30/30 http://30leftof30.posterous.com In thirty days I will no longer be in my 30s. Officially freaking out/reflecting. Enjoy. posterous.com Sun, 27 Nov 2011 08:11:00 -0800 Lesson #26: And In The End... http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-26-and-in-the-end http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-26-and-in-the-end 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...

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Fri, 25 Nov 2011 20:53:00 -0800 Lesson #25: Sometimes It Rains On Your Parade http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-25-sometimes-it-rains-on-your-parade http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-25-sometimes-it-rains-on-your-parade 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.

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Thu, 24 Nov 2011 14:13:00 -0800 Lesson #24: Thanks Takes Thinking http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-24-thanks-takes-thinking http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-24-thanks-takes-thinking 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.

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Tue, 22 Nov 2011 21:02:00 -0800 Lesson #23: Out With The Old http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-23-out-with-the-old http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-23-out-with-the-old 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.

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Mon, 21 Nov 2011 19:54:00 -0800 Lesson #22: Specks of Dust http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-22-specks-of-dust http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-22-specks-of-dust 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.

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Sun, 20 Nov 2011 08:34:00 -0800 Lesson #21: It's My Party... http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-21-its-my-party http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-21-its-my-party 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.

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Fri, 18 Nov 2011 19:40:00 -0800 Lesson #21: 10 Cents = Change http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-21-10-cents-change http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-21-10-cents-change 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.

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Thu, 17 Nov 2011 20:30:00 -0800 Lesson #20: It's Not About Finding Yourself... http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-20-its-not-about-finding-yourself http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-20-its-not-about-finding-yourself 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.

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Wed, 16 Nov 2011 19:16:00 -0800 Lesson #19: It's OK To Want (And Have) It All http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-19-its-ok-to-want-and-have-it-all http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-19-its-ok-to-want-and-have-it-all 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.

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Tue, 15 Nov 2011 15:58:00 -0800 Lesson #18: Modesty Is For The Victorians http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-17-modesty-is-for-the-victorians http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-17-modesty-is-for-the-victorians "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.

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Mon, 14 Nov 2011 18:12:00 -0800 Lesson #17: There Is No Normal http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-16-there-is-no-normal http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-16-there-is-no-normal A lot of patients used to ask me "is this normal?" meaning, am I just like everyone else? I've spent most of my life knowing I was not normal, yet striving to be so, starting with the most basic of premises: my name. I longed for a normal name, or maybe merely one that appeared on license plates and shoelaces. Then there was the nose job. Sometimes I still regret not having one, but I stuck with my Streisand principle ("it might alter my singing voice!). Then there was prom. I needed a normal date. Stat. But that wasn't happening since I went to a near-all-girls artsy fartsy school where no boys actually dated any of the girls. No matter. I plucked a younger buck, star basketball player, and basically terrified him into being my escort. There was no new car, and no loss of virginity to punctuate my 16th and senior prom. But I did insist on renting a limo. Tried so very hard to have the prototypical American prom night. Even though I was in Canada. There really hasn't been anything normal about me, from my name to my academic ping ponging career path, to my lack of wedded bliss and 2.5 offspring. I've come to appreciate my oh-so-google-able name, to my Romanesque profile, to my eclectic pedigree. And in truth, what is "normal" after all? As I lay on the massage table earlier tonight being tortured, the therapist said "wow, you are one of few clients I've ever had who wasn't lying" and by that he was referring to my earlier statement of "my neck is really screwed up, especially the right side." Nice. I forget sometimes that I walk around every day with excruciatingly painful anatomy. I just do. I don't actually have any recollection of what it feels like to be not crooked. Normal. In graduate school, my father thought it was normal that he had to see the teacher to hear what he was saying (turns out he was deaf, just never knew it). All we know is what we know. I don't believe in absolutes, just relatives. Is the blue sky I look up at the same blue someone else sees? I don't think so. Everyone told me that medical school would be "brutal," years of pain and suffering and it would only get worse in residency. So, when I was beyond miserable, dreading every day of my existence, I thought, "well, this is normal, this is what they told me it would be, so I guess I'll keep on trucking." But it wasn't normal for me. Sometimes it's just hard to know the difference between what you feel and what you think you are supposed to feel. Sometimes you want to be normal so badly that you forget that it doesn't exist. Well, it does. It's whatever you are at this moment.

