Leap Year

I'm pretty straight-laced.  A rule follower.  A good girl.  If you were to ask around about me, I imagine that you would hear that I'm pretty quiet and by the book and I tend to stay in line.  

I generally do what is expected of me.  Except for when I don't.   

I'm pretty content being the good girl most of the time, but I have a strong-willed, rebellious side that likes to shake things up.  I've always, even at my most straight-laced, had the capacity to say Yes to things that scare me, to listen to my gut and go against the grain, if need be, to take leaps of faith.  It's one of the things I like best about myself. 

This is the side of me that ran for student council in grade 9, which required that I stand up in front of the entire grade 9 class and risk social suicide, in the armour of my Northern Reflections t-shirt, promises of commitment and change on my Bonne Bell-glossed lips.  I lost.  I was mildly annoyed to have received fewer votes than the girl whose speech amounted to "Hey, what's up, guys?" but psssshh.  Whatever.  I had stood up there.  Don't you know you're supposed to keep your head down?

This is the side of me that takes chances on connections and relationships that, from the outside looking in, seem absolutely crazy-town.  It's the side of me that got married when I was 20.  Don't you know that you're supposed to finish school and build your career and date for years before you get married? Don't you know you're supposed to follow the script?

This is the side of me that doesn't know how to make it to point B but gets in the car and drives anyway and assumes I'll be able to figure it out along the way.   This is the side of me that trusts I am capable and that, if nothing else, I'll at least learn something in the process.  

Don't you know you might get lost?  Don't you know you might end up right back where you started?  

This is the side of me that, a year ago, chose to leave a job, with a pension and benefits and at least a semblance of security, to be an unemployed single mother.  At least, that's one way of looking at it.  Another version of that story is that a year ago, I chose to leave a job that took away more than it gave to focus on what matters most to me.   

It was one of the best decisions of my life. 

I left my job to focus on three things: my daughters, my writing and my health.   

I was home with my kids last summer.  Some of the time anyway.  The rest of the time, we were off having adventures.  Exploring museums, building sandcastles, wandering the farmers market, and testing out the city's playgrounds, before returning back home to living room sleepovers and library book readathons and quiet cuddles in the big bed.  I have, for this past year, met my kids off the school bus every day at 4:00, greeted most often by "I'm hungry" rather than "Hi Mama", mind you, but they're there and I'm there with them.  This year of focused family time has immeasurably strengthened the bond that I share with my girls and I wouldn't take back a second of it.

I'm a writer.  I can say that now with confidence.  A year ago, I would have said that I wanted to be a writer, and I'd downplay my efforts.  Over the course of this past year, I completed my first picture book manuscript and sent it off to publishers, and as soon as it was in the mail, I got started on the next.  I'm currently working on two manuscripts and I have generated dozens of other ideas that are waiting in the wings.  Since leaving my job, I've written over 20 essays for this website, writing that I'm very proud of.  And my writing has become better, my instincts more sharply refined.  I used to be afraid to write, hesitant to use up an idea in case another one wasn't forthcoming, and unwilling to cut or change anything too much lest I lose my way.  Now, I slash and banish my precious words like a heartless dictator, and I use the good china - pulling every idea out of the cupboard - knowing, trusting, that the cupboard will never be bare.  

I wrote last year about my rheumatoid arthritis, about wanting to use my able body while I have it, in case the day when I no longer can comes sooner than expected.  In this past year, I've only had one major flare-up (and that was because I had foolishly taken my medication two days late).  This is a vast improvement from the previous year.  Turns out, unemployment has some benefits of its own.  And I have put my healthy body to use playing with the kids and hiking and traveling to amazing places.  I'm not, as yet, as strong and toned and healthy as I would like to be but I am getting there. 

The truth though is that when I was talking about wanting to take time off to care for my health, I wasn't really referring to a desire to do more aerobics classes and squats.  The truth is that a year ago, I knew that if I didn't take some time off and get some help, I would likely kill myself in the next month or two.

