This blog has always been sort of “I’m putting this out there because I’ve learned that people’s stories can help other people and this is my story.” It is, emphatically, MY story. It is not my father’s, my partner’s, or anybody else’s – it’s life through my eyes. Because we’re all allowed a voice. We’re all permitted our observations, and our expressions of our observations. This is important to remember as we slouch toward Bethlehem. Our stories count. Our voices matter. Our perspectives – however subjective and personal – are allowed. My audience may not be big – it might only be one person. But I’m talking to you, and I love you for listening.
Self-care is critical at a time like this. I’m not talking about manicures. I’m talking about making sure that the food in front of you is good. That there’s some exercise – and it doesn’t have to be a massive workout. That there’s love in your life in some way.
Today in self-care: I went into Manhattan. This is important for me – doesn’t have to be every day, but there’s a reason I moved to New York all those years ago. I need to be at the nerve center. And Manhattan is great for getting your 10000 steps in. All those staircases in the subway – all that moving around. Came back, MADE myself go to yoga (where I found out I’d been missed – who knew? I was very touched). Iced my lower back, had a salad for dinner, and am about to hunker down with The Young Pope or read Bleak House – not sure which.
Yes, I read the news. Yes, I was horrified by every single bit of it. No, I’m not immune to despair. But in doing these little things – the city, the exercise, the ice, the veggies – I’m a bit stronger. I’m a bit more clear-headed. I’m a bit more ready to amplify/boost/megaphone the messages I get. And I’m ready to go to work.