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Sun, 13 Nov 2011 15:05:00 -0800 Lesson #16: No Pain No Gain http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-16-no-pain-no-gain http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-16-no-pain-no-gain There is a reason this is an old adage known to all. Because it's true. Sort of. They key is figuring out when to persevere, sweat, suffer, and when to say enough is enough. I went for a deep tissue massage today, one of my favorite forms of torture. That is a level of pain I have only experienced a few times in my life, but it is the type of excruciating agony that you know is going to make you feel better in the long run. Ungluing all that fascia, working out the memory of those frozen muscles stuck in old habits is the only way to move forward, free your mind and ease the pain. Ok, so I'm not just talking about therapeutic massage, but all types of therapy. And to invoke another favorite cliche, it's always darkest before the dawn. When it seems hopeless, futile, infuriating, that is probably the point at which something is about to give. But how do you stay optimistic when you are on the verge of giving up? How do you trust that this particular form of purgatory is going to get you to the other side? Breathe. Count to 10. Visualize a point in time when all of this suffering is going to pay off. And pray like only a Jewish atheist can.

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Sat, 12 Nov 2011 16:25:00 -0800 Lesson #15: Wife is (Not) a Four-Letter Word http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-15-wife-is-not-a-four-letter-word http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-15-wife-is-not-a-four-letter-word Growing up I had certain preconceived notions of what it meant to be married, in general, and more specifically, what it meant to be a wife. Just the mere mention of the word conjured up Suburbia, endless loads of laundry, the handling of raw meat, and being cheated on. This was in part due to my childhood, as well as various media models like The Brady Bunch or Bewitched (she had to use her witchy powers to get housework done, which I thought was a desirable skill to cultivate). The flip side were shows like Charlie's Angels or M*A*S*H*, where single women kicked ass and often wore incredible shoes doing it. After I witnessed what happened to my mother, abandoned with two small children and no source of income, I knew I was going to be a Career Woman with a capital C. No time for vacuuming and grocery shopping; I was studying for the MCAT and grinding my way through decades of medical training. Then came shows like Sex And The City and Ally McBeal, where single women are the norm; they lead fabulous lives wearing fabulous clothes while delivering compelling closing arguments. Only they're miserable. They spend season after season in search of the holy grail: a husband and a normal, suburban(ish) life. And so I followed in my TV heroines' footsteps. At the 11th hour I long to go to Whole Foods, cook things like chicken, do the dishes, fold laundry. Do all those wife-like duties. My conception of what marriage is has changed over time; I no longer see it as a sacrifice, as a jail sentence, a loss of who you truly are to be what someone else thinks you should be. It's more of a partnership. Running a small business. And, yeah, that probably means I will end up doing more of those domestic things I used to loathe. Since my boyfriend is a surgeon, that 'probably' is more of a 'definitely' but that's fine with me. Today I folded laundry, did the dishes, cleaned the bathroom, and actually didn't expect anything in return; it's just something I wanted to do to make his life easier. And I know he would do the same. While I loved sorting my exes socks, I gradually grew resentful of the fact that I was the only one doing anything of the kind. In the end, it's about doing the little things for someone you care about and being appreciated for them rather than expected to do them. That's the difference between a WIFE (Wash, Iron,F---, Etc - an acronym popularized by my male residency buddies) and a wife. Which doesn't seem so bad after all.

