Vex and the City

 I have entered the world of dating, something I've never done. Having gotten married at 20, the only "dates" I went on were movie/hang out situations with yeshivah boys. Fast forward two decades later, I am dating Men. I am learning that despite age defining a guy as a technical man, he can be just as infantile and emotionally challenged as an adolescent. Truthfully, the boys that really liked me in high school were quite honest about that. Of course I had the required experience of pining after one guy who was consistently an asshole for two years, but I chalk that up to initiation. Most of us go through that. If we like, love, and cater to them enough, they'll come around, right? A big part of me still thinks that. I need to recondition that thinking ASAP. I know that often stems from insecurity with girls, but it's the opposite with me. Miraculously, despite having a list of reasons why I should be an emotional mess, I have always had a very clear sense of self. I have always been confident, secure, and comfortable with who I am. I never went through the "I'm not good enough and I suck" phase. I feel blessed with that, it's a really hard hole to dig yourself out of.  Rather, I think I'm so darn terrific that OF COURSE this male will be falling all over himself to be with me 😂 (note the emoji meant to add a drop of ironic self deprecation, though I mean this).
 

I learned that there is ego in that statement. Not in believing in myself and having acute awareness about my sense of Jess, but ego in that other people's issues have nothing to do with me. In other words, if a dude has unhealthy emotional problems, deep rooted insecurities, erratic behavior patterns, or fear of commitment, then those things live within him and are not in any way tied to me. Assuming that meeting me once or twice, even on fantastic dates, will automatically erase decades of buried emotional shit, is foolish on my part. As I'm figuring this out, I'm realizing that it's not just me knowing what I bring to the table. IT'S JUST THAT I AM SO NORMAL, SO I DO NOT PROCESS WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT. I had to scream that in caps. I naively assume everyone is a balanced, emotionally tapped in, honest person like myself. I keep hearing and seeing more and more that this isn't the case.

I recently was fixed up with this guy and had two of the most phenomenal dates in history. Natural, easy hours of conversation that ran both light and deep. Zero awkwardness. Jokes. Compliments. Hand holding. Intense physical attraction. I really enjoyed myself. I felt adored, seen, and understood, which is what every relationship should feel like. I had good reason to believe this would evolve in the same manner in which it had begun. NOPE. While the dates were wonderful, his in between communication skills were terrible. As in nonexistent. I wouldn't hear from him for long periods of time, which felt so rude and disrespectful. I really took that as a lesson in patience and restraint. I did not reach out on between, hoping to spark conversation, as I've always done in the past. I got to a place of gratitude for the lesson: Jess, not everyone thinks like you. I mediated on being more open minded, and on bringing in all my yoga teachings about having a pliable, open mind and heart, not just a body. I really liked him so I did not want to judge him. But I also knew that a relationship, especially in the beginning, shouldn't feel so frustrating. There was too much anguish too soon. It was ridiculous. I have come way too far to tolerate anything less than what I deserve and yearn for. After going dark the first time, I eventually got this long, seemingly sincere apology about him being overwhelmed with some personal stuff🙄, but that he had such a great time and would love to see me again. I saw humility in that text, so I was gracious, cool, and agreeable to another date. I wanted to believe it was a fluke.

Date 2 was off the charts wonderful, and he was so apologetic again. Um, then he checked out again for the exact same time he did prior (nine days but who's counting?). Date 2 ended with him telling me to reserve a certain weekend so we could go out, after he returned from a family vacation. I waited and waited, dumbfounded that he would repeat the exact same behavior he just apologized for. It made no sense. There was zero follow up about the weekend date. I was beyond agitated and it took over my every thought. I threw out a "hey, how was your trip?" text. What I got back were six pictures of his family on the beach. Er....?

Listen, I am very energetically perceptive. I always have been. I know when someone likes me, is vibing with me, and is physically attracted to me. That part was there. The second part of consistency, maturity, and follow up was not. There were other red flags I chose to roll with, honestly since I really am a very open minded and understanding woman, and I really want a relationship. It sounded like he never had a loving, serious relationship. He said he'd never been in love but I figured he just hadn't met the right person (me). In describing some past relationships, all the women mentioned sounded broken and inept, but yet remained topics of conversation. He's in touch with most of them. Why keep in contact with chicks like this?? They must make him feel masculine and superior. The Hunter, the Hero, the Fixer.

There are other parts to the story that lead me to believe he was vastly insecure. One such detail was that he told the person who fixed us up that he was slightly intimidated by all the cool things I'm doing, blog, DJ, etc.   🚨🚨🚨 Lame Alert‼️ I will not apologize for being a full woman with dreams, goals, and interests. What I'm doing now is just the beginning, so if a man can't handle these initial stages of me writing and playing music , then HE is the one who is broken and lost. Perhaps he collects women like that as some messed up support group. It was all very self destructive: I knew he really liked me but his deep rooted issues destroyed the chance of anything real taking hold. When I feel a pure connection to someone, I roll with it full steam ahead 🚊. I am a healthy girl, so I process connections in a true, healthy manner. Which means the opposite case exists as well; unhealthy people will take that true connection and have no clue where to go with it. I have never examined things in these terms. It is a vexing necessary evil in understanding why men, who I really don't know, can act like such assholes. It has nothing to do with me. I keep hearing "men are the worst" etc. I don't believe that and I can't believe that. I don't want to ever get to the place where my optimism and innocence turns dark and bitter. What I need to learn is that these guys are coming to the restaurant table with years of shit that I can't see after several hours. I have nothing to hide, but that's rare.

Most humans in both genders have massive triggers and complexities that have never been dealt with. I certainly don't want the job of digging through someone else's crap. No thanks. This guy was so extremely inconsistent. He'd have bailed eventually. I think my assured nature threatened him. Age doesn't define a man, clearly. Emotional maturity and sensitivity does. Consistency, reliability, security. Respect. I honestly learned a lot from this.  It makes me feel a little sad that I have to curb my enthusiasm when I know there's a real spark and connection, but I guess that's life. Specifically dating life. I never understood what it meant to protect myself emotionally, but I'm getting educated. It means protecting my heart so I don't watch as it gets run over by someone who doesn't deserve a license. Chemistry and connection are natural, but I need to mix those with logic and caution. Blech. I heard this shit happened, but I never thought it'd happen to me. Nothing more to say but "onward". 

Phenomenal Woman, That's Me

It was just International Women's Day. Frankly, I've never heard of that before, but I'm under a rock in many ways. I am a mix of highly aware and totally unaware. It's quite symbolic that I have never heard of it before; this is the first year of my life that I'm fully embracing myself in all ways, especially as a woman. I find my discovery of this day as being consistent with my discovery of my own female powers. All the lady love on social media is wonderful. If we have national days celebrating nonsense like donuts and pizza🙄, we can damn well have a women's day🍩🍕🙋🏼.

Only women who love themselves can freely give love and credit to others. Those that can't are shackled down by insecurity and jealousy. It's a simple equation. I know from my own personal journey of growth, that those times I leaned more towards criticism or judgement were clear indicators of my own lacking. If I wasn't in a secure, happy place then I wasn't entirely happy for others. So much time was wasted like this. I didn't like thinking or sounding like a catty bitch, but it was all I knew. I was constantly surrounded by whining, negative women who have a negative comment for everything, so I just assumed this was how chicks roll. Now I realize it's a mental prison of their own making, and I was paroled. A female penitentiary in the abstract sense. Those inmates be crazy bitches. I have separated myself entirely from anyone who exists on those patterns. It's not in keeping with the vibration I have discovered, and work so hard to maintain. Honestly, tearing others down is a form of laziness. It avoids doing self study to try to figure out why you're acting like that. It's like emotional junk food; a bite of something chemical and poisonous that tastes good, but that will rot your insides. Shitting on others momentarily feeds the ego since it makes us feel superior in that moment, but then we crash and feel bad. So we keep doing it. It's a vicious cycle many women never get out of. It's a life sentence.
   

My newfound and hard earned emotional, mental, and spiritual freedom has gifted me so many things. One of the most important results of this has been this incredible group of women who are my absolute support system. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. It overwhelms me with gratitude. They are my family in the truest sense. I am single but I am never alone. As I navigate so many changes in my life, I feel bolstered by this loving female safety net. These women believe I can do anything. They put the abstract concept of unconditional love into practice. Some I've known for a long time, some short. Some I speak to often, others sporadically. Those details are irrelevant, the feeling I get from our spiritual connections is the same. I usually never name those I reference, but I feel like doing it now. Stephanie, Betsy, and Vicki are my yoga teachers and healers. They more than anyone taught me how to love and embrace myself. Thereby enabling me to embrace life. The women in my sunrise yoga class who I see every morning to gather energy from. We need no words to speak to each other. Tzvia, whose presence in my life is hard to describe. Nyla and Rogue, my DJ inspirations, my messengers of music. Kate, my Scratch friend. Shira, Deena, and Sarrah; holy shit. I haven't found the words yet for them, and I'm pretty wordy. Aimee and Eden give me wisdom for days, and laughs for years. Karen, Sonja, and Federica opened up worlds. Chavi and Nikki are so loving, always with an ear. M the phoenix. Netali for giving me my first job. And my fellow LB , who has been providing me with love, laughs, life coaching, and our own unique brand of lunacy since we are 15. The leash she has me on, which stretches from the West Coast, gives me freedom to grow while seeing the open potholes before I do. This girl could write a fat book on me, that's how well she knows my every single artery and vein.

It is deeply joyful and gratifying to observe how my daughters have built their own female support systems. Each of my girls has had the same BFF since they're 4 and 6, respectively. E has J, who is like my 5th child, and L has E, the kindest kid on earth. My kids must be very good friends themselves to receive such friendship bonds from others. This fills me with pride. Friends are the family we choose, and blood is not always thicker than water. Family is a feeling. Sisterhood is energetic. I wish for my daughters that they always have these carefully chosen, loving, loyal bonds. Women have a biological need to reach out to one another and forge connections as deep as roots. When our arrow lands on the right person it's magical.

All these women allow me to go forth and figure myself out. I am brave but very innocent, vulnerable yet strong. As all women are. We are braver and more vulnerable if we are together. We bring out the best in each other. I can fly since I have clearly identified this group as my landing pad. Emergency landings included, and there will be many. One day we will all be on a mountain top together doing you know what...  The feminine mystique...

Love, LB 2.0

No Sleep Till Brooklyn

So guess who just discovered the AIRBNB app? 🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼.

I swear I feel as if my whole world has expanded, which it has. This app is so addicting because it's fraught with real, viable possibilities. It's teaching me a lesson I've been dying to learn; how to travel in an affordable, exciting, authentic manner. I hated taking trips and sitting in some boring, sterile lobby. I much prefer getting down and dirty while getting a real feel for where I am. Otherwise, I don't see the point of just physically relocating my body, in order to snap a couple of obligatory photos. It's a shitty feeling to be posting pics of a carefully planned vacation, while feeling that you're not really having fun. It's super depressing. If you've never had a trip that, well, I don't believe you.