That's a hard thing to read and, believe me, a hard thing to write.  But that's the truth.  When I wrote about "a feeling that whispered quietly at first but recently it has been singing in every cell in my body", I was writing about the growing feeling that I was edging closer to the brink, and that my decision was really one between life and death.  (The inevitable question comes: "Why didn't you take a medical leave?"  Let's just say that as open as I am about my depression, the stigma against mental illness is powerful and that time, it won.)

Since leaving my job, I've been asked many times if I have any regrets.  Not a single one.  Not for a moment.  Because I'm here where I maybe wouldn't have been.  And, while I still have a long way to go and my depression still dogs me - as I'm sure it will the rest of my life - I'm a stronger, happier person than I have ever been.

Despite the many uncertainties I still face, I've never regretted my decision to leave my job.  I've never regretted any of my leaps of faith.  Because with each leap, I was following my intuition and my heart, and each leap brought me closer to my true self and the life I want. Going with your gut and taking a leap:  it's setting out without a map but with the world before you, trusting that your inner compass will guide you in the right direction.   

Don't you know you might get lost?  Don't you know you might end up right back where you started? 

Yes, I know that.  So what?

Next Steps

Finding a few moments of beauty and joy in a parking lot, waiting for a mechanic to repair my car and hand me a hefty bill. Which says it all, really.

As many of you know, I left my job four months ago in order to recharge, spend more time with my daughters, and figure out a new way forward.  The decision was not an easy or hasty one - it took me a good year to get my ducks in a row and get up the gumption to take the leap - but it was absolutely the right one.  The past three years have been the most challenging of my life, and I knew that if I didn't stop and prioritize my health, my family and myself, there would be dire consequences for all three.

When I left my job, my thinking was this: I'd take two months (May and June), while my kids were still in school, to rest and think and have some time to myself, and then spend the following two months (July and August) enjoying quality time with my girls.  And then...well, I wasn't sure what would come next.

Those four months played out more or less as planned.  While the spring was not as productive as I had initially imagined it would be, at least in terms of coming to any grand epiphanies about my life and putting new plans into action, it served as a much-needed restart.  Around that time, I was speaking to one of my best friends about my frustration that I was not further along in figuring out my life.  She responded by reminding me that a machine, when it is restarted, needs some time to fully shut down before it can start back up again, and she urged me to be patient with myself.  I decided, then, to ignore the grand to-do list I had written and just let go.  I wrote without quota.  I read voraciously.  I worked out and nourished my body.  I haunted coffee shops and caught up with friends.  I relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in years.

By the time the kids were out of school, I was ready to be there for them in a way I hadn't been able to be for a long time.  While not every moment was picture perfect by any stretch, my time with my kids this summer was as wonderful as I had hoped it would be.  We went to the beach and explored the city, made living room nests and watched movies, took countless trips to the library and belted out Taylor Swift tunes on car rides, slurped slushies and sidewalk-chalked the driveway.  But most importantly, I held them in my arms and kissed their freckles, eavesdropped on their early morning sister conversations before they climbed into my bed with their poking elbows and soft cheeks and giggles and complaints, listened for "just a few more minutes" and smoothed the curls out of their sleepy eyes as they shared with me their amazing 5-year-old and 7-year-old thoughts and dreams.  For the first time in a long time, I felt I had a few more minutes to give, although I was really the one who received.

The one big adventure my daughters asked for this summer (aside from taking the city bus, which was also a hit) was to go to Canada's Wonderland.  And so, on one of the hottest days of the summer and a Sunday no less, we ventured there.  And had The Best Day.  It was only later that I realized that I hadn't even flinched at the idea of taking the girls there all by myself and dealing with the crowds and the heat and the line-ups and tired little legs, a situation which, in the past, would have been far too daunting for me to even contemplate.  It hadn't occurred to me not to do it and it hadn't occurred to me to be nervous that I couldn't handle it.  I was relaxed and expected to have fun, and so we did.  This realization highlighted for me what this time has given me: it has allowed me the chance to restore my faith in myself and my ability to not only handle any challenge that comes at me but to create a happy life and joyful moments despite those challenges, whether they be the oppressive heat or obnoxious crowds or negativity or what others think or heartbreaks or disappointments.  It has allowed me to move a few steps closer to becoming the parent, and the person, I want to be.