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Fri, 11 Nov 2011 15:53:00 -0800 Lesson #14: Wounds Vs. Scars http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-14-wounds-vs-scars http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-14-wounds-vs-scars I am covered in scars. Four surgical procedures, one major, three minor (if you count being told at age 5 that you had a few months to live, followed by a misdiagnosis "minor" then, yeah). You can't see them for the most part, when I have clothes on. But come summertime or anything backless or low cut, and there they are. I know they're there, of course. Constant reminders of past pain. Healed over. Discolored patches of skin with diminished sensation, but very functional. Some might even say sexy. Then there are the emotional scars, which are a lot harder to see with the naked eye, but often easier to feel. Sometimes when you least expect them. What I'm realizing though is that I may have more wounds than scars at the moment. A wound is fresh, bleeding, aching; it happens suddenly or slowly, an accident, a burn, broken bone, a slipped knife. Or harsh words. Betrayal. Abandonment. Deception. Disillusionment. When those wounds occur as an adult, you are quick to recognize them, seek treatment, and bandage things up. Pop some painkillers, so to speak. When you're a child things are not so simple. The pain may not show up right away. It might get misdiagnosed. Overlooked. Hidden away and buried under layers and layers of protective skin and bones. Then it becomes something of a chronic, weeping sore that never heals. It doesn't scar neatly like the work of a plastic surgeon. The edges don't mesh up. It keeps re-opening. How then to move from wound to scar? 1) awareness and acknowledgement of what truly happened. 2) admission, apology and taking ownership. 3) understanding, forgiveness, healing. Scars are strong. Scars are a sign of recovery. Scars show that you made it there and back. Some you can see, and some you can't unless you look hard enough; but you learn to respect them all just the same.

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Thu, 10 Nov 2011 15:49:00 -0800 Lesson #13: Stop Counting http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-13-stop-counting http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-13-stop-counting As the clock ticks onwards, (just over two weeks to go to be precise), I realize I need to stop living my life in ways I can measure. My love of math started at an early age; it was so neat, so symmetrical, so full of logic and satisfaction and fairness. In math, there are no losers; even a minus sign is just another operation to perform. In real life I've counted the As or the 100% grades I got, the awards, the presents, and of course all of the times I didn't get what I wanted and someone else did. These days I find myself counting other people's children. A med school colleague just posted pictures of her new twins on Facebook. TWINS. How is that even possible? Why do some people somehow manage to have two babies and other people can't seem to have any? I also count engagements. How many people are engaged? Pregnant? Having their second, third, fourth child? Facebook can be a bit of a torture chamber, a window into other people's seemingly perfect lives. Even though I know all too well about the positive posting bias (who posts when bad things are happening?), I can't help but covet the things others seem to be accruing while I wait on the sidelines. I know I have to stop; that the only true measure of success is the one that you create for yourself, by yourself. Eliminate others and their seeming riches (funny, money was never something I pined for) and just worry about whether or not you're fulfilled. I think what you count depends on what you have lost. If I had grown up starving or destitute, I would probably count different things. I know I have to let go of the notion that if someone else has good fortune, there is a greater chance that I will suffer, due to the whole natural order of things: regression to the mean as we call it in medicine. Whenever I had friends who got engaged after just ONE Internet date, I realized that that meant I would have more years of suffering, just to even things out. And I have not been wrong; that's just the law of the universe. Today I ran a 5k race in support of epilepsy awareness. I didn't train, I haven't been running in months, I had no intention of doing well or even necessarily finishing, but I did, in excellent time. But it's not about the numbers, it's the feeling of being able to achieve something that will make a difference in someone else's life. I just have to keep reminding myself to stop comparing and competing and adding up all that is missing when I have so much abundance.

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Wed, 09 Nov 2011 18:33:00 -0800 Lesson #12: Speak Up http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-12-speak-up http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-12-speak-up If you've ever met me you know that I am no shrinking violet. I light up a room like a 1,000 watt bulb. My laugh is distinctive, cascading like bells through hallways and dinner parties. I'm opinionated. Outspoken. Argumentative, if pushed. But in many ways and for many decades I've taken a vow of silence. When your father leaves at a young age - just young enough to not fully comprehend but old enough to blame yourself - you start to alter yourself. Diminish. You edit and wonder what it was about you that wasn't compelling enough to stick around for.. You tweak and think 'if I could be more perfect, or more this or more that' maybe he would have stayed. Maybe there is something wrong with you after all, something unworthy that will make all subsequent men leave. So you keep quiet. If someone says something that bothers you, you nod and smile. If your boyfriend spends all his free time with his ex, you accommodate. If someone else takes credit for your work or idea, you try to be a team player. In short, you become the master of silent perfection out of sheer terror of being who you are, and worse yet, being rejected for it. Nobody likes anger, right? So practice passive aggression. Nobody wants to hear you dissent, so become a yes woman. Who wouldn't want a girlfriend who cooks, cleans, and never complains? It turns out, pretty much everyone. It is one of the hardest lessons I have learned thus far. Speak up. If you have that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach, don't choke back the emotion. If you dislike what someone has said to you, let them know. Be cordial, if at all possible, but above all, be firm. At first, this will feel horrendous, like you have transformed into the mega-est of megabitches. Like you are a fire-breathing dragon burning down villages. Why isn't anyone noticing? Why isn't anyone angry? Oh, right, that's because they are too busy respecting you.