My BFF SF and I always say we love people who can admit that their trip sucked. That the kids fought, that it was a tad too much togetherness with the hubby. These are uncomfortable things to admit. After all, trips cost a lot. They are laden with expectation. It's hard when we reasonably attach results to a few days and it's disappointing. We all want to feel we maximized our hard earned vacation days, and be proud we pulled off real quality family time. SF tells me I'm one of the few women who can give an honest, post trip report. It's not statistically possible that every time everyone you know boards a plane, that it's "the best trip ever!" 🙄🙄🙄. It's a tough pill to swallow, when after presenting yourselves with the ingredients for a perfect, frolicking, loving, reconnecting week with the fam, well, that you were all kind of over each other after two days. It feels like a failure. I've been there, and it's very normal. After all, most of "normal" is comprised of less than ideal circumstances.   

First on my new travel agenda: Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Land of Hipsters. I'm actually here right now, typing this in front of "my" brick walled fireplace. My good friend FM is here with me. We came for two nights for a "stay cation". Sure, we live 45 minutes away, but so what? We decided to live somewhere else for 48 hours, and enjoy a part of New York that's famous for its food, energy, vibes, shopping, and man buns. We are eating in cool, delicious restaurants. We walked around for hours, shopped for quirky, vintage finds, each got new ear piercings (a third for her left ear, a fourth for mine), and saw incredible street art at every turn. The weather is pretty warm, a tropical 52 degrees, so the streets are packed with cool, smiling city folk who are happy to be outdoors. I feel like I'm in San Francisco in the late 60's. We hung out in DUMBO last night after dinner, and are going to a party in the Gowanus area tonight with assorted peeps. I bought a hat and bow tie that make me feel like Pharrell. I've made the prerequisite jokes about how I'm in the throes of a mid life crisis, but I'm not. I'm just at the beginning of starting to explore life, and that only stops at death. How wonderful it is to see couples in their 80's traveling, doing, going, laughing, holding hands. Me please! Wanderlust has no age.

The apartment I took looks like a Pottery Barn catalog. The bed was amazing. I stocked the fridge with overpriced, organic essentials. It feels like home, which is exactly what makes leaving your real home so yummy. My hosts have been great. The place looked like the photos. I'm sure there a couple lemons will pop up, but I'll chalk it up to life experiences. I'm excited to save money traveling this way. For the price of one first class seat, I can take several trips like this. Goal for 2018: do more with less. Live more simply. Collect experiences, not things. Trust me, if you need that first class seat or huge suite to feel like your trip was a success, that's a huge red flag. Folks who are having real fun don't think about that. Be those people. Be so busy and happy that you forget to post. Be open to new experiences, you'll never regret trying. Write new stories for your life. Our lives are a book, what's on the pages is in your hands entirely.

Safe, happy travels, the 🐝 in Brooklyn

Branching In 🌳

 Certain inquiries about my divorce amaze me. One such question would be why I still consider my ex husband's family to be mine. As in, "why do you call his dad your father in law?" or "why are you attending that first cousin's event ?". These questions make me sad in their narrow mindedness.  I have never seen why all those relationships should cease to a halt because of signatures on a stack of papers. Why draw such harsh lines? I have had to redefine my definition of family many times over the course of my life, and that will continue as I hopefully add to my personal family tree.

What's so liberating is that I am choosing and deciding which branches remain attached to my trunk. Some branches dried up and cracked off pretty darn quickly, and I was ready to shed them. However, there are many others in the form of extended family that I'm keeping. It feels very evolved, open minded, and open hearted, which is how I'm living my life overall. I was recently asked what I'd call my current in-laws, should I one day acquire a new set.  Easy; I'd just have two sets. Who said there can only be one? My heart is certainly big enough to keep including more people of value into it. I'm quite proud that I have maintained connections to so many of the cousins, aunts, uncles, and second cousins. Ten of them stayed in my home last weekend for a family event, and I was thrilled to have them. Love and connection defines family, not black and white guidelines.

Last night I went to the wedding of one of those cousins, and admittedly I was a tad curious how I'd feel. Would it annoy me if I felt people were staring and speculating? Would I feel like the odd man out? Nah, there was none of that. I had a wonderful time, and felt even more valued and welcome, since it's no longer a set given that I'm under obligation to go. Which makes these occasions more special; I'm there because I truly want to be there and participate in the joy. I have always loved these particular hosts and their family, and that hasn't changed. I actually felt a bit like the belle of the ball, since so many of the relatives wanted to catch up with me. It feels good to be wanted and appreciated, to have my presence mean something. I'm grateful to all the family members who have made it clear that they still want me in their lives. It's a testament to a number of things, most of all the connection we've shared over the years. Last names, coupledom, and "rules" are all a stupid technicality I have no use for. It's in keeping with my decision to lead with my heart and do what feels good and true, not what's phony, obligatory bullshit.

As I reflect on my new life, I'm so proud of the family tree that has grown tall from roots I have worked my ass off to plant. I am a planter, and so I will keep on doing that. From seed to branch, from trunk to fruit, I will water my family. It's how it's always been, and it's how it will always continue to be. 🌳🍂🌿🍁. Some things change, but not everything. Change is a choice you do not always have to make.

Love, Lady Branches

The Art of a Table

Few things bring me as much joy as artfully setting a table. The Type A domestic diva in me simply can't throw all my carefully prepared food down just anywhere. After I've spent days chopping, shopping, and cooking, serving the food is just as important to me. I love for my guests to have a beautiful experience in my home, so I take great joy in creating those details. It feels really good to be hospitable. Over the years I've learned some easy tricks that will be aesthetically impactful, and I'm so excited to share them with you. First, begin with a certain color palette. My kitchen is black and white, as well as everything in it. Dishes, placemats, furniture. I always use that as my starting point so things don't become a mish mash. An over complicated table is an assault on the senses. I don't need my kitchen or dining room to evoke imagery of being in Times Square. All of my dish-ware and vases are clean, minimalist black and white, so all I needed here was one strong accent color.

I like to use different flowers in only one bold hue. I chose red here as a nod to the holiday season. As well as winter season; pale pink feels weak in the dead of winter. I bought several different types of flowers and berries in the same shade of deep red. Different shades don't look as clean or tied together.  Roses, gerber daisies, and lush branches of holiday berries all set the mood, accented by red leaves. The branches of berries laid around the table gave a beautiful "in the woods" feel. Little berry branches on each place setting was a sweet and consistent detail.

My favorite dishes, serving pieces, and vases are inexpensive from CB2. My Jewish kitchen uses white squares for meat, and white circles for dairy. All white just different shapes. Easy to keep separate. I use the same stuff over and over, but I'll put a different spin on it each time. I love these gray River Rock placemats. They add a touch of sophisticated nature, and lend great texture to the table decor. The rectangular mats and square plates give a clean, geometric vibe. I jazzed up my stemware by using these hand blown glasses I bought in Prague before my wedding. They are the one set of fancy stemware I have, so despite the royal blue, I'll use them anytime. The fresh pop of blue never seems to be a problem.

I love a cleanly folded napkin folded in thirds, placed squarely on the plate, again keeping with the geometry. I love making place cards, it makes people feel so welcome. These little black, iron fruits hold place cards. They're more country kitchen, so they add some softness to the more modern theme. Everything I used here are things I've had for many years. I used to think I had to run out and buy new stuff whenever I entertained. Or order professionally arranged flowers, which were a fortune. How stupid was that?? After all, a beautifully set table is great, but it's really a support to colorful, healthy food eaten by colorful, healthy guests who have come together to share a meal.   

Before the main dishes come out, be sure to have a good assortment of salty and sweet stuff to Nosh on. Little white serving bowls keep your variations in line visually. Bowls of dates, dried peas, cherry tomatoes for the red theme, along with mason jars of my homemade party nuts were enough to nibble on without being filling. I used to plow people with appetizers, trying to show off. So dumb; people would fill up too quickly and ignore my slaved over main dishes. When I put out desert, I again chose a color scheme. This time, I did different candies in white. Red would have been overkill, and I loved the winter white candy. I bought it all from Party City. The gummy bears were a fun addition of color. Cherries and strawberries tastefully and naturally include the red.  I happen to not like candy, I'm a cookie cake chocolate gal, but most folks love it. It's an adorable, easy way to serve an assortment of joy. My white ceramic Chinese takeout containers are the coolest display for candy. They pull everything together on the black and white chevron striped tray. When I first got married and had yet to cultivate any taste, my stuff was a million different colors and patterns. The apartment on Friends/ Shabby Chic vibe was more popular, but it never looked the way I wanted it to. I eventually gave all those things away to newlyweds in need, through my synagogue. Now I stick to the white and black rule, the cheaper the better. Attractive white kitchenware is ubiquitous. It's the easiest way to make your food the star of the show. Now go have fun, and make sure to eat your own food that you've worked so hard to prepare. A beautiful, inviting home is one of the points to life. It represents a beautiful, inviting hostess and person, which you are.

Love, LB

More Reasons to be a Nomad

Ok, major hot spot alert in NYC‼️  The newly revamped James Nomad hotel. This place is simply way too good to keep to myself.

1)  I'm not like that.

2) It's my civic responsibility as a lifestyle blogger to let you in on life's best shizz.

While doing a recent shoot at this historic, insanely chic hotel, I was lucky to be given a full tour of all this new Sweet Baby James has to offer. If you're looking to stay in NYC from afar, or to take a local staycation, call off the dogs. You have arrived at your destination. The Lady loves history, and the hotel dates back to 1904. It was a scene back then for the OG of mobsters. Damn, do I adore anything mob related (from afar, of course😉). If The Godfather, Goodfells, or Casino is on tv, my day is as good as over. A magnificent corner building in the heart of the Nomad district, which  stands for "north of Madison", the James Nomad gives off various vibes that work together to take care of their guests from all angles of the human experience. Huh?? Allow me to explain.

Upon arrival, you'll immediately be greeted by super warm, friendly NYC bell hops. Yup, I used those adjectives. The lobby decor is streamlined and clean, yet soft and plush. Interesting pops of texture and color are both soothing and exciting. One of my fave details was the bowl of apples and oranges by the back couch section. The lobby is so inviting, it's like you stepped into a living room in Architectural Digest. Only the homeowners aren't snooty assholes, they're the friendliest family on the block, and they want to get to know you. To honor its longtime relationship with the neighborhood, the hotel offers daily complimentary wine and cheese in the lobby at 5 pm. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, and apparently it's here😂🧀🍷. The goal of this is to give locals and guest the chance to mingle, unwind, connect with one another.

The James knows how busy it's guests are. In a time where,ironically, all our tech options can often lead to massive disconnection, the James mood is one of reconnection. Reconnection to ourselves, to others, and to this magnificent city of New York. The hotel promotes the beautiful notion of "sanctuary and scene". Yeah, Dawg, you want hot nightlife? You came to the right place. The scene at the sexy, underground Seville bar is happeninggggggg. Superb cocktails served amongst naughty librarian decor let you know you're night is about to get lit🔥. At least, Karl Lagerfeld and Justin Timberlake thought so last week. 

Of course I was starving when I was there, and I love Italian food. Scarpetta is a terrific Italian restaurant within the hotel, serving as the source of room service as well. Did I just say super solid, delicious room service??? I believe I did. Perhaps my favorite thing about the hotel is the "sanctuary" aspect. After you've had your fill of fun and food, the James offers the utmost in zen relaxation. Each room tv invites you to lose yourself in its custom kundalini program. Yoga mats provided are whispering to you to stop, breathe, hold yourself in your own space, and release tension. Travel is a luxury, but it's tiring. The James Nomad takes its job as your temporary home very seriously. Yes, it's a trendy and sexy atmosphere, but it's simultaneously a mental and emotional safe haven. They don't just want you to STAY here, they want you to BE here.