But now, it is September, and the kids are back at school.  So now what?  A part of me has been dreading September and the questions that were waiting for me here, the main one being how I can support my family and build the life I want through a career that allows me to use my talents and do something of value.  I've spent the last few months and several sleepless nights wrestling with these questions, trying ideas on for size, researching options and hitting roadblocks, tuning into my intuition and turning away from anything my gut tells me is the wrong path for me.  I still wish to pursue a writing career; in addition to my writing here, I have finished the first draft of my children's book and it will (WILL!) be sent out to publishers by the end of this month.  And then, I'll be starting on the next, and my writing will continue to be a priority.  I have big plans for this website, and several book ideas queued up anxiously awaiting my attention.  But, as much as I would love to ignore this fact and live my creative life, there are bills to pay.  Publication is, in large part, out of my control and frankly, no one ever went into writing for the money.  Luckily, I have more to give than words alone and I'm making some progress toward fine-tuning my understanding of what those skills and talents are and figuring out a (compensated) place to put them to use.

To that end, this fall will be about testing my hypotheses and beginning to put toes in the water to give some ideas a trial run, amongst other relevant metaphors.  In addition to continuing with my writing and keeping my kids and my health front and center, I will be taking a few courses to further my education and I'm pursuing some volunteer opportunities that will help me to reconnect with my community and gain some experience in fields that I think would allow me to do important work I care about.  I'm also working with an employment counsellor and applying to positions that I think might be a good fit, both for what I'm looking for and what I can offer.  And I'm staying patient, and continuing to have faith in myself.  I have the luxury of having more time to sort things out, but I'm not taking that luxury for granted and I'm aware of the possibility that my best-laid plans may not work out as hoped.  I'm okay with that.  I think that optimism and realism can live hand in hand.

So we'll see.  That's my answer right now to all inquiries about what I'm going to do now.  We'll see.  I'm as curious as anyone.  I have these next steps in place but I have no idea where the staircase leads.  Do any of us?  What I do know is that I couldn't have done all of this and made it this far without the tremendous love and friendship around me, and I want to take this moment to thank you for continuing to read my words here and for offering me your own words of support and advice. 

I don't know what the future holds.  I don't know what I'll be doing and what my life will be like another four months from now.  But I'm more excited about that than scared because I know I can make molehills out of any mountains I may come across on my path, and I know these steps are just a small part of the journey.

Walk Through The Door

Knock Knock
Who's there?
Opportunity.
Don't be silly - opportunity doesn't knock twice!
(source: http://www.jokes4us.com/knockknockjokes/)

Last week, a friend of mine, having heard that I am pursuing a writing career, introduced me to another friend of his who is an author-illustrator.  She in turn invited me to come out and join a group of writers and illustrators who were meeting at a coffee shop this morning.  "That would be wonderful!" I replied, but secretly I was worried.  I'm new to this whole thing and not that comfortable in groups at the best of times, let alone groups of people I don't know.

This morning came and as the minutes passed before I was due to head out to the gathering, my mind began generating excuses.  Say you're sick, say you had something come up, my mind suggested, seemingly forgetting that (for a drama major who really should have some talent for it) I'm a terrible, and reluctant, liar.  Just before the school bus was due to arrive to pick up my daughters, my little one fell and scraped her knee and I thought, "Well, she'll have to stay behind so I can fix her up and then I'll have to drive her to school and then I won't be able to get to the coffee shop in time" and I'll admit that I was relieved that a legitimate excuse had presented itself.  But then, the bus pulled up and my daughter trotted off undaunted and I was like...well, shit.  Now I have to go.  So I showered and dressed and bucked up and got in my car.

