It's just like The Beatles say: The love you take is equal to the love you make. I survived my birthday. But I did more than that. I think I actually enjoyed it. Sure, there were a few minor crises and setbacks, an emotional meltdown or two (not mine for a change! :)), the slowest taxi driver in the history of the automotive industry, some of the worst discos in the history of the tourist industry (ok, so they weren't that bad, but I'm just too old for this shit). But the weather was spectacular. My dress looked incredible. The five star French feast we had while sitting on the beach at a candlelit table was straight out of The Bachelorette. Minus all the cameras of course. At times I forgot it was my birthday, and at others it was all I could think about; at times I was proud to be one of the oldest people at the club and yet still one of the best dancers, while at others I was freaked out to be surrounded by young girls literally half my age.
The morning after feels strange, too. It's pouring harder than I've ever seen rain come down. My best friend is leaving (here's hoping her plane takes off). We met some amazing people, ate the most incredible food, swam in crystal water on gold sand beaches, listened to a lot of soca, and then it all comes to an end. Nothing lasts forever, whether it is a tropical vacation, a thunderstorm, being in your 30s and dreading every minute, having a baby stay a baby. But relationships and love do endure. And maybe that is one of the lessons I needed to learn. I was so wrapped up in the number, the end of an era, the drama and the trauma of it all, but I am surrounded by people who love me and I love them back with all I have to give (which as it turns out, is a lot).
Be yourself
Speak up
Good things come to those who wait
Sometimes it rains on your parade
All you need is love
No matter how far you've gone down the wrong road, turn back
And in the end...you have everything you need, right here, wherever you are, wherever you're going. Journey. Destination. Enjoy the ride...
The weather and I have never really reconciled our differences. Growing up in Canada I abhor the cold; if I never see snow again it will be too soon. And inclement weather seems to dog my every turn, every vacation, every attempt at sun seeking. Last year in Rome it poured buckets day after day. And today in St Martin as we set out for a lovely deserted sandbar by ferry, ate our lunch under the blazing hot sun, shielded by parasols and palapas and 60 SPF, it started to pour and it hasn't really let up. I have no doubt it will rain on my birthday when all I want is to lie on a beach, sip some rum based cocktail and pretend that this isn't happening. Crawl into a cave or under a rock somewhere and disappear. Truly. I know no one will believe me, since I am the most extroverted of extroverts. But it's true. Birthdays make me crazy. I try to plan and hope for the best that things will be incredible, only my expectations have always been so high that year after year I cannot help but be disappointed. I can't really remember a great birthday. One that wasn't fraught with bad weather (no matter how hard I try to escape the northeast in November), bad food, failed plans, friends that don't show up, terrible gifts from people who have known me my whole life (I know, I need to keep practicing gratitude). But you know, that's life: it's what happens when you're making other plans. You can't plan. You can't control or predict. This jolly group of Frenchmen were spying on us at Ilet Pinel today as we gazed at the sky, trying to discern what our chances of sun were or where to best situate our beach chairs. One said "Hey, are you girls scientists?" close enough. They laughed at our calculations and general type A-ness. I had to laugh as well. It's the Caribbean. It rains. Never for long. Those are the two guarantees. As in life. You will have good times and you will have bad. How much of each and when they will occur is anyone's guess. But do your best to control the things you can, and always carry an umbrella.