I experienced the James last week during Fashion Week. The hotel so generously provided me with a suite in which to stay and glam up for a few shows. I am incredibly grateful for their beautiful hospitality. Generosity always pays itself forward... The  giant, white bed was impossible to leave in the morning. I need to find the person making their pillows and hug them ASAP. The stunning modern bathroom boasts a showstopper of a sink. Top of the line bath products in big bottles was my fave room detail. No mini teaspoons of shampoo here. Indeed, while I was working the fashion scene, the James Nomad was the perfect sanctuary throughout all the craziness. This is my life in general now; a balance of being out there in a big way, and going inward and disappearing into my own headspace. I'm busier than I've ever been, yet more zen too. Life nowadays is extreme. The James knows that. They cater to all aspects of our lives; physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. They don't want you to lose yourself while traveling, they want you to find yourself. They are here for whatever you need. I promised you at the beginning of our blogging journey together that I'd always take good care of you. A nurturer always knows another, and I give you over to this special hotel. They've got you, trust the B. Let's go places together. Many, many places. Safe travels.

See you in the Big Apple🍎.

Distractions

So I noticed a couple things about my behavior on my recent family trip to Cancun. As I was packing up to leave there, I saw my headphones on a chair. I realized I had not used them once in five days. This is unheard of for me, since music provides me with an instant escape. Headphones on, environment off. Of course, there are many times when I'm alone and music provides a soundtrack to whatever it is that I'm doing. However, if I'm not alone and I feel the aching need to have music take me away, it's undoubtedly a form of me checking out. It is never BECAUSE of my kids, yet I know this is something they've picked up on over the years. They don't like it, since they're smart. They are perceptive, and feel I'm not present. They are right; and there have been countless times over the years where despite my guilt at them being aware of this, I've done it anyway. If there was a tense or uncomfortable presence, or if I just didn't want to have to make annoying conversation with someone,  the headphones were my barrier. If the kids were around, this would in turn create more tension, since they were annoyed and I had gnawing guilt. It's a very human area where moms struggle to find and maintain balance; being individuals with needs while being available to our children. Those two entities don't always co exist. Being a mom often trumps any other factor, but not a hundred percent of the time. Spotting my untouched headphones made me realize I had no need/desire to escape from where I was during our trip. I cannot recall the last time EVER where there was a block of days in which I didn't need a measure of solitude. I was really pleased that I organically reached that point, especially without realizing it. Music just wasn't a factor for me that week.

Another thing I simply didn't need that week was a workout. Again, unheard of. I packed workout clothes as per usual, but didn't look at them. I workout 5/6 days a week. I absolutely require it as part of my routine. It helps me feel good via endorphin release, makes me feel strong and in control, and give me that alone time I crave. I didn't need that in Mexico either. It's not that I wanted to go to the gym and didn't, it's that I didn't have that pull to escape and melt away in a pile of sweat. My kids are late sleepers, so I did some quiet sun salutations on my porch, overlooking the hotel "jungle",and that was apparently enough. Starting my day like that, even for just a few minutes, was apparently all I needed. It was true vacation mode. It always depressed me when we'd take a trip and everything would feel the same, just with a different backdrop. What's the point in going away if there's no shift in joy and relaxation? Just to tell your friends you're taking a trip and to snap a few pictures to post? At this stage in my life I don't want a trip on paper. The headphone and gym revelations made me think about all the ways we distract ourselves from our lives. Mundane things that are kosher, but that are undeniably forms of escapism. Shopping nonstop, constant unnecessary errands, poor quality reality tv, just to name a few. I know people who would have no structure to their day without making purchases and returns. Returns, returns, returns. I swear I think they shop with zero intention of keeping most of it. Target, the supermarket, going to the cleaners, all under the guise of productivity. I once asked a friend why she shops at several grocery stores instead of one, for the sake of convenience. Her answer was that without that, she'd have nothing to do. Her honesty was shocking in its sadness. I too would spend the days trying to fool myself into thinking I was being "productive", while spending each night lost in the Bravo network until the ambien kicked in. Once in awhile I'd write sad, crappy poetry in the notebooks I keep in my nightstand. I read them now and feel both embarrassment and pride.  They suck, and are indicative of my former mental state. One day I'll throw them out, despite being a huge believer in saving anything I write. Even a lousy thought is a glimpse into my mind, and I want my kids to know as much about me as possible, including the not great parts. I'm not yet ready to toss entire notebooks, but I feel so proud and happy that I don't feel that way anymore. I knew the writing was subpar, yet that's what I produced. I'd think, "aren't I a good writer? I guess not." I kept at it since it was a form of therapy. It made me feel less like a zombie than watching Ramona and Luanne tear each other limb from limb (I loooove Ramona. And her daughter, Avery).

It's clearly a direct result of healthy increases in inner peace, that I didn't need to seek outside sources to feel calm and present. I didn't need an escape or endorphins. This was so gratifying. I deserve to feel that way. My children deserve a mom who doesn't look to enter a portal into a dimension of solitude. I was happy when my phone ran out of battery, I had no choice but to ignore it. I love reading because it's such a present activity; you can't miss a word. You have to pay careful attention. Same with writing, cooking, DJing. I have cultivated healthy parts to my life that require my full attention. It's a great feeling to run towards your life and not away from it... I also noticed this: while I loved being away I also was very happy to enter my house when the trip was over. There is no worse feeling than not wanting to be home. It's unsettling and unnatural. Women spend so much time creating our homes, it's terrible to not fully enjoy that. It's good to go away, it's good to come back. You can never have enough inner contentment and spiritual connection to your surroundings. And there's no overweight charge for that😊💼🎒. My goal is to travel, to do more with less, to expose myself and my family to other cultures and places. All the while taking myself with me everywhere I go.

❤️🌍🙏🏻, Lady B

Because you have to

I was recently telling a friend how when all the girls in my family got engaged, there was this weird rule that we all had to immediately take up needlepoint as a hobby. It was very spinster Jane Austen, only on a beach at the Fountainbleu hotel in Miami on Passover. It was a circle of females with their needlepoint projects, that were usually of a Judaic nature. Your girl had negative interest. That was considered rebellious, and was met with surprise from the committee of judgmental aunts and cousins. One cousin, who carried her needlepoint supplies around as a badge of marital honor, asked me what I'd start working on, since I now had a ring on my finger💍. Er...nothing...?

While I appreciate any artistic hobby, this just didn't speak to me. What was confusing was that it seemed to be this bizarre initiation process into wifedom. I didn't want to get married just so I could do stupid shit like that. I was crazy in love and wanted to be intertwined with this person. I didn't get engaged so I could do arts and crafts. That's how my family operated though. It was a large family that moved as a pack at all times. There was most certainly a pack master whom we all had to bow down to. If you didn't kiss the ring, there'd be major consequences. Fun, right?

As with most large, wealthy families, there were constant power struggles, rife with competition, jealousy, rules, fear, intimidation, and totem poles of authority. Every single decision was made by a committee of relatives, ranging from the minor to the major. My aunts and uncles all weighed in on where I attended camp, high school college, who I dated. I resented this tremendously, as any normal teenager would. It was astounding to me that my parents and I couldn't make those decisions without the approval of a Greek chorus. As parents, my ex and I don't give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks about the choices made for our children. It would never occur to us to consult with an outside party. This surely contributed to knowing my feelings and opinions about my own life were unimportant; it mattered only what the committee of elders thought. I never had a voice about anything. Anytime I tried to plead my case, it was shot down immediately by people who knew nothing about me, but who somehow had complete authority over every aspect of my life. Decisions were collectively made over what entree to serve at our weddings (veal chops) to which doctors we should see to where we should live.

A couple of my cousins dated boys from divorced homes. This was met with horror since divorce was considered a blemish on the paper write up of family values. Belligerent uncles tried to break up those relationships, using the guilt card of "what would your dead grandfather think?"  There was no divorce in Polish shtetls. There were also no gay people or equal rights for men and women. Any white collar crimes were, of course, permissible since those weren't public. It was very confusing as a kid to watch grown ups behave so nastily to one another, yet know that these people were counted on to govern my life. They neither knew me or cared to, yet I was told to defer to them for everything.  It made no sense and I had no choice in the matter. That was the way it was. We went on vacation together, even though there'd be fists flying at the table. Ugly words were served as freely as tap water. BUT, if you didn't attend/participate/comply you'd be destroying the holocaust surviving legacy of our grandparents. Years later, a therapist and I would spend years dissecting this notion of a pack mentality, of  strength in numbers. "No matter what, we stick together".  This made sense finally. All those miserable years of having to comply with whatever edict was being issued by the Don, with no possibility of just pulling away. Anyone who expressed the slightest show of independence, was told we were crazy and would destroy the family. The verbal and emotional abuse was nothing compared to being shoved into a gas chamber. You take it because you have to. You are nothing without the rest of us. You'll die out there on your own. You will fail without our instructions. You will attend this high school, you will date this boy, you will wear this to the party. Even seemingly small things turned into a tactic to maintain uniformity and control. There was no democracy. And if an elder were to make repeated comments about your teenage chest, you took it in silence because said comments weren't being  made in an underground tunnel in a ghetto.

I finally was able to identify all the feelings I had as a child of being misunderstood, adrift, unmoored, and ignored. To this day I react with knee buckling fear if I think I'm a "bad girl". These are reactive patterns I'm still untangling. For the first time in my adult life I am certain I will not die alone out there. I am not crazy. I am not bad. I won't ruin the gestalt if I follow my truth. I am a really good person. A good woman, not a bad girl. My instincts as a kid were right; those people don't know what the fuck they're talking about. I don't want any of their lives. If they'd consider that crazy, then color me batshit. At one point I was told (yelled at) that at the age of 19, I was somehow responsible for the rift that was slowly forming cracks in the family foundation. This was actually screamed at me en masse at a bridal shower. Years later a couple cousins tried to apologize, no doubt to alleviate whatever guilt they had. I was not interested, and I remain uninterested. When I see most of those relatives, I pass by them as if we are total strangers. There is no room in my life for toxicity, family or otherwise. This was the most expensive permission I granted myself. It took ten years of therapy to understand I wasn't bound to these people. Prison, prostitution, physical abuse, and emotional torture were all worth it if you wound up on a beach needlepointing a challah cover.

I remember being in fourth grade, and an aunt didn't like the outfit I had worn to a ballet we'd gone to see. I was ten. My mother had obviously bought me those clothes. She told me I "looked like I was going to a roller skating party instead of the ballet".  If anyone ever spoke to my kids like that, I'd rip their face off. I literally know no one that speaks like that. I don't keep company with "those kinds of people". This aunt was later on tasked with teaching me how to use tampons, again at the damn Fountainbleu on Passover. As in, live demonstrations. Until we got it right.  You can imagine how comfortable this was, and how fabulous it felt at dinner that night that every family member had been apprised of my menstrual achievements. Nothing was private. The committee knew everything. I am in the acute minority of having had an issue with this. I don't recall if there was a discussion of what brand of tampon I should have used, but I imagine there was. It takes your past to ultimately define your present and future. It took my childhood to define my parenting. It took having zero loyalty, support, kindness, and understanding to being in a place of only surrounding myself with the right people. Unapologetically. Because you have to.

