Gratitude for Thanksgiving Day

Inspired by a Facebook post of a friend who lost her husband of 38 years, here is what I am grateful for this Thanksgiving holiday: 

• The right diagnosis for why my brain works the way it does, so I can figure out how to make my life work for me, rather than struggle trying to make me work to have a normal life.
• Strength to walk away from toxic relationships in my life, even when it was safer to stay.
• Passion for marathon running and writing, healthy addictions to deal with the challenges life throws my way.
• Friends who have reached out, supported me, and became my family, even as life got crazier and crazier. 
• Life lessons that were earned from the difficult times, as well as the personal growth that came from them.
• Discovering a voice that has been silent way too long, and the confidence to make it heard.
• Peace in my soul that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, replacing the empty longing that comes from fantasies.
• Hope that fuels the pursuit of my dreams, and dreams that are worth pursuing.
• Looking in a mirror and loving the woman I see in it.

In the face of so much wrong and bad and difficult and challenging in our worlds, we still can find so many things that are good.  Stop and think about your life.  What is on your gratitude list this year?

You Never Will Know the Demons You Create, So Just Be Kind

DISCLAIMER:  This blog is, and never will be, a political blog.  However, I spent eight years working in politics, seeing the good, the bad, and the ugly of this country.  The experience taught me so much about myself and my universe that at times, I cannot help but speak about it.  Just don’t interpret my story as a political manifesto.  It’s really just my life and my voice.

I have to get something off my chest.  Or my back.  Or draining on my soul.

I went onto Twitter on Friday to write a post, and found that #ByeByeElyse is now trending.  Apparently, Rep. Elise Stefanik, a Republican from New York and ranked as the 19^th most bipartisan Member of Congress, did something so awful that she should be burned on the stake or something.  I could not imagine what could be causing such a vitriolic response.  Except maybe those impeachment hearings….

To be honest, I’ve been ignoring the impeachment hearings.  I’m burnt out.  With eight years of eating, sleeping, breathing, and living in the political world, our current political climate is beyond stressful.  It’s toxic.

I started as a Congressional staffer for a Republican member of the House.  Politics had been an interest of mine since college, and while I was an armchair junkie, I never thought I’d have the resume or the talent for the work.  When the candidate I helped get elected asked me to join his staff, I was excited for the opportunity to help the people in the district, the people I had befriended over the months leading to the election.  You’d think it was glamorous and exciting, like The West Wing or House of Cards?  Not even close.

When you are a Congressional staffer, you have to answer the phone and calm down the angry callers.  When it is a Republican Member of Congress, the angry callers tend to be Democratic party voters who have seen your boss on TV or read a press release or worked for his/her opponent in the last election….or is supporting your boss’ opponent in the upcoming election.  Of course, the fact that they are calling a professional office with people who are just doing a job (beyond answering the phones, I was responsible for helping constituents struggling with their immigration and visa paperwork) is completely lost in the blinding rage, and the poor staffer is called a bunch of four letter words, told they should just kill themselves because they don’t deserve to be alive, or my favorite, told they couldn’t possibly be that stupid of a woman for supporting their boss.  Seriously, I didn’t realize what the c-word was….until I was called it over 1,000 times within six months.

The good news is that my boss wasn’t re-elected, so I didn’t have to face any more of that abuse.  But as I slowly healed from the mental and emotional damage from that experience, I continued to work in politics, being exposed to the occasional blog post or angry tweet that would just trigger me into a panic attack.  But instead of manifesting as severe fear, it manifested as anger.  Inside, I was a raging Tasmanian Devil, but I could not stoop to the angry mob’s level. 

You see, political work is a very public job.  Everything you do is seen as representative as your employer, whether it be an elected official, a candidate, or an organization.  Not only did I want to take the high road, personally, but anything I did could be recorded, screenshot, or otherwise documented.  And spread across social media.  So I kept silent, numbing my pain with marathon training and pinot grigio.