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Tue, 08 Nov 2011 19:17:00 -0800 Lesson #11: Let It Go http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-11-let-it-go http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-11-let-it-go I've heard that phrase more than a few thousand times in my life. Not sure I've ever been able to successfully execute it, though. I know that we have this misguided misperception of actually having control over our lives, and aye, there's the rub. We are taught from an early age that if you do X, then Y will happen, and it all seems neat and symmetrical and fairly predictable. If you study hard, you will ace the test; if you practice, you will be a good musician; if you are nice to people you will be popular and have loads of friends. The problem with this dogmatic linear thinking is it sets you up for a lifetime of disappointment. It's more like if you are the best candidate you might not get the job; if you practice hard you might get laryngitis at the audition; if you are really, really nice to your boyfriend he will probably think you're a doormat and break up with you. At a certain age and after enough crushing letdowns, you then start to think that life is a series of random acts of cruelty, which only makes you more and more set on controlling your environment. Which only makes the very things you want less and less likely to happen. There is a sort of bell curve cause and effect relationship between the amount that you want something to happen and the likelihood that it will, vs the likelihood that it will implode in your face. You need a certain amount of drive, commitment, desire, passion to truly execute something. But the minute you start obsessing, assigning value beyond the base value, adding personal investment that is outside of the realm of reason, things will go wrong. Very wrong. And at some point someone who cares about you very much, someone well-meaning and not invested will say "just let it go" and you will scream "are you f:$&/@-;$)98/)(89!&:'ing KIDDING me?????" if only in your head. But you know they are right. Only it might take you a few years (decades) to figure that out. I will say this: yoga helps. Alcohol helps (temporarily and in moderation). True friends help. Family, not so much. You need to come around to the conclusion willingly, independently, and in your own time. At least I did. Do. Did. Really trying to let go of a whole lot of very heavy things that I've been dragging around for the past few decades. Suddenly feeling a whole lot lighter.

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Mon, 07 Nov 2011 19:17:00 -0800 Lesson #10: Don't Be A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-10-dont-be-a-self-fulfilling-prophecy http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-10-dont-be-a-self-fulfilling-prophecy I wore a long, white, satin and lace ball gown to my senior prom. One might even say it resembled a wedding dress. That's because it did. I purposely chose a white dress at age 16 because I had a strong feeling that would be the last chance I'd have to wear one. How did I know that with such certainty? And why has it come true? Maybe it was because I never really dated anyone until my 20s, was something of an ugly duckling who was not aware of her swan-like qualities, and was the prototypical child of divorced parents. Gun shy was an understatement. But the problem is I started to believe my own story. Just because I went to a nearly all-girls' artsy school with no boys, and no one wanted to date me in high school (all two of them), I then deemed myself undatable. This continued throughout college and medical school, one disappointment serving to reinforce the next. Suddenly I was "right all along" and began collecting hundreds of dating disasters as currency for my street cred of always a bridesmaid. I've watched nearly all of my close friends beat me to the altar and the baby carriage, and they never fail to ask about my "exciting dating life;" I've always been glad to oblige. But not anymore. After decades of disappointment, I no longer wish to be the spinster spinning yarns. I don't want to regale my friends and family with the horrors of last night's dating disaster. A few months ago I decided I was going to change who I am. I am OK with being the girlfriend, the fiancee, and the wife. It's not selling out or giving up my identity. I don't want the senior prom prophecy to come true after all. Even if it means I was wrong and could have worn something chic and short and modern and fabulous. If things go according to the new plan, at least I will get to have a white dress do-over.