In Memory of a Miscarriage 🍼

 In a recent post I made mention of a miscarriage I had. I'd actually intended to write about it prior to that other post. I don't know why I am all of a sudden dragging this out of the depths of my memory. It happened 16 years ago, after I thankfully had my oldest baby. As painful as it was, I imagine it would have been much harder had I not had a child yet. When a woman wants a baby, it's an all consuming, frenzied focus and desire. She wants it NOW.       

My first baby was so wonderful and easy. She was only a year, but why not add another one to the mix? Figuring I had motherhood under control, I could certainly handle two. How foolish and arrogant, assuming this would be no big deal. I was 22 years old, and all I wanted was to be a mother. I yearned to push that massive double stroller all over NYC, while balancing babies, boobs, and bottles. Getting that positive pregnancy test when you want it is better than a billion dollar winning lottery ticket.

My first pregnancy with my daughter was nine months of crippling round the clock nausea, so I figured this next one was a boy because I barely threw up. I also kind of grew a beard, which caused me to think I had increased levels of testosterone simmering in my body. What an ignoramus I was, though I believed I was the expert on parenting and adulthood. Which is impossible at any age, particularly the age when your peers are partying all night and waking up the next day with lampshades on their heads.

Parenthood catapults you into adulthood. At 22 I felt older than I do now at 40. I wanted to play house and be a mother, so I immersed myself in an insanely grown up role. I love being a young mother, but there is something to be said for respecting your developmental capacities at certain stages in life. As I said, my daughter was a dream, and we couldn't wait to give her a sibling. When I went for my routine eight week checkup, the frozen, sad look on the technician's face said it all. We had brought the baby to the sonogram so she could have her first "big sister" moment. So stupid; she was 1 year old.

It never occurred to me EVER that something would go wrong. The panicked demand to know what was going on, the technician's sympathetic face, the ominous instructions of "let's wait for the doctor to come in". All while lying vulnerable on a table, my body housing whatever was going on that I had yet to understand. The doctor came in, and in a rather cold demeanor announced that there was no heart beat. I exploded into a tidal wave of tears. I didn't want my baby to see her mother sobbing so uncontrollably, so she was taken out of the room. What was meant to be this wonderful moment, turned to devastation and grief in a matter of minutes.

A miscarriage is unquestionably a death. What was once alive is no longer. It's a massive loss. Since mine didn't bleed itself out on its own, I had to schedule a DNC to have it "scraped out". I had to wait about a week for that appointment, and all I could think was,"I'm carrying death around in my body." It was an excruciating time, and looking at other pregnant women bursting with life was a dagger in my heart. Pregnant women are everywhere in NYC, and I didn't leave my apartment for weeks. What was the worst part about it was this: I was instructed not to discuss it with anyone. What was meant to "protect our privacy" became a twisting, silent, agonizing secret. It was wrong and unfair to expect me to carry the weight of such a loss alone. Women need to talk about their bodies. We are emotionally designed to seek and need support. I was so young, and I thought there was something wrong with me and my reproductive system. I was terrified I wouldn't have another baby.

I recall how hard it was to uphold this unreasonable vow of silence. I so wanted to tell my best friend at the time. I was with her every day, how could I not say something? I almost exploded, but held back out of fear of upsetting my very private ex. It never once occurred to me to challenge him on that, and advocate for my female point of view. I was the one carrying a dead baby, it's shocking to me that I overlooked that. Did I really believe I wasn't entitled to a voice about this?? How utterly sad...

When I finally did blurt it out, my friend said,"big deal! So did this one and that one and this one and that one." I couldn't believe I wasn't alone! I didn't think people my age had them. It was like learning about a support group I didn't know existed, but that I needed. It was so comforting to know that this was way more normal than I thought. Had I only spoken to my friend earlier, I'd have spared myself that extreme level of pain and isolation. The point to all this is that no one ever has the right to order you to not discuss something so personal, especially if it's tragic. The need to shut down and bottle up is unhealthy. The need to reach out to others to release, emote, and be supported is healthy. For another person to block that healthy need of ours is wrong. If life is holding you under water, you have every right to grab onto a lifeboat and swim the hell out. Men and women are biologically built to react differently to things. That's a fact. Areas about baby making are particularly murky and painful. Women need each other for most things, this tenfold. The desire to keep this quiet didn't stem from a bad place, but that's irrelevant. It was insensitive and unfair to assume I was okay with that while dealing with what was occurring in my own body. Would you ever tell your daughter to lock up her pain and throw away the key? Of course not. Mothers need that same consideration. We are human before we are mothers. It dishonors the normal range of human sadness by burying it so swiftly and deeply. I am clearly a person who finds comfort in sharing, which I'm glad for. I wish I'd have done what was right for me. I can't go back in time, but even years later I can learn from that. We owe it to ourselves to let pain and vulnerability not be a source of shame. We need the uncomfortable feelings just as much as the happy ones.
   

As soon as I got pregnant again, I saw that miscarriage as a blessing. Had that other baby lived, I wouldn't have had my second daughter. Tragedy often leads to unforeseen wonder. Until that wonder reveals itself, honor your need to be open. A closed heart doesn't help fix or heal. Never apologize for being open hearted. It's not weak to need the support of others. It's strength to admit you do. Feelings are strength. Tears are courageous. Warriors cry too, though they keep going. Warrior 2: arms straight like an arrow, foundation strong and ready, gaze over the front middle finger, looking ahead. Unwavering. About to change shape over and over, while never losing the integrity of the pose...

🏹. Blessings, LB

This. Is. 40.

To be honest, I've put a lot of pressure on myself regarding the Big Birthday Post. I'm not sure what my dear readers want to hear, and I always strive to share what I know will resonate with you the most. This has been a very complicated and layered year, all leading up to my life cycle beginning anew (as it does each day, but the regular days aren't deemed balloon worthy🎈😉). I grappled with the message of this post being one of empowerment, one of gratitude, one of struggle, one about being single. I know readers understandably love stories about divorce. About a woman grabbing herself up by her bootstraps, and going forth with strength and positivity, with honest difficulties sprinkled on top. I like stories like that too. We all find ourselves in places of despair, being held under water while trying so hard to claw our way to the safety and predictability of land. People who are on the precipice of crumbling, but don't. We like these tales because they are at once relatable and hopeful. Anyone claiming to live a shellacked existence is fucked; one day the slightest crack in their armor will send them flying into a tailspin. "Perfect" is a dangerous word. It sets you up for failure. It's those of us who can face shit that will break the surface and hungrily gasp for fresh air, reviving ourselves with a breath so furious that it jolts us back to Life. I have always known  that extreme joy cannot be understood without extreme sadness. I hate the idea that "ignorance is bliss". Ignorance to me is death of the mind, of the spirit, of the self. If you dumb yourself down, how can you possibly know what you need to live a joyful, wondrous, fulfilling life?

Having grown up in a family whose main purpose was to maniacally convey to the world how "perfect" they were, all the while covering up layers of poisonous emotional sediment that would eventually come to bite all of us in the arse, I went the opposite route. I will choose blunt honesty and vulnerability every time. I find such strength in admitting I sometimes feel lost, unmoored, bored, or just plain sad. That is what allows me to be bathed with the wonderful parts of life in such a pure state. From darkness to light, every time. I mean, how good is that first sip of orange juice after Yom Kippur?

I dated someone a couple times who works in the entertainment industry. Our brief relationship went off course when he became fixated on turning my life into a television series for netflix. I have heard this before, which is flattering but would cost my family its privacy. He tried to be all showbiz manipulative by saying ,"You don't realize how important your story is." He was wrong. I know exactly how important and interesting my story is, and I could write Season 1 in a week. I have envisioned every opening and closing credit, and every episode in my head. I know the soundtrack, I have casting ideas. He said, "You are a woman who would not live her life being ignored." I replied, "Well, you're ignoring me right now by not respecting my reasons for not doing this." I feel much safer sharing my story with you via this blog.

Judging by the growth of the blog and the increase of readers from exactly a year ago, it seems we are on the right path together. The blog and I have the same birthday (along with my brother and my dearly departed boxer, Roxy). Celebrating my birthday this year was also a time to look back and reflect on how far Lady Blaga has come as a brand. 40 for me, among so many other things, means I have my own business. Saying I never thought that'd be part of my reality is an understatement. I was raised to be a housewife and nothing more. No one ever wanted more for me, including myself. We believe what we are told. When I started rejecting the story others wrote for me without my permission, that set new paths into motion. Paths I wanted to stay on. Paths I must have always wanted to take, since they wouldn't have materialized without some measure of subconscious intention and desire. Uncovering all that blocks our own wishes and dreams is hard work. It's scary, it can blow your carefully constructed paper life to bits. I swear it's worth it. I am living proof. As I look back on what has unfolded since I'm 39, I am amazed by the power of the partnership between us and the world. The universe so organically wants to steer us towards our dreams, but it can't tell us what our dreams are. That's up to us. It's both daunting and empowering to know that our entire life is in our own hands. The past year I have occasionally wept with gratitude at our ability to heal ourselves. The level of freedom and love we have the potential to feel is infinite. I have learned I am enough, that I am my own home. Being married or single is irrelevant to that fact.

I was on the beach today, envisioning something I'll say to a man when I'm one day sitting on a beach with him. This was the conversation I imagined: after he asks me how I'm enjoying the vacation, I say this, "Everything else is secondary to being here with you." Then I quickly said the same exact thing to myself. I burst into an a thousand watt grin as I looked up at the sky. Oh man, do I want Love. I dream about it every minute of every day. I was built for it. It doesn't scare me, as I know it does many people. That to me is like being afraid of a butterfly, and who doesn't delight in watching a beautiful butterfly flapping peacefully about? However this year has been a lesson in learning to love myself. I am not entirely there yet. I need to remind myself constantly that I deserve the kind of love I'd so easily give to others. I feel sad for myself that I don't know that, that I have to re pattern by meditating on being worthy of receiving. Why wasn't that instilled in me before?? I had to be 39 before I started to fight for myself. It is my right. But as I said before, that sadness has led to tremendous growth, since it has taught me so much about myself. Every lesson is important. When we are happy we think everything is great, so we don't look to learn. Why search when all is peachy? It is only in a dark room that we feel around for the light switch.

I spoke to my kids last night about how though I want love, it doesn't mean that sitting in Mexico with them on this beach, at this exact moment, is anything but perfect. About how life is a constant balance of looking forward while loving the present. Always reaching while standing strong, steady, and firm. I said the speech with tears and snot pouring out of me.  I dreamt for many years about running away with my kids to a beach. I have laughed with many girlfriends who have had this same fantasy. To be mothers amongst Mother Nature. Well, here I am. With these four humans who were selected to enter the world through my body. Out of the billions of souls, these were given to me. They are the four chambers of my heart. This doesn't mean my heart can't fit in others. Two years ago the thought of boarding a plane alone would have filled me with anxiety. Today, at 40, I took my four kids with several suitcases to another country by myself. Zero nerves.  It was the calmest I'd ever been before a trip, and the least I'd ever packed. I feel beautiful and natural. I am wearing no makeup, and am taking about five minutes to get dressed. I feel happy and safe. I am awash with gratitude at my ability to grow. I am proud of how my kids know they are all I need to be loving this vacation. I feel strong, fluid, and cared for by the universe. I trust myself, while knowing I will make many more mistakes.