Then Donald Trump ran for President.  Up until this point, I had been dealing with hyper-partisan liberals, charged with emotions, but as the election (and Trump’s Twitter account) moved forward, the drumbeat of scared energy got louder and louder.  Then Trump won the election, and everything went off the rails.  The anger, the vitriol, the hatred, and the emotions were ratcheted so high that dissent, which exists in our country by design, was no longer tolerated.  Either you agreed with the people who thought Trump needs to go….or you were devil spawn.  No grey area.  No “nice” Republicans.  I mean, we’ve gotten so bad that Ellen DeGeneres was trolled for laughing with President George W. Bush at a football game.  Ellen DeGeneres, who is this sweet, kind, funny human, was trolled for being a sweet, kind, respectful human.

Not only was healing my wounds no longer possible, silencing my voice was causing other problems in my life.  I had become a shell of who I was before all of this started, both emotionally and physically.  I needed to make changes.  I needed to reprioritize my life.  And I needed to speak up instead of staying silent. 

Being obnoxious because you are fighting the good fight is not acceptable.  It’s not acceptable if you’re a Republican, and it’s not acceptable if you’re a Democrat.  Calling an office and using obscenities is not acceptable.  Cyberbullying someone who disagrees with you politically is not acceptable.  And most importantly, feeling that your horrible behavior is justified because of your beliefs is not acceptable.  As Ellen DeGeneres said, be kind. 

Seeing the anger towards Rep. Stefanik on Twitter was triggering, but instead of silencing myself, I took fingers to keyboard and purged some demons.  It’s time to tell our truths, listen to each other, find common ground, and appreciate our diversity.  Starting with myself.

The Exceptional People Biography Book Club---for Exceptional People

About five years ago, in one of my “why can’t I find a good man” phases, I came across the Extraordinary Women series on PBS.  The episode was a biography on Coco Chanel, and what struck me, as I watched, was how she struggled finding a happy, lasting relationship.  Of course, she lived in the 1920s, when women were still defined as “Mrs. Husband,” so she couldn’t be successful without a husband.

I then remembered an autobiography I read years ago about Myrna Loy.  She’s most famous for being Mrs. Nora Charles, the wife of famous detective Nick Charles (played by William Powell) in The Thin Man movie series.  I had plucked it from the library at random, but now The Thin Man is one of my favorite movies.  However, what I remember most about her autobiography was that after four marriages and four divorces, she realized that she was happiest single.  Of course, it was a lot easier to be a single woman in the 1960s when you were a Hollywood legend, but it struck me that once again, a successful, smart, independent woman….didn’t need a husband.

So why on earth was I, a career focused, independent, self-sufficient woman in the 21^st century, judging myself for not getting married and having kids?  Why did I think there was something wrong with me, instead of looking at the mirror and realizing that I was living the life that Coco Chanel and Myrna Loy and Grandma Westphal wished they could have lived?  I mean, Coco Chanel and Myrna Loy were exceptional, successful women.  Maybe my husband struggles were more a reflection of my exceptionalism instead of my failure.

Of course, it would take another bad relationship for me to truly accept that about myself, but hey, we’re all human.  And I’m GenX, the girls who were taught they could be astronauts and politicians, but also were expected to find the time to date, get married, have children, go to yoga, join a book club…..

Oh, right, book club.  After this awakening, I decided that I needed to be reading more biographies of exceptional people, and last month, I went down to Chicago to meet Adam Rippon, the hilariously funny openly gay Olympic bronze medal winning figure skater turned YouTube talk show host.  If Adam isn’t exceptional, I don’t know anyone who is.  It was a book signing for his autobiography, Beautiful on the Outside, and I brought it with me to New York as a fun read. 

That's not a photo from NYC, but it's still a good book

Adam had said during the question and answer session that he picked moments of his life that were relatable to everyone, and there were several times where I’m thinking, “wait, that happened to me.”  Maybe not hopping a subway in France to buy a shirt at H&M during a competition, but definitely the multiple hour breakup conversation.

While reading Adam’s book, I decided to challenge myself to read a biography (preferably, an autobiography) every month.  Typically, biographies are written about people with exceptional lives, and often, these exceptional people weren’t successful fitting into societial norms.  Actresses and activists, heroes and nonconformists, they remind us that it is okay to be different, that being “different” might mean being extraordinary.  And maybe, help us find that exceptional voice inside ourselves, because we are all exceptional.