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Sun, 06 Nov 2011 18:41:00 -0800 Lesson #9: Live Out Loud http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-9-live-out-loud http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-9-live-out-loud One of my all time favorite quotes by Zola: "If you asked me what I came here to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud." I think that succinctly, elegantly, passionately sums up my existence. And the last few days have been no exception. What do I mean by "living out loud" exactly? Embracing life. Squeezing all of the last drops out of every experience and opportunity. Loving fully, often more than you are loved back. Not being stingy with your time, money, or emotion. Realizing that the moment is all we have. Being your true self. This weekend I flew back to NYC for a few days to regroup, do some laundry, see old and new friends, and attend my own choir concert (the first one where I was an audience member and not a performer). Friday night I had a lovely, lavish Italian dinner with some childhood school chums and their respective spouses. It was a trip back in time, nostalgic, but rosy. That night I played wing woman to my roommate at a local bar and helped her meet a charming young lad. Such a strange, yet welcome, role reversal for me; not being the one in the hunt, but sitting on the sidelines cheering on my friends. Saturday, I steeled myself for a beautiful performance of classical and modern music in a church I have often sung in, with a choir I've been with for years, a casualty of my Atlanta travels. It breaks my heart not to be singing, and I couldn't quite keep it together during the performance of achingly gorgeous strains from the viola de gamba and choir. It was made all the more poignant by the fact that one year ago this weekend, I performed with the choir, had a magical evening, the clocks turned back, and I slept a deep prosecco and melatonin-filled slumber only to dream the most vivid dream of my grandmother being transported to heaven. She died the next day. I'm still struck by how fast it all goes. How one minute you have this whole life, and then it's gone. Today, I woke up early to meet my childhood best friend for brunch who was in town from London, punctuated by frantic calls to Delta to change my flight. Marathon madness made the city pretty unnavigable but somehow I managed to make it to LaGuardia. But not before we jogged down to 4th avenue to catch a glimpse of her husband running past us! What a moment. They embraced, he removed is extra jersey due to the unexpected blazing sun, and headed off for another 18 miles. As soon a I arrived in Atlanta I dashed downtown to The Tabernacle, a former house of worhsip cum concert hall, to hear Feist perform! Always a feast for the ears, she did not disappoint. A bittersweet weekend filled with love, loss, and lots of music. And so went the last 72 hours. Not one of them wasted. The extra hour sure didn't hurt.

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Sat, 05 Nov 2011 13:11:00 -0700 Lesson #8: Not Enough Hours in a Day http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-8-not-enough-hours-in-a-day http://30leftof30.posterous.com/lesson-8-not-enough-hours-in-a-day

Yeah, I know, I forgot to post something yesterday. I mean, technically, I didn't "forget" so much as literally have not one spare minute. It's pretty insane when you live in another state from where you work, have friends and family scattered across the globe, you are home for literally 48 hours a month, and have to catch up on laundry, bills, apartment woes, conference calls, and of course, important friends and shopping activities.

Yesterday was a whirlwind in terms of work, commitments, childhood friends from overseas, making sure shit just got done, and I'm honestly not even sure it all did. I had to deal with health insurance, automobile mileage, booking plane tickets, booking hotels, buying tickets for events, coordinating restaurant reservations, making sure I dropped off my laundry and dry cleaning so it would get done before I leave again tomorrow. This is the insanity that is my life. And especially my life in New York. And I really don't like it one bit. How do normal folks cope with Life and all of the fucking Paperwork and Logistics that go along with it? When did things get so complicated? And why am I so bad at it all?

I've never been a detail/deadline person. I don't keep spreadsheets. Or budgets. Or receipts. Despite all of my smart devices, they still won't organize your life for you (unfortunately). Lately, I spend most of my days thinking "What can I leave out today? Eating? Sleeping? Going to the gym?" (you can guess which falls by the wayside). There has got to be a better way. But then it seems like all I do is plan ahead for planning ahead. And that's really not a fun way to live life.

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