As Rogue, one of my DJ friends told me ,"Mistakes are awesome. That's how we learn." She was talking about DJing but her thought impacted me deeply. I had always felt the need to be perfect. I feared error. Now I embrace it. As I look back on photos of myself at 20 and 30, I beam. I have never looked or felt better in my life. I have carved a place for myself in the world, and I'm not putting that chisel down ever. I have a renewed zest for life that I feel every day. I walk around each day thinking that today could be the day I meet Him. I am alive with possibility. It's enthralling. Perhaps the most important lesson I've learned is that He isn't revealing Himself to me until I strengthen my own vibration. The right kind of love, the stuff of fairy tales I'm certain exists, will find me at the right time. It will be delivered to me, no signature required, though I will be waiting calmly by the door. Not because I need it, because I want it. And because I want it, it will happen.  And you, dearest readers, will get one hell of a story. So this is 40, eh? Education, strength, inner peace, trust, love, hope, accomplishments, proof, wonder, excitement. I didn't have most of those things when I was younger. I have earned my happiness, and I will keep fighting for it, sometimes peacefully and sometimes with force. We are born every single day. January 19, 1978 was the day my soul met my body, but that's it. I celebrate myself each morning with new breath. The reason the start of this decade is so major for me, is that every dark tunnel I crawled through has led me to this place of light. The past is always over, no matter how good or bad it was. Key word; was. Key word; is. This, Friends, is Me. I just happen to be 40 at the moment... You have no fucking idea how amazing you are, Lady Blaga

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

On any given day we can look back to where we were a year prior. This need not wait until New Years, a birthday, or any other calendar time marker. Every day belongs to a place in time where you were a year ago. Well, a year ago I was freaking the F out because out of NOWHERE I lost eight inches of my hair. It occurred within six weeks, start to finish. On thanksgiving it was long and luxurious. Right after that it started falling out and weakening, and by mid December it  was significantly lacking. The selfies I took on my way out the door to the club on New Years were alarming. I was baffled. What happened???

I was devastated. Having lost two thirds of my hair in high school due to a vicious case of psoriasis on my head, hair is a major topic for me. That time it took four long years to grow back. Like this time, back then it was ALL I thought about. All I'd look at on other girls. What I'd maniacally stare at in the pages of magazines. I was hair obsessed. We tend to fixate on what we are lacking, and so my brain was tuned to the hair channel 24/7. It was excruciating, being in the throes of adolescence. I had bald spots that I'd strategically cover. Damn, it was depressing. I never thought I'd have to go through that again.

Then I went through the typical post baby hair loss four times, but everyone does. It's so hard collecting drain piles while feeling helpless. So much of a woman's vanity is tied to our hair. For better or worse, we care a lot about our manes. This time around, just as I was feeling ready to soon explore the dating world, I was frantic. I was all set to embrace my soon to be single status and this derailed that. I had worked so incredibly hard to make sense of the next chapter of my life, had a positive attitude, and was in the right frame of mind. I felt robbed of a fresh start. The first question  anyone asks during hair loss is "are you stressed?" Um, no, I really wasn't. I was truly in a place of peace and contentment. My divorce wasn't public, and my ex and I were going through it together in a unified manner. It was the least stressed I'd been in a very long time. However, the several doctors I cried to all said that it takes the body six months to process emotional trauma. Bingo. My hair breakage was exactly six months after the summer, a period of tremendous anguish. I was certain this was the result of something massively internal. I know my body well. Living with ulcerative colitis since I'm 11, which is triggered by stress, seasonal shifts, and hormonal zig zags (pregnancy and post pregnancy), I've learned how to read my body's signals and reactions. Breaking eight inches of hair in just a few weeks had very little to do with the hair itself. It was greater than that.

It's very scary when we are faced with having no control over our lives. At a time when I finally felt in the driver's seat, the bus was once again forgetting to pick me up. My yoga teacher told me it's just external and doesn't matter. Um... I'm not nearly as evolved as her. IT KINDA MATTERED😫. I wanted my haaaaaiiiiiiirrrrrr😢.  I frantically did all sorts of research on hair growth. I'm by nature a very proactive person. I react. Strongly. I believe in proactively solving what I can. I can dwell, mull, dissect, and rehash with the best of em (a habit I'm unlearning since it traps us in the past) but I respond. I'm like this by nature, but it's also a result of my entire life; since childhood I've been on my own emotionally in every way. I've had to make things happen for myself. I have always had to be my own safety net. It's why I'm good in a crisis. It's why I can be that safety net for others. We provide for others what we ourselves lacked.  Shitty circumstances force us to rise to the occasion. Such as this one. I'd never googled this much in my life. I found all these Indian hair gurus on You Tube. Those women know what's up; their hair is their livelihood. The best wigs come from that part of the world. They are hair magicians, and I sought their secrets. I want to share with you some of what seemed to be consistent among the women I found. There are many hair bloggers, You Tubers, and experts from all over. I didn't spend too much time looking far and wide, I had no patience for that. I jumped on the first few I saw who felt right to me. I didn't question anything they said, from putting curry in my hair,  to all the vitamins I've since taken religiously, to rubbing my fingers together to activate stem cells in my head. My daughter laughed at the last one. She said when she did it she just got a headache. Aha! It caused some kind of reaction! All they said was law.

I dutifully listened, determined to expedite the restoration of my mane. The vitamins that they all seemed to swear by are: folic acid, B 12, A, E, D, and iron, which I take anyway. I also found VIVISCAL in my research and take that too. Why not throw in Biotin? Twice weekly I made a mixture of various oils and spices and slept in it. Sexy. At first I followed exact measurements but now once a week I'll make my own concoction. The ingredients in the hair mask varied, but the common ones were coconut oil, castor oil, avocado oil, curry powder, mustard powder, and peppermint oil. I also used this Indian plant powder my friend CR got me from her yoga teacher. As I said, I was all in. Today I'll throw in an egg for protein, honey as a humectant, and occasionally a banana for moisture. I no longer sleep in the mask, which was so gross, but I'll keep it in for an hour. It's insanely nourishing. Nothing grows if its not healthy. My hair was broken and uneven, but I had to restore its health if there was going to be any movement in the right direction. I also have myself twice daily head massages to stimulate the follicles.

The most important thing I learned from this was to increase yoga. Until then I'd been doing once a week private healing sessions. Needing to increase blood flow to my head by being upside down was essential. Makes sense, but a yoga class is typically an hour and fifteen minutes, a hard time block to commit to several times a week. I've never been an early riser, but there was this 6:15!!!! Sunrise class that would not cut into the rest of my day. The only way to force myself out of bed at that ungodly hour was to stop going to bed so late. The only way to stop going to bed so late was to put down my stupid phone. Basically, I had to change my whole schedule. I was ready. I just did it. I didn't deliberate, I didn't complain, I just did it.  This was new as well; not deliberating or complaining and just going with the flow. Pretty much everyone I know bitches and moans about everything. It's habit. I never knew otherwise, so I never noticed it. I can barely tolerate it anymore. It's unpleasant on the ear. I also purchased a very expensive light stimulating baseball hat that I wore three times a week. I was hoping to resemble Doc Brown in Back to the Future. Instead it was a black baseball cap from Chernobyl. If I looked at it I was blinded. I hid it from my kids so they wouldn't hurt their eyes out of curiosity. Supposedly this hat is all the rage among aging Hollywood actors. Great🙄.

I started drinking a tbsp of coconut oil daily, wanting to nourish my insides and eliminate whatever toxins were lurking inside. I took numerous steam showers so I could just be enveloped in moisture. I wanted to become the opposite of dry and brittle, both literally and figuratively. I wanted growth, health, newness, a fresh start. I rubbed coconut oil into my skin (until I broke out in places I didn't know one could break out in). My sole focus was wellness. And it felt calm and right. It felt so nice to take such loving, educated care of myself. No one has ever tended to me like that. As I said, I've always had to provide for myself. That's not victim-y, it's just fact.   

Well, a year later my hair still needs to grow several more inches but I love its current length. It's shiny and healthy. I've never had shiny hair before! My vitamin regimen gives me a noticeable glow that people have stopped me on the street about. The yoga has impacted my life in ways I never thought possible. The morning classes are not always easy to wake up for, but fill me with energy, joy, strength, and flexibility. My studio has become a place of refuge. The notion of going to sleep at a decent time and not falling into the iPhone vortex for three hours at night was a needed change. I still do that sometimes, cuz I'm a girl in 2018, but it's a crappy feeling. At least now I know better. Then I didn't even think it was a problem.  I learned how to take care of my hair as I do other parts of me. I learned when to clarify and when to nourish, and I'm not just referring to hair. So many people lose the quality of their hair as they age. It thins, cracks, loses its luster. They give up on it, chalking it up to aging. Maybe there are other factors to consider besides getting older in numbers. Maybe it's indicative of a deeper drying up... That can be brought back to life... I learned that Spring always follows Winter. There are seasons for everything. There are times when the trees are bleak and barren, but then the leaves do grow back. It takes patience but it happens. For all things a season. We reap what we sew. Output from input.     

Because I'm Lady Blaga, I must leave you with an honest, self deprecating anecdote from this challenging time. One night I was sleeping in a shower cap covering my stinky curry oil mask, while wearing an adult diaper since my period was what can only be described as a "murder scene". I called my friend SF, described the scenario, and said, "Gentleman, take a number."   

❤️, the 🐝

A year ago I...

I lost eight inches of my hair due to residual stress (stay tuned on the blog).

I was no longer married but no one knew.

I was cracking under the pressure of how to tell our kids about the divorce.

I was trying so hard to hold things together while other things had deconstructed.

I did not have the blog.

I had no idea how I'd survive without a relationship.

I had no idea how to do anything in DJ lessons, though I had begun six months prior.

I decided to slam the door shut on certain unhealthy relationships in my life, social, extended family, and otherwise.

I had no Lady Blaga Instagram handle.

I was a colt getting up on shaky legs.

I was certain I needed a new version of my life, but wasn't quite sure what.

I didn't have yoga as a part of my routine.

I had never meditated, and therefore had no real means of coping.

I would sometimes go into my room and lose my shit out of uncertainty.

I had to bite my tongue from blurting out my secret to my best friends.

I was starting to believe in myself but felt I had to justify doing so, even apologize.

I hadn't yet met some incredible DJs in the Creative community, who have given me the truest form of encouragement, since they understand.

I was no longer trapped in a cloud of invisibility.

I felt new life breathed into me.

I started to smile for no reason, and for every reason.

I no longer felt angry and bitter when I saw couples together on the street.

I began to feel what I came to identify as pride.

I had a renewed sense of energy and life.

I had people stop me and inquire about my glow.

I finally proved to myself I am indeed a writer.

I felt certain in my value as a woman and an individual.

I let go of Jewish guilt.

I began to envision the version of my life I deserve.

I came up for air.

I felt my days and weeks were no longer identical.

I felt a hunger to maximize my time here.

I felt stronger and more sweetly vulnerable than I ever had in my life.

I felt safe being catapulted into this new space, though logic might dictate otherwise.

I stopped apologizing for growing.                 

A year ago, I shook hands with myself and said, "nice to meet you."

Rogue Got Soul

📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀 📀📀

We all have dreams, whether we are aware of them or not. First off, if you haven't yet realized yours, start searching within yourself to drag them up from the depths of your subconscious. It's ok, you're not only entitled but OBLIGATED to go all Scotland Yard on yourself. Dissect your essence  and uncover the facts about your truth, so that you can begin to honor it. You have to coax open the mouth before giving it food.
 