Which is why I’m starting the Exceptional People Biography Book Club for Exceptional People.  Every month, I’ll post on my Instagram a short review of the biography I’ve read.  I’m also very open to suggestions of good biographies and autobiographies.  Who has inspired you?  What story moved you so much that it changed your life?  Send me a comment, email, direct message or smoke signal, and let’s all discover how each one of us is truly exceptional!

Star #3: New York, New York

This journey, to run all six majors by my 50^th birthday, wasn’t really about the actual races.  My journey through the boroughs of New York City wasn’t really about running a marathon, either.

After 9/11, my mother suffered a mental breakdown.  I was living with my parents at the time, and working as a public skate guard at an ice rink about 45 min away from home after being laid off from my first chemistry job in April.  She had always been nervous about my more independent nature, as she rarely did anything alone, but as she lost touch with the reality that I was an adult, I wasn’t allowed to leave the house without a cell phone and promises to check in.  (There was one incident where I was working the Friday night public skate, and because the police station was two doors down, an officer was parked outside the rink entrance as I walked out of there and to my car.  I figured that since I was super-safe, I wouldn’t have to check in with her.  I walked in the front door to my mother, so convinced that something bad had happened to me, was about to call the police.)

I lived in that environment for about a year and a half before taking a job as a traveling consultant and buying a home of my own.  While I was traveling the country and making mistakes and learning, my mother’s fear of something happening to me if I left my safe suburban life remained in the back of my head.  I rarely would even travel to Chicago, outside of the trips to the airport required for my job.  When I commuted to Princeton, NJ in 2008, the idea of going to New York City, visiting Times Square and the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island alone was out of the question.

After a fantastic Chicago Marathon with the Muscular Dystrophy Association, I learned they had a New York City Marathon team.  The two marathons would be three weeks apart this year, so I signed up for both, with a goal to raise $7500, a test to see if I’m ready for Boston or London’s charity fundraising requirement.  In the excitement of knowing I would be finishing another major marathon, it never occurred to me that I might be a solo traveler; I was in a relationship at the time, and usually a few people from my run club might get in by lottery so there might end up being a nice group.

In the end, there were five of us:  three who qualified by time, myself, and someone who did get in via lottery.  However, I was the only one who wanted to expand the trip into more than running a marathon, and by summer, my boyfriend and I were through.  I booked my trip solo, renting an AirBnB in Harlem for a few nights after the race and purchasing tickets for both the Statue of Liberty and the 9/11 Museum.  I figured that I had three days before the race with both my charity team and my Libertyville Running Club teammates to get an understanding about the city, and I’d have my smartphone and Uber.  And of course, that 26.2 mile jog from Staten Island to Manhattan.

I flew into LaGuardia, and immediately, there were people in running shoes and jackets everywhere.  Talking to the lady at the information desk, I scrapped my plan to take an Uber because she said the subway was so easy.  And it was.  I came out only three blocks from my hotel, and really, it was no different than wandering around the Chicago Loop.  Win!  I also discovered my Maps app had directions via public transit, which made everything super-easy, especially later in the trip.

Between the LRC and MDA, all of my meals, my walk to the expo, and even getting to the bus in front of the library race morning were with friends.  Two of us even walked around Times Square.  The best moment was walking down the peanut butter aisle in Whole Foods the night before the race and realizing that there was no way for them to prepare the amount of bagels and peanut butter needed for all those runners, staying in hotels around Midtown.  Total apocalypse.  I grabbed the closest thing, plus two cookies to counteract the super-garlicy bread at dinner, and decided to make do with what I’m thrown.