Gratitude has never come easily to me. Whether it was the strange combination of my slightly too comfortable middle class upbringing and my painful childhood or the fact that I have had to struggle for a lot of things others take for granted, while seemingly unattainable riches seem to fall into my lap to the untrained eye. Some things are out of my control - good genes, intelligence, near-perfect pitch, the ability to learn any language in under two weeks, a body that would make JLo jealous, the knack for making friends with a wall. So why have I always focused on what I don't have? What hasn't been possible? What didn't work out? Is it the desire for a challenge, the constant need to push myself, or is it some sort of perverse Jewish melancholy that has often kept me rooted in misery? Sure, life ain't fair. But so what? What kind of lemonade are you going to make from the aftermath of events beyond your control? What sort of action can you take to make things feel less random and unjust? I had always pictured this birthday in Paris or in my fabulous Greenwich Village flat, a ring on my finger and a baby in my belly. When those two things failed to show up, I had to start directing my own show: I chose the loveliest Caribbean island I could find, booked what can only be described as a villa straight out of paradise, and was lucky enough to bring my two best friends along for the ride. Luck? Perhaps. Wisdom, faith, experience, guts, persistence, desire,passion, lust for life? Definitely. To the outside world it may seem that I have it all: friends, family, love, a brand new job/promotion just in time for my birthday, and I'm typing it all from a hilltop overlooking the ocean. It doesn't seem fair, really. But then I think about just how hard the past 10 years have been and I know I deserve this. I've worked my guts out for it. I've earned it. And on this day of turkey and pilgrims and new beginnings, I can only think of all that I have and just how grateful I am for every minute. But this takes practice. It's easier to dwell and commiserate over cosmos, to vent, to whine, to woe it up. But those days are over. And the best is yet to come. I'm sure of it. P.s. Happy birthday to a woman I owe everything to: my mom.
My best friend from medical school arrived on the island today. We've known each other for almost two decades, through being frenemies in college (well, truthfully, we were just both misunderstood) to the med school grind, through marriages and widowhood, motherhood, and a whole lot of singlehood (that's me, in case you haven't been following).
It's comforting when someone has known you for so long, like a familiar song or a soft, worn sweater, but it can also be confining. Especially when you've changed so damn much. What do you do when you have outgrown your old self yet folks still expect that person to show up? The bad driver, the woman with endless dating horror stories, the vegetarian, the high strung strung out Type AAA student, the passive aggressive perfectionist, the entertainer, the yes woman, the jealous bitter singleton? That woman isn't turning up anytime soon. Or ever again. She's gone out with last year's fashion and yesterday's news. In all fairness, my friend has changed a great deal, too. We've both been through a lot this past decade and have grown up more than we both probably realize. It's just so hard not to fall back into old patterns with old friends and family. It's very difficult not to be who you think they want you to be. It's awkward and unnatural to try out this new routine on an old audience expecting the same jokes night after night.
But it's the only way to move forward, together, and strengthen those bonds through all that shared history. Dust off the cobwebs, step up to the mic and bring on the new.
I realize that it's going to be hard to discipline myself to write every day while I am in this tropical paradise known as St Martin. Imagine Paris, only tiny and secluded with palm trees. Yeah, like that. We are situated in a sprawling, tastefully decorated yet ridiculously lavish villa in Terres Basses. After a long day of travel and finding an off the beaten path gem for dinner (chef turned out to be a Quebec native! You can take the girl out of Montreal...), we retired to the patio and pool overlooking the sea, under a canopy of stars.
On a clearer night I might have picked out more than Orion and the Andromeda galaxy and quite possibly Mars. I love star gazing, especially in the absence of urban glow, but it has always more than a little freaked me out. Like to the point of near losing grip on reality. Or maybe hyperreality.
On a recent return flight from Honolulu I was desperately trying to achieve asleep and found myself watching a horror flick on the airplane movie channel. OK, it was actually a documentary on galaxies, but it was probably the scariest thing I have ever seen. Various geektastic physicists, each with worse hair and pant choices than the last, gleefully recounting how galaxies form and die; how behemoth they are in terms of size, and how our very own Milky Way is set on a collision course with another galaxy in a few million years and will either shatter apart into billions of smithereens, or be absorbed into this other galaxy, creating a new fusion hybrid. Wow. Cool. Exciting stuff. Except that it makes me question all of existence. If all of the calculations are correct and earth is destined for destruction; if we are truly just one measly planet in a sea of bottomless black holes, then how on earth does anything matter? Who cares about picking the right sweater?Or restaurant? Or college? Or husband? If we are all just specks of dust on specks of dust, then what does it all mean? I'm afraid I don't have the answer to that one, boys and girls. Except to say that it probably all doesn't matter. So live in the moment. Enjoy this fleeting fire. And as E.M. Forster so aptly put it: 'Only connect.' Because according to the nerds with the calculators, it is only a matter of time before we are all torn apart.
Yeah, I know, I'm sorry!!!
To all my five adoring fans, I just didn't have a free moment to write.