I spent the drive alternating between being calm and collected, and practicing what I would say, how I would convince them that I was good enough to be in their company or, failing that, charm them into accepting my presence as an apprentice eagerly feeding at their table of knowledge and experience.

I got there, walked in, and introduced myself to the loveliest, most welcoming group of people I may have ever come across.   

I expected to be there for an hour at most, to listen quietly as others talked around me and lay low absorbing their words, as I do, but three hours later I found myself in awe of and in deep conversation with the man next to me, a well-known, award-winning (like, Governor General's Literary Award winning) children's book author and illustrator.  He recommended links I should check out, publishers I should talk to.  He advised me to walk away from any naysayers in my life, noting that we're all critical enough of ourselves already.  He talked about how he'll notice the one thing he doesn't like in his illustrations while everyone around him points out what they love, and I practically shouted Yes! and commiserated, marveling that even Governor General's Literary Award winners doubt themselves.  This was revelatory and reassuring.  I told him, with some hesitation, that I had quit my day job to pursue a writing career, quickly adding (in order that he not think I'm crazy) that I have no delusions that I'll be a published author by the end of the year.  To which he replied, "But you could be."

I had a thoroughly enjoyable time chatting with everyone there this morning and left feeling inspired and with a strong sense that I had finally found my people.  And could maybe even consider myself one of them.  

This morning, I nearly let my self-doubt and a bad mood talk me out of an opportunity that turned out to be more impactful than I can fully express.  Over the past two months, as I've prioritized my dreams and spoken them out loud, I've been inundated with the support of encouraging friends who have gone out of their way to throw doors open for me.  It's not easy, but I'm learning to say yes, shake off the fears and doubts clinging to my legs, and walk through them.  

Because more often than not, the other side is a warm place full of smiling faces, and more open doors.  And sometimes it's the place where four short words change your life.

But you could be. 

There is No Magical Cupboard

I don't know about pots, but a watched kettle does boil. But then it attacks.

One morning during my recent trip to Vancouver (no, I'm not done talking about it), I was the first one awake and thought I'd make myself a cup of tea.  I picked up the metal tea kettle and the handle popped out.  I stuck it back in, thought "Note to self: Remember that the handle pops out", then carefully filled up the kettle with water and placed it on the stove ring to boil.  Several minutes later, I heard its whistle and went to pick it up.  You may be able to guess what happened next.  I had forgotten that the handle was broken, which means I poured boiling hot water all over the kitchen floor (fortunately not all over myself).  What's more, I did this twice.

This was, perhaps, an easy mistake to make (twice).  It just slipped my mind (twice).  But there are other times when I know full well that what I'm doing is stupid and I still do it anyway.  

Case in point: I exiled a face moisturizer to my bathroom cupboard a few months ago because it made my face feel like it was burning off.  A few days ago, I pulled it back out and thought, "Maybe I should give this another try."  I'm very frugal, you see, and hated the idea of throwing out something I had spent 20-ish dollars on, and I genuinely thought that maybe, just maybe, I had been crazy back then, those other five or six times I had tried it (I'm a slow learner), and perhaps it was actually really amazing!  Somehow, squeezing out a dollop and smearing it on my face seemed like a good idea.  It was not.  I may have lucked out with the kettle, but this time I definitely got burned.  

Why do we do this???  Why do we not learn from our mistakes???  Did I think that the cupboard was magical?  Did I think that maybe having a time-out had made the moisturizer come to its senses?  So, so very stupid, but we do this sort of thing all the time.  Don't we?  Please tell me I'm not the only one.

You know that you are allergic to sugar and wheat and eggs and dairy but you specifically choose to go out to a crêperie for breakfast where you order and devour not one but TWO gigantic crepes, which include ALL of those ingredients, causing your tummy to be so very mad at you.

You know that you have a two drink maximum before you become less-than-charming and more-than-nauseous, but you have another cocktail anyway and then it's 3 a.m. on your 37th birthday and you are hoping someone will give you the gift of sweet death.   