Times Square

Actually, that became the theme of race day.  While the race starts at 9:40 am (and my wave at 10:35 am), we had to be up at 4:15 am to make a bus to get from Manhattan to Long Island.  I woke up healthy (which is a fear when the dry hotel air is giving me a slight tickle in my throat) and ready…..to sit on a bus for two hours and then the start village for another two.  In stop and go traffic.  So in the midst of balancing hydration and nutrition and digestion and porta-potties, I also had to consider the potential of motion sickness.  Fun times.  I distracted myself by meeting new people, but by mile 10, some issues arose that required me to focus on how I was going to keep putting one foot ahead of another.  A potty stop and shoe unlacing at mile 16, the realization that I was near PR pace at 19, and a near sprint to finish below five by the end.  The Wave 3 clock at the finish said 5:01, so I didn’t realize my time until I got back to my hotel and saw the texts from friends who were tracking me.  I collapsed on the hotel room floor, crying. 

Back home with the LRC, celebrating my 4:56:56

The race itself is now just a series of snippets, going by so fast that I barely remember it.  The quiet start up the Verrazano Narrows Bridge.  Running on the expressway as the UPS trucks used for bag check race by.  The welcomes as we entered each borough.  The noise and enthusiasm of loudspeakers and unofficial aid stations and even homes decorated for the race in Brooklyn.  The constant up and down of the road.  The runners from around the world.  The selfies on the Queensboro bridge.  The seemingly never-ending First Avenue.  Trying to wave to the motorcycle camera in the Bronx.  The long uphill into Central Park (Mile 23!), and just floating up and down the hills to the finish.  It was fun and glorious…..until I was in a crowded finish chute, barely able to put weight on my pained right foot, starting to chill.  It was such a long walk that after I got my poncho, I found a bench and sat down for a while. 

After a warming shower at the hotel and an evening celebrating our accomplishments, my roommate, Kate, headed back to Chicago while I headed out to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.  The hotel held my bags, so I hopped on the subway for the short trip to the ferry launch.  On the subway, a family got on with a toddler in a stroller.  The toddler crawled out of the stroller, and not understanding the rhythm of the train, stumbled and hit her head on a pole.  The entire car, made up of people of all backgrounds and cities of origin and tourists and languages, all gasped, almost in unison.  No matter what our differences may be, we are all human.

Hey, I ran over that on Sunday!  Mile 1!

That became the theme as I traversed New York the next two days.  I finally saw the Statue of Liberty and visited Ellis Island.  I cried my way through the 9/11 memorial museum.  I stayed in a lovely garden apartment in Harlem.  I traveled by subway and quietly listened to two women trying to do good in the schools, just as I do on many a Thursday night.  I saw a community where the businessmen stand outside, greeting the people they see every evening.  I got takeout from the Queen of Soul Food.  I ate ramen at a shop hidden from the street.  I got a fist bump from the barista at Starbucks.  I got a great local beer recommendation (Interboro Brewing Double Fluffed Stout) from a Whole Foods employee.  I even got asked directions.  Sorry, it’s my first time here.  I took the bus to the airport, and waiting for my flight, met a server who had volunteered all day at the Biofreeze station.  I was told that New Yorkers are blunt and rude, but I found a strong sense of humanity and community.

 

In the end, I conquered New York twice.  Once on race day, but also navigating the city in the days afterwards.  Halfway through this journey, both five years and three stars, and I’m learning what a good traveler I’ve become over the years.  I’ve found not only the dream I want to pursue, but the passion and gumption to make it happen.  I took risks, overcame challenges, and rolled with the punches.  The scared little girl, trapped behind her mother’s anxiety in 2002, was now standing where they watched workers sift through the ashes and steel on TV every night.  Both that girl and that land has changed dramatically.  The pain and hatred inside of Ground Zero is now a beautiful place to reflect, remember, and memorialize.  The fear and insecurities in the little girl have been replaced with strength and confidence.

The Sphere, which was located on the plaza between the two towers

It may feel like the happily ever after ending, but these were the “easy” marathons, really.  The three remaining—Tokyo, London, and Boston—are much harder to gain entry.  I maxed out my network fundraising and came up just short of $5000, so work remains before I can apply to run for charity.  They are also going to be significantly more expensive than the three I’ve completed, between the two international major cities and the training regime needed to qualify for Boston on time, which is now a little over an hour.  Well, the biggest challenges in a trilogy always arrive at the very end, right?  So the journey continues, one step at a time….