It took me years to admit that one of my dreams was to be a DJ, and even more time to do something about it. I don't beat myself up about this; everything comes at the right time. But this post ain't about me. It's about a friend I've met through this journey that is the living embodiment of my dream. Blaga peeps, meet Rogue. She is the fiercest, cutest, hottest channel for music and emotion on the NYC DJ scene. Oh yeah, and she just beat cancer. That too. I met her through Instagram, thereby reaffirming that social media can lead to wonderful things. My instructor at Scratch Academy, @djesquirenyc has known her and worked with her. Seeing some posts on his account led me to click on to hers, @roguegotsoul. I'm fascinated by cool female DJs, since I clearly want to be one. I loved this chick on site. She emanated such passion, emotion, fun, and confidence just from her IG pics. Her parties, with her at the epicenter, looked like a fucking blast.

I love hanging with the guys, and she was this badass lady presence in the Land of Testosterone. The male NYC DJ scene cannot be that simple to penetrate. These dudes are selective! Rogue was accepted. I need her secrets. There was something about her that drew me in. I was looking at what I wanted to be. Rogue is freaking adorable. She is petite, with a beautiful face and big green eyes. I love all her tattoos. She wears her artistic expression permanently. She used to, and will once again, have long, thick black hair, that cancer borrowed from her temporarily (thanks, Cancer!). As all IG romances begin, I clicked onto follow her. I started reading about her gigs, as well as about her brutally honest battle with cancer. She's a wonderfully open writer, which isn't surprising since she's able to channel her emotions through other artistic means of expression. I reached out via DM, and we started a communication for which I'm deeply grateful. She was so responsive and encouraging of my own path. We seemed to open up to each other immediately. I'm so often the one to throw out warm, welcoming vibes, but with Rogue I felt I was receiving them as well. That's rare for me, and I appreciate it every time. Damn, did I like this chick.

I wanted to learn from her, hug her, and heal her before we even met. Over the summer I attended some of her parties in Brooklyn, which in my opinion, kicks Manhattan's ass as far as nightlife. Since we had been conversing via text before we met, it was super cool to meet in person. I walked into her gig, we looked at each other, and after two seconds there was that cool visual recognition. It was like,"heyyyyyy, I know you!" Awesome, sincere hugs ensued. How wonderful to share a physical embrace after you've already spiritually embraced someone. It don't matter which part comes first. A click is a click.

And then I got to see her in action. Emphasis on the word "action". She emotes, she dances, she smiles, she loves, all the while choosing the best music for her audience. At this point Rogue was deep into her battle with her illness. She had lost her hair and performed in a turban. I've never seen a more beautiful, more alive "sick" person. Her body may have been battling something, but her soul and spirit were intact. If I didn't know about the chemo I'd have just assumed she was a chick who dug the shaved head look. This was not a weak, ill woman. Like, at all. She was, and is, more alive in every way than most people I know. There is more life in her pinky than many folks have in their whole body. I sensed this before we met. A person's spirit, when it's clear and sure, is apparent at all times. We humans posses tremendous powers of perception. When we are open we are highly receptive to the pure energy of others.

I received Rogue at the right time, having just begun to open myself. Had I been in a closed,  bitter state I wouldn't have internalized her and her story to such an impactful degree. I'm so grateful to be her friend. She's quite younger than me, but I view her as one of my teachers. Age is meaningless when it comes to education. I really hope to make her proud one day. During her lowest, weakest points in her treatment, she played on. She didn't pretend to have everything under control, she just carried on. I'm sure there were days she was too zapped to work, but she stayed out there, Man. I once wrote to her, after reading a post about which she wasn't feeling so great but was on the way to a gig, that there will be someone in that crowd who needs her music. That her being there and giving people a home for their moods and emotions can change someone's life. Even save them. Music is a healer, we all know that.  And Creatives who feel and express, thereby giving others a safe place to feel and express, are our lifelines. There will always be someone in that crowd who feels like shit. Who is sad, lonely, confused, maybe even suicidal. And then they decide to drag themselves out for the night. And then they hear you play. And then it wakes them up somehow, and allows them to feel happy and free, even if it's for just a few minutes. And so they hang on, because when good music is playing life is a lot more tolerable. It's even enjoyable.

A great DJ is a messenger. Personally, that's who I want; not just the Shiny Happy People, but the ones who feel a little bit broken and need a home for the night. And that's all of us. I want all of us. What a fucking honor it is to soothe the soul of another. And Rogue Got Soul to spare. As of two days ago, she posted news of her remission. I was waiting for her victory, it was an inevitability. There was no doubt this lil Mama would prevail. She carries others because she carries herself with strength, grace, purity, and love. She shares all she has, and she has an abundance. Her wiring is iron clad. I have much to learn, and she has much to teach. The only place she's going is back to her lab 📀📀. Oh, and her favorite show is Rick and Morty so there was an instabond with my kids. She also has cats . If she were Jewish I'd call them Katz✡🐱🐱. 
 

Rogue, I love you. Thank you for being You. Thank you for being well, for healing yourself and for healing others. You is a Soul Sista.

So much ❤️, Lady Blaga.

I mean Jess. I mean DJ FRONT.   

PS: do yourselves a massive solid and follow her. Go to her gigs. Just show up, she will take care of the rest.  Stay tuned for pictures from her New Year's gig!  

Whoa

This was the first word that popped into my stunned head when thinking of a title for this post. First, thank you to the GURL SG for suggesting I blog about this. We were going nuts about something yesterday, and she wisely told me to use it as fuel for writing. Which reminds me to feel gratitude for having a vehicle for my emotions and opinions.

So here's the deal... I picked up my middle schooler early yesterday for an appointment. While in the car, my son began to tell me about a special program he'd just attended in school that really moved him. An 11 year old sports/video game obsessed boy getting a dose of inspiration; rad, right? He recounted the gist of the speech as this: there was a very religious woman, who used to not be, who kept having miscarriages. As soon as she began to follow strict Jewish observance to the letter, she was able to have children. Also, she is very rich. The End. Um..... SCREEEEECCCCHHHH🙀.

Where to start? Needless to say I was livid. I rarely react to what goes on during the school day. I really feel that kids and adults don't need to know everything about each other's days. The level of accessibility due to modern technology is unhealthy. We all need breathing room. Kids also don't gain important coping skills if they get upset by, and report, every little imperfect detail to their day. Those eight hours during school are for them to handle, like we handled our school days on our own. Hurt feelings, a lousy remark by a teacher, lunch table hierarchy, and too much work are all crucial parts to childhood. No app can fix that stuff. It's all part of the initiation process. Overprotection and oversanitization are a massive disservice. That being said, I couldn't not react to what my son was telling me. I was quite upset for several reasons. One, the topic of a miscarriage is a deeply mature and painful subject. Not appropriate for middle schoolers in the midst of enjoying a day of school wide Olympics. I discuss a lot with my children, but this is a topic I did not plan on him hearing about at this age.

I, like many women, had a miscarriage. It was a crushing, depressing time. I couldn't leave my NYC apartment for weeks since everywhere I looked were pregnant women. Two, having attended a fanatically religious high school that was super keen on the fire and brimstone fear based approach to Judaism, I react viscerally to any implication that we as a people are punished if we "disobey" God. To even hint to these malleable young minds that her personal tragedies were self imposed, due to her wearing pants and not wearing a wig is reckless and irresponsible. To plant seeds of guilt into the thought process of young yeshivah students is one of the chief issues with Jewish education. Judaism has so much warmth and goodness to it. Why taint that by scaring kids into believing their future problems are their own fault? I have friends well into adulthood that still fall back on these guilty reactions. It's Pavlovian. It's been ingrained in pretty much everyone I know, and I've done years of telling myself that it's "magical thinking" to retrain my mind. Teaching kids self blame is terrible on any front. God forbid one of the girls hearing that speech will conjure this up during a future miscarriage.

Three, there is nothing wrong with wearing pants and not wearing a wig. If doing those things brings someone closer to God, that's great. But they aren't necessary to be a loving, devoted, kind Jew. We aren't distanced from HaShem in our hearts if we wear a sweatsuit from Aviator Nation (sup, Clementine?). I loathe the focus on externals. It makes my skin crawl and my heart sad. I don't want my kids' yeshivah education being based on that type of irrational dogma. Supposedly there was also a great deal of focus on money and material wealth, placing blame on that as well for certain hardships. Money has no place in a discussion geared towards kids. My neighborhood gets a very bad rap in regard to such subjects. It's unwarranted. Most people I know who live here are incredibly down to earth. There isn't a Birkin Bag in sight. People are on scholarships, budget their vacations, and don't generally prance around on an overly groomed white pony. If they did they'd be laughed at. Listen, this ain't no hippie commune, but it is not the type of environment where materialism is routinely discussed with the student body. In fact most kids came home from that speech taken aback by the emphasis on 🤑. Which I'm proud of, that they were able to pick up on how off putting it was. I don't intend to detract from certain terribly painful situations this woman and her family lived through. I'm happy their family is large, safe, and healthy. However using personal tragedy to brainwash kids into thinking they are in control of everything if they "just follow the Rules" is wrong.

Which leads me to Four. In my community, the more externally observant you appear, the more you get away with. Had a non Jew (a term I detest, more on that another time) stood up in that auditorium and spoke of such topics, an angry, torch burning mob would have been let loose. Even a Jew of lesser "observance" would have been criticized. I don't see why the publicly devout have such license to say whatever they want. It's like this weird, narrow minded permission slip. Sign me OUT.

Epilogue: the school was quite upset about many of the points of discussion, and emailed the parent body, apologizing for the presentation. Prior to that I actually had an exchange with the principal suggesting they do that. Too many parents were upset not be  validated. It was a very respectful email. It's vital for parents to have a healthy platform for giving important feedback, and it's greatly appreciated when the administration receives it. Oy, I'm tired. I worked on this post intermittently throughout the night, while fielding questions from my seven year old about miscarriages, namely mine.

Sigh... Signing off, LB

Holiday Hell✨

Whether your holiday involves twinkly lights on a tree or eight candles on a brass base, I hope you're making it through okay. The holidays  are a notoriously tough time. Depression and suicide rates actually increase. There is so much expectation placed on Togetherness,
Joy, Family Time, and Merriment. If those expectations aren't somehow met, or if you find yourself surrounded by seemingly other "happy" people while you're in fact miserable, loneliness and sadness are compounded. The joy, both real and forced, can serve as a shitty reminder that you just don't feel that way right now. While everyone else is nestled happily in their little real life snow globe, you might want to slam that snow globe at the nearest wall. This is not unusual. It doesn't mean your life sucks. I kinda think the forced happiness is much harder to deal with when you put your head down at night...
 

Having said that, I am genuinely enjoying Hanukkah this year. I have been thinking about the symbolism of that highest candle on the menorah. The ninth one that's often raised above the rest. It's called the "shamash". It's job is to light the remaining candles. It is the chief source of light on the menorah. It isn't counted as one of the eight nights. It's not talked about very much. But every menorah has one. It's job is essential. It literally spreads light, fire, and warmth. It allows us to publicize the miracle of Hanukkah which is strength, perseverance, and survival. Jewish triumph aside, the shamash represents those qualities in each of us. We are all lit from within, no matter how dim some of our days are. Even in our darkest moments, we can always illuminate ourselves by coming home to our truth. By doing so, we have the power to light up the world. Every person who has ever impacted the world began as one little voice in the universe. They learned to crawl, speak, and run just like the rest of us. We all started out the same, maybe not with the same genetic talents or brilliances, but God put His light into the souls of all humans. It's our job to activate the switch. Darkness is never permanent. You're not as alone as you feel. You are more watched over than you know. You are not an accident. You indeed have light and warmth to give.