You know that he's a jerk who once disappeared on you while on a date, leaving you alone in a bar for 45 minutes, to go back to his place and have a beer with his buddy, but you liked the same music and had fun in bed and maybe they didn't have that kind of beer at the bar and he totally meant to bring you back one too and you should probably give him a call, right?

No, no you should not.  Back away from the phone.  Man, based on the above, I'm going to have to say that you are an idiot.

There is no magical cupboard that will turn that jerk into your knight in shining armour.  (If I'm wrong and such a device does exist, please write up my order immediately.)

There is no third cocktail that will allow you to have a wonderful night's sleep and wake up refreshed.  (Wait, there is, it's called a mocktail.  Order a mocktail next time, genius.)

There is no delicious crêpe the size of your head that will leave you satisfied and stomach-cramp-free.  (I regret nothing.)

According to the Internet, which is never wrong, Einstein once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  We need to stop the insanity and start learning from our mistakes, people.  The chances that he'll change, that she'll see the error of her ways, that those pants will suddenly fit, that that sweater will no longer be itchy, that the job you hate will get better, that that one more drink/crêpe/chocolate/box of chocolates/late-night-hour-of-Amy-Schumer-clips-on-YouTube will be a good idea come morning...are slim at best.

And even if there is a chance, don't you deserve a 100% cramp-less, itch-free, well-rested life shared with those who respect you 100% of the time?  I'm here to tell you that you do.  So throw the moisturizer in the trash (and that face powder that's in the cupboard too...it's not going to suddenly become the right shade for you).  Delete his number from your phone.  Choose the oatmeal.  Have a Shirley Temple.  And listen to me.  Clearly, you need my guidance. 

The Loss or the Lesson

On my way home from work today, I stopped at Portsmouth Olympic Harbour.  It was a beautiful day and I had my camera with me, intent on getting a photo to accompany the post I planned to write tonight.  I walked along the sun-soaked pier, snapping photos aimlessly with no clear subject in mind, marveling at the sparkling lake that had been ice up until much too recently for my liking.  The spring was a long time coming this year, and I think many of us around these parts are greeting it with arms flung wide with adoration and enthusiasm, although not without a gentle, exasperated "Where have you been?!!!" reproach.  But you can't stay mad too long, not on a day like this.

I had stopped on the pier to admire the view, thinking for about the millionth time that I live in a tremendously beautiful city, when suddenly there seemed to appear out of nowhere a flock of birds flying in my direction, about to be perfectly positioned for a gorgeous shot as they emerged as if from the sun.  I quickly tilted my camera in their direction and pressed the shutter button, and then again and again, feverishly and futilely, as it turns out.  My camera wouldn't take the shot.  And then they were gone. 

I watched them fly off and laughed, because I immediately got the message.  My camera was set on automatic and couldn't focus.  Which exactly describes the last few years of my life.

The location of my photo shoot was deliberately chosen, although I couldn't have predicted my experience with the un-photographable flock and the moment's echo of another visit.  It's been a long few years since this other morning at the harbour when, as it happens, I managed to get a very similar shot to the one I attempted today.  It's been a long few years of trying to keep it together and figure out a new life, putting one foot in front of the other to move forward.  And, doing so, I've come a long way.  But I've also been dancing on the edge of burning out, and feeling an acute lack of focus and self-connection as I've been going through the motions, living my life on automatic.  Not unhappy, not all the time, but not truly living.

Over the last year, I've noticed a growing gut feeling that it is time to stop, a feeling that whispered quietly at first but recently it has been singing in every cell in my body, which sounds dramatic (even for me) but I have been slowly filled up by this feeling and now feel truly saturated in the knowledge that I need to flip the switch from automatic to manual and take control of my life.  I need to shake things up a bit.  I need to live.