The boyfriend arrived, we went for a fabulous brunch, saw 'Spiderman: Turn Off The Dark' which was actually wildly entertaining and mesmerizing, then had multiple taxi debacles which almost made me miss my own birthday dinner! Surrounded by my closest friends and family we braved New York hostesses and managed to get seated when our party was complete and have a really lovely time. This was followed by an after party to end all after parties at Bubble Lounge in TriBeCa. Everything worked out perfectly and when it came time to blow out the candles I realized something: I had nothing to wish for. I mean, yes, of course I do, but at that moment I truly had everything I needed: lifelong friends, my mom, my amazing boyfriend, a brilliant job and a Caribbean holiday on the horizon (as in tomorrow!!). It feels so strange to have everything you want, finally. After all the struggles and blood, sweat and tears, and walking through fire, the calm after the storm feels surreal. But the best birthday presents a girl could hope for.
If I had a nickel for every time I heard "It can all turn on a dime" I would be a rich woman. But the strange thing is that it's true. For better or unfortunately sometimes for worse, big, large, important things happen to us when we least expect it or when we just can't wait any longer.
When I think back to 5 years ago, I was hurtling forward in a wildly successful career that I wanted nothing to do with. I was at the most prestigious neurological institute in the country, working with top minds on prize-winning issues. I was supposed to be the "next big thing" but all I could think about was " how do I get through one more day?"
There was no good answer except get out. U-turn. No matter how far you've gone down the wrong road, turn back. But then what?
I literally jumped off a cliff without a parachute and landed in the oddest of start-ups during the up phase. I call it my mini-MBA/trial by fire/Hell on earth, but things moved fast and all of a sudden I was no longer a physician, but a budding business woman. I was in a promising relationship. Things would All Work Out and I had just turned 35. Perfect! Off the market in the nick of time!
But time, unfortunately, doesn't move in a linear fashion.
Cut to 4 years later, another relationship in rubble, and I was beyond repair. Inconsolable. On the brink of 40 and 400+ dates later, nada (hyperbole, it's not just a great Scrabble word...).
4 months ago I was living in NYC, obsessed with the city, in a dysfunctional, abusive relationship with the Island, and yet could never see myself leaving. Ever. They would have to pry it out of my cold, dead hand.
I was in an equally dysfunctional relationship with someone who may or may not exist (don't ask) and went on a dating frenzy. I don't thing I've ever been more miserable in my life, except during those excruciating transitional years coming out of medicine, or during my parents divorce.
Today, I was offered my dream job, a promotion, and the best part? It's in Atlanta! I know, I know, don't freak out. I love it there. The pace is slower, the tea sweeter, the Southern charm really does ooze out of everyone, and yet it never seems disingenuous.
My boyfriend is about to arrive from LGA and friends and family are descending from far and wide to celebrate my birthday tomorrow.
Who saw that one coming? Not me. But I'll give you a dollar if you can call the next act.
I think I've spent the better part of my 20s and 30s on a quest to discover who I truly am. This involved several protracted stints in Europe, the unparalleled boot camp that is New York City (I'm now a veteran of three tours of duty), performing arts school, medical school, a brief dalliance as Peggy Olsen minus the martinis, only to be revisited decades later during another brief dalliance in ad school. I've been a scientist, a doctor, an opera singer, an English teacher, a translator, a copywriter, a grant writer, a professional actress (yeah, I'm on IMDB), a nanny, a bar maid, an administrative assistant, a software developer, a saleswoman, a TV producer, and so on and so forth...it's really quite staggering when you think about it. And think about it I do. Why so many iterations? Why all the sturm und drang and confusion? Just how many careers is it possible for one person to have in one short lifetime? I know I bore easily, but what is it about me that constantly drives me to reinvent myself? One part challenge, one part dissatisfaction, equal measures of Jewish angst and the sense that it all goes by so fast so you might as well try to be everything, if only to say that you did.