I've written about this before. I'll do it again. This idea is universal and infinite. It's not mine, and I don't claim to reinvent the wheel. But I'm turning it for you as much as I can, as I know you'd do for me when I'll need it. This year as I watch my candles burn, I'm not paying attention to numbers, or to gifts (ugh, I hate the gifts). I'm focusing on the shamash and using it as motivation to stay bright, so that I can lead with light. All we can do is that. It is the least we can, and it is the most.

I love you for eight days plus forever. ✨✨✨, LB

PS- you'll have your snow globe eventually.

Gotta Start Somewhere

I have been waxing nostalgic about my first paid blog related gig. Making any sort of income was not something I ever thought would be in the cards for me. This is not a complaint whatsoever. I am very blessed to have my family financially provided for. As I've written about, I say blessings before I eat. I know what a luxury it is to have a refrigerator full of food, constant running water, heat in my home, and education for my children. I have never lacked those things, which does not mean I take them for granted. The world is full of people with three jobs, struggling to make ends meet. I am in awe of those people, especially when they simultaneously manage to raise happy, well actualized children. Dinner time is hard enough without having to worry about whether or not you can afford dinner.

For almost twenty years I was a housewife (I hate that term) and stay at home mom, which I loved. However, I needed more for myself as a woman and as an individual. The monotonous routine and sameness of every single week was literally mind numbing. As in, my mind was actually going numb. Creativity always exists, but it is a muscle that must be flexed consistently or it will atrophy. People usually associate atrophy with the physical body. The same holds true for our spiritual and emotional beings. When the intangible is neglected, it starts to dry up. What's going on inside of us is a massive bouquet of wildflowers. If not watered and loved, we dry up, crumble, and disappear. If anything, nurturing and tending to our souls may be more important than taking care of our bodies, since our souls will outlive their physical encasements. It was always such a compliment when people would tell me I have talents. But with no proof of that, I stopped believing it. At a certain point it feels delusional to convince myself I can be more than what I am, when I've seen no evidence of that. I'm a results person. I make mental lists. My lists are less frantic since I'm calmer in general, in knowing that I'm now accomplishing so much. Which leads to excitement about what I will accomplish in the future.

For so many years I'd cling to past achievements, again, listing them to talk myself off the preverbal ledge. Ticking off memories such as reading poetry at my local NYC Barnes and Noble when I was nine months pregnant with my second child (cool, right?). Writing all the lyrics and assisting with musical direction for a children's CD when I was 24 (lol, CDs 💿). Two of my kids don't even know I did the second thing. None of them know I did the first thing, which just occurred to me. Past accomplishments lose their luster over time, because while time passes, the past is simply stuck. It's not real anymore. It may have been great, but it no longer exists. The future is even less real, in that it hasn't happened yet. What are we left with? The present. At any given second of any moment, it is always the present. We are enveloped in the NOW. Don't rely on past memories to satiate you. Enjoy them, but don't use them as a crutch. Do not assume future happiness based on imagined, hypothetical scenarios. They are pure fabrication. This is not easy. I am a huge visitor of the past, and an even greater imaginer of the future. The scripts I write in my mind for future conversations, scenarios, and assumptions could be motion pictures. What a waste of brain power! It's just noise in my head, and I'm much happier when my mind doesn't go off the rails in those directions. If my body is in my kitchen but my head is in Miami of 1999, or in Tel Aviv of 2030, I've got zero shot of alignment😂. Funny but serious.

The worst is when I envision highly detailed dialogues or confrontations with someone. So stupid. Human, but stupid nonetheless. A mantra that really helps me is "no expectations, no attachments, no assumptions, no analysis". It's wordy but I couldn't omit any of these ideas. I came up with this a couple months ago, and I hold onto it when I need to. Which means constantly. When I click with this, there is instant lightness. To over analyze is to set yourself up for failure. I'm a highly analytical person, so I needed this lesson. This is a lesson in mental restraint. It feels good to give your mind a break so it can be filled with other productive things. It's like cleaning out your closet; making room for useful, quality items by un cluttering that which you don't use or need. There's a reason closet cleaning immediately feels so good. Excess never serves us. It distracts from what we need to really be doing. Editing and un cluttering my life in so many ways has allowed me the newfound space to rediscover my buried creativity.

I have dragged out my dire need to create and express. It's like finding a prized, invaluable antique in an attic and dusting it off. Everyone is excited when they find something like this! Treasures must be polished and preserved before they are able to be enjoyed. In terms of finding myself, first I had to decide to open the attic door, open it, search, locate, dust off, unearth, and  shine myself up. Then I had to decide to maintain that shine! Why should I sit underneath a pile of useless junk?? No way. This is not selfish, which women are often taught. God forbid we direct our attention inward 🙄. The second we take our nurturing away from someone else we get criticized. Whatever. Giving myself permission to proudly display myself has led me to my original thought, that being my first paid blog job. It's not the money, it's the acknowledgment. It's seeing direct results from all the love and originality I've poured into the blog. Through this source I'm able to feed my inner source. Lady Blaga is so many things for me: a platform for my numerous ideas, a home for my feelings, a connector to both myself and others. It's given me concrete proof of my persistence and versatility. I'm so proud of how many topics I cover each week. Four articles is quite a lot of work, but I'd never cut back. It's good to push myself. It gives shape to my weeks.

Writing is a haven for me. I can always escape to my list of Blaga homework as a means of solace. The blog is a means of showing my kids I can do more than make grilled cheese and shop for school supplies. I've met amazing people and have been presented with incredible opportunities thus far. Opening my attic door opened my life to all sorts of experiences, the blog enabling that. For the blog I cook, I write, I style, I emote. I am on a constant quest for new ideas to share. I hope I inspire. Even if I have to write a seemingly superficial style post, I enjoy it. If you like reading it, I love writing it! I have deadlines, which keeps my mind on track and gives me a sense of importance. For creative types, our minds can feel like the Wild West. There's a lot going on in my little head! Blaga harnesses my wildness and directs me. It gives my life order and excitement. Writing and creating is therapy. Becoming a DJ will be my ultimate therapy as well.  When that happens, you'll know about it through this channel. It's all working together. All parts of us converge naturally when we honor ourselves.

The money I made wasn't much, but I couldn't have been prouder. I have a lovely photo to prove it. My smile is a thousand watts in that picture... That payment represents my decision to delve into my own life. There are always fears and excuses. Don't wait. Put money in your spiritual bank and reap the rewards of self discovery. Happiness and inner peace are indeed the riches of life. Invest in your heart every day, and the interest will grow. Peeps, that was a double entendre😏. ❤️, Lady Blaga 🔑🚪🔎

Great Expectations

Wow. Ok... So as y'all know, I was so excited to take yet another cherished solo jaunt to Israel. I don't go away that often, so when I do, I expect these vacations to fuel me for a long while. We all do, right? That's the point: a break from our everyday life. A reminder of the excitement and newness of life. A reminder that we are so much more than our mundane schedules and routines. A reminder that we are creatures with open minds, hearts, and eyes, who have a desire to explore new things (whether we know it or not). A reminder that we simply know how to have fun.
 Since this trip was centered around a certain event, a bar mitzvah, it was not spontaneous. I bought my ticket months in advance and made all sorts of plans. I knew there'd be many periods where I'd just wing it, and walk around alone (which I love to do), but the meat of the trip was definitely comprised of plans, assumptions, and expectations. We have all heard a million times how we should never have expectations. While there is great value in that philosophy, it's simply not possible all the time. For instance, if you planned a special day with your fam for Mother's Day, you damn well expect a special day on Mother's Day. If you planned to lose weight by going on a crazy strict diet, of course you expect to lose a few pounds eating all that air. You get the drift; while too many expectations fill our minds with imaginary realities (since we are expecting the future which hasn't yet occurred), thereby taking up precious mental real estate, we are indeed human. And humans want a lot of shit. We want it so much that we will it to happen with hopes, plans, and expectations. We use calendars to organize and control. To expect is to be human. I will not blame myself for thinking that carefully executed plans made meticulously in advance with a friend wouldn't have panned out. I had every reason to believe things were going to unfold the way they were supposed to. But, as is often the case, they did not. Capital D, capital N: Did Not.

As I've alluded to on the instastories, that week in Israel was complex. Good parts, bad parts, and necessary parts. That's not how you want to describe a hard earned vacation. You want a one word answer; Great! Awesome! Rejuvenating! Pick a happy word, there are tons to choose from. Those are the words people ideally employ to sum up a vacation. I'm not one of those people who gets away with one word answers in general. People "expect" way more from me. I take it as a compliment that they really do want to hear my musings about random topics, however sometimes I wish I can give a succinct, concise response, not make eye contact, and call it a day. Someone recently told me,

"You're too engaging for your own good".

This is a challenge as a writer. I very much want to share, yet out of respect for my own privacy, I need to restrain myself a bit. That's why the blog has been a good lesson for me; engage, share, open up, but maintain sacred space for myself and my family. Crucial, necessary life lesson.             This is the thing about expectations; they often don't happen. Which is majorly important since we learn to reroute. There are literally two ways to react when things don't go "our" way; sit home, cry, and freak out. OR, adjust, move on, and make the best of it. I recently heard to not view these scenarios as anxiety provoking, rather see them as challenges we can indeed overcome. I also loved the Prince EA Instagram video about how life's hiccups are not boulders but stepping stones. Follow him by the way. These concepts took up permanent residence in my confused head last week. They saw me through a potentially disastrous week. No way was I going to let my precious  vacation be hijacked by unforeseen circumstances. I've been through way worse, I could handle this. Handle it I did. Not without sadness, not without some loneliness, not without frustration and disbelief, but I handled the F out of this trip. It was either work around this new set of facts I was given, or get railroaded by them. I think we all know I'm not the "get railroaded" type...     

Here are some examples. I expected to spend a lot of time in this beautiful apartment I was all jazzed up about renting. Instead, I was barely there, and therefore spent hours walking around exploring new parts of Tel Aviv. I navigated random streets and neighborhoods on foot. I learned where the good markets and shops were. Foreign country, by myself, 👊🏻👏🏻. I had expected to be occupied on Saturday.  Instead, I was not, and so I entered a synagogue I stumbled upon in my neighborhood. I went in on Friday night to say hello, promising to be back the next day. I returned with nuts and raisins for the community meal following services. I prayed, always a comfort to me. I met the locals, and ate lunch with them (there's this one older gentleman who cooks for the congregation each week. David. He was so excited to have a new customer). I felt so welcome. I loved the varied appearances in that synagogue. For example, there was a young man with long, curly payot wearing a huge, white yalkmuka. With an earring. All the synagogues I've ever known would be up in arms if a man attended services in a big earring. Dress, background, none of that matters in Israel. The focus is simply not about nonsense like that. It's very refreshing. I had expected to get together with a certain friend one night. Instead, I got my hair blown then watched the sunset with the hairdresser and his friend. The sunset in Israel is a valued, wonderful event. I almost missed it...

