for even the most seemingly mundane things.

"If you build it, they will come"... 🗝🏠❤️

Petty Betty

I've gotta get into this here, the subject of extreme pettiness. I live in a tight knit community. That has its pros and cons. Community as a concept is a complex thing. It should be a group of people joined together to support and sustain each other. When that is the case, the power of community is pure and strong. It feels like a safety net. There is no one that doesn't enjoy and take comfort in this feeling. However, so sadly, and way too often, there are members in the community who infect the bloodstream with their own nonsense. It's easier as an individual to try and combat people like this.

For instance, I just left today's yoga meditation and my mantra was,"stay intact, don't react". My mantras are never the same. What works for today may not be the right fit for tomorrow. They're all good, but instinctively my spirit knows what it needs to hear on a particular day, so it chooses for me. The spirit is never wrong, so when it lands on a certain mantra, everything feels aligned. The words click and I go with that. Today I needed a reminder to protect my energy, and not get nuts when someone upsets me. I can go from zero to sixty very fast. Rage is an interesting beast. It seduces you quickly, feels good, then abandons you, leaving you with shitty, residual plain old anger. It feels very good when I can let something bounce off me. I'm aiming for more of those kinds of reactions by working to change my "vasana"/patterns.

As a single individual trying to hold on to this concept, I'm more armed and ready when confronted with a lousy situation. However, a community is comprised of the masses, and the masses are generally unsuspecting. It's a throng of people who didn't have a mass conference call that morning to remind each other to "stay intact and not react". There is not always strength in numbers. That idea contradicts the concept of "quality over quantity". I much prefer the latter. I don't see a point to a large group of people who aren't necessarily very nice, and who don't treat each other well. I'd rather stay home alone than attend a party where all the guests are complaining about the food, badmouthing the hostess, whining about the music, and kvetching that they didn't want to go in the first place. Throwing a party is very hard work. It's expensive and time consuming. It is celebrating a certain important event. It is so sad to know that many of your guests are sitting there on your dime with nothing nice to say. It shouldn't be like that. When you select people to be a part of your life, if they really aren't happy for you, get rid of them. Don't invite bad energy and ill wishers. All my older friends have told me it's so liberating to reach the stage where you don't feel obligated by stupid community norms, and can only include those closest to you at your celebrations.

I've always been an older soul, and I've already reached that place. It feels right to be selectively welcoming into my family's life. It's all part of editing your life, which you are entitled to do. Not everyone has the same friends, not everyone needs the same guest list. Get over that.                                          A good friend is someone who both will laugh and cry with you with equal measure. They should wish to only laugh with you, but if they need to cry they will. Above all, a quality friend is one who DOES NOT MAKE YOUR LIFE ABOUT THEMSELVES. Yes, I'm shouting that. I am no dummy, and I'm writing this article in the first place so clearly I'm aware, but I'm always thrown when in the midst of tragedy, some people simply lack the ability to behave in an empathetic, selfless, adult manner. They just make everything about them, and taint the situation with their own pathetic insecurities and competitiveness. Who drove the most carpools, who made the most meals, why was SHE there visiting and I wasn't??. I honestly feel grateful and blessed I'm not wired this way. It's a curse. Talk about a fucked up vasana... That's why I don't see behavior like this coming; it takes one to know one, and thankfully I'm not one.

I recently posted on the Lady Blaga Instagram, this quote, "the weak will always attack the strong. Take it as a compliment and walk the hell away. " While I mean that so deeply, I need to remind myself of that all the time, hence today's aforementioned mantra. I often get very hurt and confused when someone goes after me in a community type of situation. I am well intentioned, want to help from a pure place of love and concern, and that should be enough for everyone. But sadly, it's not. There are diseased women (this epidemic is largely of the female nature) out there/in here, who are so incredibly small minded, that they instinctively need to push everyone else out of the way, and race to the finish line. But they don't even know why they're racing to begin with! Their utter lack of perspective and good intentions completely cloud the issue at hand. The sick, the dying, the dead, the in-firmed, all seem to take a backseat to whatever problem is going on inside themselves. To use the misfortune of others to weasel your way into someone's pain, so you can pat yourself on the back "for helping" before your go to Target and the grocery store... What a sad, horrible way to live.

Some people almost sit and wait for the next bad thing to occur, just so that they will have a reason to feel useful. But the worst, THE WORST, is to be upset and rattled by the presence of those who belong there out of love. A word to the unwise; if you feel left out it is because you are left out. People know who to turn to when they are in the throes of joy, as well as in the throes of sadness. They just know. We want who we want when we want. If someone in the middle of an earthquake needs genuine love and support, how dare you focus on yourself. Maybe that's why no one called you🤔🤔🤔🤔. The evolved approach is to feel sympathy for those who are so emotionally blocked that they just can't put others first. I've known many women like this my whole life. The behaviors and patterns of those women became so familiar to me, I never even thought to observe them until more recently. But like the ugly, old chair in the corner that needs to be thrown out but has become an expected, normal sight, I got used to it. Now I feel like Sigourney Weaver in "Gorillas in the Mist". No disrespect to gorillas intended, they're rad.

As I've mentioned in other posts, I welcome all forms of clarity. It's observations like these that are helping me know who to keep away from. Block, delete, block, delete. Breathe. Smile. As far as the idea of taking it as a compliment when someone petty and weak will try to tear me down or show me up, I thank them for the praise. If my presence is so intimidating and threatening to you, then I must be one fierce force of strength and badassery. Be afraid, be very afraid. I am not going anywhere. Just like I promised , dear readers, you'll get honesty from me every time. And as I spit the truth, trust me, I'll remain intact. You know you loved every word of this, and I love that about you. Love, LB.