I sat next to a charming retired couple from rural North Carolina on my flight today. We bonded over the drunken boor in the row behind us brandishing his corporate AMEX and threatening to buy all the pretty girls drinks. It was 10 am. It turned out that the husband had been in sales his whole life and was now returning to school to study nursing and certify as a paramedic. He said he had always been fascinated by the human body and probably should have gone to medical school. Funny, I often muse that I should have gotten my MBA. No matter, at 65 he was at the top of his class, outshining the young nurses and putting his classmates to shame. It was inspiring, really. He plans to take his newfound knowledge on the road and volunteer at medical clinics in Guatemala. Another bonding moment as that was where I learned Spanish just after my first year of medical school. When I returned home, beaten down by the chaos and upstream battle that is New York, I noticed my very own fridge magnet, acquired during a recent fit of soul searching at a Brooklyn paper shop: "Life isn't about finding yourself; Life is about creating yourself."
I couldn't agree more.
For most of my life I've constantly been told that I will have to settle. I'm too picky. My standards are too high. I'll never get into Harvard/med school/insert anything awesome.
I've never really listened, but I have fallen victim to the superstition that too many good things mean something bad is going to happen. I can't possibly have a great job, impending promotion (fingers crossed), amazing boyfriend ( it's still too soon to predict the future), and so on and so forth. I'm always qualifying things with the Jewish caveat of "we'll see." I think my parenthetical naysaying has been meant to shield me from any possible disappointment, but what it ultimately ends up doing is robbing me of a few additional moments of prehappiness at best, and at worst becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. The idea that you have to settle is also a dangerous one: it keeps you in mediocre careers and dead end relationships. It stops you from realizing your potential and actually having a shot at real happiness. Yes, I know that great is the enemy of the good and all that, and relationships take a hell of a lot of work and jobs are not always ideal at the outset. I think being open to experiences, neither idealizing nor vilifying opportunities, and allowing yourself to be truly excited about something without worrying that pride goeth before the fall is the key. It's hard to turn off those voices in your head, the ones saying "don't get too complacent, too smug, too happy" ; maybe if you forecast the bad, throw some salt over your shoulder and stay away from black cats, you can somehow protect yourself from all the curveballs that life throws in your path. All the mayhem will be kept at bay. It gives you the illusion of control. I'm going to have to take a step back and accept that life is pretty amazing. It hasnt always been and it surely will not always be, but for now it is glorious.
"I went to school in Massachusetts...well, in Boston...I mean, near Boston."
Yeah. For decades that was how I dodged the question of where I went to college. Harvard. The H-Bomb. I knew that once those words were escaped my lips the girls would sneer at me jealously and the boys would run off to nurse their near-wounded egos. I would always undersell, downplay, and basically hide not behind my accomplishments, but squarely on top of them. If you don't shine so brightly no one will try to blow out the flame and no one will get burned. It's not like I was an underachiever, far from it; I think my suppressed success only fueled my desire to pursue it all the more fervently. But as I ascended the ranks I dyed my hair blonde. I became a pop culture enthusiast. I tried to be somewhat more ordinary so that I would make friends and finally attract someone with a Y chromosome. Negative. The smart genes have a way of expressing themselves and people would often feel deceived: "You went to HARVARD??? Why didn't you say so???" while I muttered something under my breath pertaining to a' lose-lose' situation. I think this sort of dangerous coyness is what keeps women out of the C-suite and underpaid by an average of over 400K over the lifespan of our careers, according to this month's Harvard Business Review. Men aren't afraid to flaunt, and even exaggerate or feign knowledge they don't have. There is a fabulous TED talk by the VP of Facebook on the very same subject. Go watch it.
But there are some advantages to getting older: you become less shrinking violet and more honey badger. All of a sudden you begin to own it. Own your past. Own your achievements, your Ivy league pedigree, your MD, your accolades, your meteoric rise, because you've earned it. I'm no longer afraid of job interviews; I relish the opportunity to talk about my choices, my non-traditional path, and how after decades of twists and turns and endless uphill, it all seems to make sense now. In the lens of the retrospectoscope it almost seems deliberate. And I don't hold back with the boys; they need to know up front what they are signing on for. And sure, I may not whip out the French, Spanish, German, Italian, etc...on the first date, I will smile and tell them where I went to school. At times the shyness and shame creeps back in (what right do I have to so much grey matter?) - in fact, I may have told my current boyfriend that I went to school in Boston. But I quickly filled in the blanks. And I still have my eye on a corner office.