I expected to cook everyday in my apartment. Instead I found cheap, local places to eat delicious food that I hadn't previously tried. I expected to hang out with one group of people the majority of the time. Instead, I met other groups of people and we went to some super cool clubs and bars. If you go to TLV, go to Jimmy Who and Radio. If you're in Jaffa, hit up Akbar. New, new, new. I expected to be looked after. Instead, I looked after myself. It was a whole new level of resilience that was revealed to me. I expected to not want to come home. Instead, I couldn't wait. It's very healthy to want to return home. I felt so clear on my immediate goals for my life now. I smiled on the plane, feeling so grateful that I know what I want to do with my life. What a gift. Too many people never really uncover that in time. I had always expected to be one of them... My head was cleared of certain thoughts that had taken up most of my thoughts and energy for months. That is no longer, and so I'm clear to fill that space with things that deserve to be there. Ideas, dreams, and visions that are worthy of the front row in my mind. Out with the old, in with the You. While we can't always get what we want, we might just find that we get what we need. We are all just Rolling Stones. I expect today will be a good one for all of us. You are more adaptable than you realize. You should really start to realize it.

Love , Lady Blaga ❌❤️❌❤️

Where Home is

There is something in my neighborhood that pierces me whenever I drive past it. It's an empty piece of land where a house recently existed. This home belonged to a couple whose children and grandchildren lived directly across the street. For decades, this wonderful family, whom I know, lived in an idyllic cocoon of love and closeness. The kids ran back and forth to their grandparents, holidays and Shabboses were spent eating together, and downtime meant more hanging out as a whole. This family rolled as one, with many other assorted siblings and their children in the neighborhood too. Every parent's dream.

A few years ago the family patriarch died. I often wondered how painful it would be for their daughter to see her former home, that now just housed just one parent. That due to the physical proximity of their houses, the sight of where her father used to live was unavoidable. Fresh arrows of grief in the heart every time. However, life has a way of demanding that we constantly readjust by catapulting us into unfamiliar territory, so they all continued to live according to their new reality. Same homes, same street, same close bond. Holes from losing a loved one are never filled, we just learn how to navigate ourselves around them.

Then, the matriarch eventually sold her house. Her children sold as well and moved out of town. So now one house is vacant, while the other ten feet away was bought and bulldozed. It is this empty property that fills me with tremendous sadness and discomfort, as well as a little dose of fear. It's such a huge juxtaposition, to see what has become of that little family oasis of theirs. Their corner went from a private bungalow colony to vacancy and non existence. I always think about things like this. The family that lived in my house a hundred years ago, before we knocked down what they had built. The people who will knock down my house eventually, making the decision to do so by quickly writing us off without ever meeting us. It feels so dismissive, even though it's of course entirely not personal. You can't dismiss someone you've never met. All the laughs, fights, memories, and meals made here will become ghosts. Maybe, MAYBE, someone will say, "I knew them", but even that person will be dismissed; the new owner won't care, nor should he really. It's hard to care about those we don't know. How a family can go from existing in one place in time, to simply no longer being there is a harsh reminder of how temporary and fleeting life is. Our utopia that we've created can shift radically as quickly as the earth can crack in a quake. Nothing is permanent. We put so much time and love into maintaining our homes. It's hard to think one day they'll become a pile of demolished bricks. No one will care who your decorator was, and if you liked working with him. Or whether or not you had a pool. My brother in law once told me wisely, to never get too attached to a pile of bricks. This is good advice for obvious reasons. Don't wrap your whole existence up within a certain set of four walls, because one day those walls will be torn down. What you built within that house will move to another location, where it will continue to be. This isn't a post about how what matters is on the inside, it's a sad thought about the crappy passage of time. On the one hand each of us is a significant gift in the world, but on the other hand we are just minor details. It's About how our chapters often write themselves without consulting us first.

Yes, we have power over our own story. But there are things we simply cannot control, which puts us at the mercy of Life. And that is a hard pill to swallow. I can't clean this up and put it in a pretty box. There's no glossing over or filtering these realities. Thinking about it or not is irrelevant. It's happening anyway. All we can do is love and live fiercely in whichever space we are in.

Vanity Insanity

So here I am at my NYC salon, getting some much needed highlights. It's funny how my color will go from great to escaped mental patient overnight. It's like one morning I wake up to having more roots than a giant oak. I used to loathe sitting in the color chair for a couple hours, I was too restless. Quality hair color is a luxury; clearly my restlessness had nothing to do with the process, but rather my own state of being. It's a gift to be able to sit in a chair in a top salon and be pampered. What a shame I wasn't able to enjoy that back then. Now I look forward to taking that time to take care of myself. There are many aspects to wellness. Vanity doesn't  necessary negate spirituality. One can meditate then fix her hair or get a manicure. We are multifaceted at all times. I actually did walk to yoga at sunrise this morning, and it was a few moments of majesty. I'm usually doing carpool at that time, so it was a real treat to walk while the sun was just beginning to gently wake up the leaves on the trees. The trees looked dipped in gold, the air was soft and not cold, and the quiet in my neighborhood was calming. Due to a surgical procedure I had six weeks ago, I've had to refrain from my regular yoga. This has been a challenge, but I can proudly report that I handled it far better than I ever would have prior. I quickly learned to find other ways to maintain balance and pliability. The frustration at being limited was kept to a minimum. I did not miss a beat with making time for my spiritual and mental upkeep, and found ways to modify. You can never take a break from mental healing, even while the physical body takes the time it needs to do so. There's always time, even if it's only two minutes. Think about how much time we spend in the black hole of our phones🤔. This was a much needed lesson in restraint, patience, and trust. It came at the right time in my life. Readjusting those patterns take a lot of time and work, but it was a process I needed to start. It's just about having more tools in your box. Reading yogic and self motivational books, setting a timer for mediation, breathing exercises, and  keeping a meditation journal have all been extremely helpful. Life changing, actually. Each of those things are necessary ingredients for me to live the life I want. They aren't temporary additions to my routine, they are now a part of my life. There are many different routes to the same destination. We will get lost many times before gaining direction. It's all part of a never ending process.

How did we get from meditation to highlights? Ah, now I remember😉.  Every time I'm in the salon, I'm deeply unsettled by how many of the older women look. The awful injections and plastic surgery. The bleached blond hair extensions, lack of facial affect, and too trendy clothing cause me to reflect on the slippery slope of vanity. Am I going to keep "taking care of myself" until I look like a wax figure of Donatella Versace?  Will the need to cling to my youth supersede reality and rationale? Will I be able to eventually chill the fuck out and flow with the current of getting older? Will I envy younger, fresher women and be depressed that I passed my peak? These are uncomfortable questions. I most certainly do not want to walk around with a beak for lips, dressed in an air of desperation. However, as a person with a very human measure of vanity who has always taken meticulous care of herself, I might fall into that sad trap. Which would suck. I've invested way too much time in my appearance to have it be derailed by denial and a missing sense of what's age appropriate. When I say "appearance" I don't mean makeup and heels during the week. I'm more often in sweatpants and a t shirt wearing nothing but sunscreen, unless if I have somewhere specific to go. I have zero qualms leaving my house in pajamas. Sometimes my baseline for dressing is simply not to look homeless. The balance of Blaga is that it has injected my life with a hefty dose of glitz and glam, but I'm really a stripped down homie at heart. If my skin and hair look healthy and fresh, and my body feels lean and fit, then I am pleased with my appearance.  Honestly, a denim jacket thrown over pajama pants is cooler than pretty much anything anyway. This is where mental work becomes so crucial at this point of "middle age". So we learn and understand how few to no external trappings we need in life. So we don't confusingly morph into Blanche Dubois. So we appreciate our faces and don't pump them with chemicals to alter them.  I will always take care of myself, it's part of the framework of making myself feel good. But it comes from a place of maintenance, not alteration. Let's have each other's backs with that, yeah? As a society of women who have all means of beautification so available to us, let's just have increased awareness of who we want to remain. Not some freak show version of who our culture tells us we need to become. Those women look crazy and unhappy, and those decisions are irreversible for the most part. Stay beautiful, which means staying You.

Love, the 🐝girl from the Blind Melon video.

Hello, Sunshine☀️

I recently finished a great book: "Hello, Sunshine" by Laura Dave. Not to worry, I'm not giving anything away in case you read it, but it's about this woman who became a culinary internet superstar. Her fame was built on fraudulent pretense, and her empire gets torn down in a matter of days by a hacker with a vendetta. Sunshine, the title character, who is actually a super cool person, is forced to reevaluate her entire life. Facing truths, owning up to her mistakes, finding out who would want to hurt her like this. Since her entire fake identity was detonated overnight, Sunshine has to rebuild her life from the inside out. Her outside in veneer was shot to shit. This book is so cleverly written, with a snarky, acerbic undertone. Don't be fooled by the title; this novel deals with hard hitting relevant issues. The perils and poison of social media. How easy it is for us to lie, even to those we love. How a selfie with duck lips is used to create a certain impression, ignoring whatever else is going on inside or around us. People photo bombing the unfortunate situations of others. The entitlement we feel in videoing other people's lives, then posting it. The utter lack of respect the world has for privacy. The fear we carry that some nutcase will hack our phone, finding out intimate details about our lives and our children. Cyber bullying is just another means of punishing others for our own misery. It's so easy for us to construct a lie with the touch of a couple buttons. The underlying topic of the book is the NEED to lie above all else.

When Sunshine comes clean to someone in the big shot culinary business about how she was a fraud, the response was that out of all the cookbooks, blogs, shows etc, only maybe two of them are real. The celebrity food business is just as dishonest as any other avenue of fame. Who cares, Honey, take the pic, post the caption, and just say it's yours. This really made me think, and what I thought about made me proud. It would never occur to me EVER to be inauthentic. In any area of my life. Anything that I've shared with the precious Lady Blaga audience is 100% real, true, and original. I would never buy followers. It's just not for me. I have no problem copping to when I can't do something. I can admit vulnerability. It jives better with me to be at a plateau in growth on social media, than it does to use smoke and mirrors to gain popularity. No, I don't like it when a beautiful photo that I worked hard for doesn't get as many likes as something vulgar or mean on IG. But that's just the way this cookie crumbles. There's no sense in letting it get me down.

What I CAN do is just keep creating in a vacuum, and keep my blinders on so that I can just go forward. I promise that every recipe, fashion concept, inspirational message, and musical selection is all authentically mine. Any personal experience I share is pure truth. I know you feel that, which is why you read.  I pour my heart and head into Lady Blaga. It's a wonderful challenge to constantly come up with material worthy of your eyes and ears. I take that seriously. We have clicked on this Blaga community; because it's all real. I will never lie to you, bullshit you, or disrespect you with mediocrity. We are above that. It's not what I want, and it's not what you want. Anyone who manipulates the masses is not doing the right thing. It may be the common and popular thing, but it's wrong. We should never try to deceive one another, or dumb each other down. Naw, Dawg, not the Blaga philosophy. In my private life or my "public" life. LB is not a persona or a character. It's who I am. I have many facets, just like you do, and they're comprised of actuality. As I wrote on the site's home page,"there's too much great stuff out there, we don't need to make shit up". Well, it seems I've just made my first official book recommendation. How lovely is it to be able to share literature with each other😀📒. No technology required. Just eyes and a brain.

Goodbye, Sunshine☀️.