Five weeks ago, I gave notice at my job.  Tomorrow is my last day.  I don't have another job to go to.  I was saying to a friend the other day that I haven't quite perfected my sound bite, the abstract of my decision, to offer when responding to the natural question, "What will you be doing?"  Thankfully, I came to the most beautiful and freeing realization very quickly that I don't have to fully explain this to anyone, but I have found that in my attempts to do so, I have come to a clearer understanding of it for myself.  So here's the best I've come to, for what it's worth:  I'm taking some time off to take care of three priorities: my health, my daughters, and my dreams.

I have a body that is strong and able and capable of most anything.  That might not always be the case.  My rheumatologist reminds me on a regular basis that my rheumatoid arthritis, which, to date, has been fairly manageable, could get bad at the turn of a dime.  I read a statistic once that said that 50% of those diagnosed with RA are unable to work ten years post-diagnosis.  I was diagnosed nine years ago.  Of course, there's every chance I'm in the lucky 50%, but I can't sit in front of a computer with my able body, doing a job I don't love, any longer.  There's a chance I'm going to have plenty of time to sit around all day soon enough.

I have two incredible daughters who have been through a hell of a lot in the last few years and have come through so remarkably, but even still there's a palpable, mutual longing between us for more time together, for a deeper reconnection.  This is a critical time in their lives, and I can afford to invest in more time for the three of us to be together.  I may not always be able to pick them up from school every day, I may not always be able to afford to have the whole summer with them, but I can do it now.  So I'm going to.

I have been told by others all my life that I should be a writer and, most importantly, I have agreed with the assessment.  I have a lifetime's worth of notebooks and Word files and backs-of-envelopes full of half-finished writing and ideas that, if they haven't yet in my nearly 37 years here, are never going to see the light of day unless I throw myself at them and shake off the dust.  I'm a few sentences away from completing a children's book.  I have been a few sentences away for nearly two years.  Attempting to summon creativity at 10:00 at night after a full day at work and putting two kids to bed and trying to keep my house (and myself) from collapsing into shambles...well, that's working about as well as you might expect.  I can't fit these dreams into the margins of my life.  I have to take a run at them full-throttle. (And yes, sit my able body in front of a computer from time to time to do so, but it's a different kind of sitting.  An energized sitting with intent.)

All signs have been pointing in this direction and, other than some initial nausea when I first spoke the words "I am leaving", all I've felt in these last few weeks is joy and relief.  I don't know what will happen, but I have set myself no metrics for success.  If I need to head back to a desk job six months from now, so be it.  But right now, each one of those singing cells knows this is the right decision, and each one of those cells was in the moment on that pier, with the birds flying out of shot, feeling nothing but amusement and gratitude.

Had I missed a shot like that a few years back, I would have been upset.  I would have lost sight of the beauty around me, wrapped up in my disappointment.  I would have only seen the loss, just as, on that July morning at the harbour a few years ago, I only saw the loss of the life I once knew.  But today I saw the lesson.  That's really what it seems to be about.  Choosing whether you're going to see the loss or the lesson.

So there you go.  There's the best shot I got today, above.  If we're looking for relevance to subject matter, let's say it represents my new, clear direction toward the light.  Or I suppose you could say it's the path to a drop-off into an abyss, if you want to be all Negative Nelly about it.  This is either going to be one of the best decisions of my life or one of the worst.  I expect it will be the former but I'm prepared for the latter (I've been to hell and back a few times now so I know the route).  Frankly though, I'm just ready to find out. 

There was much more I planned to say about my new-life launch - about the array of interesting reactions experienced when you tell people you're opting out of the working world for awhile, for example - but those words can wait for another day (I'm about to have a lot of time on my hands, after all).  My life didn't go to plan either, and I'd say both post and life have ended up better because of it. 

The Path of Most Uncle Phil

Classic Uncle Phil

I'm not ashamed to admit that I spent a good and worthwhile portion of the early '90s watching the amazing television program that was The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.  I'm not sure I can fully explain its appeal to me, but it was a show with a lot of heart that offered both laugh-out-loud entertainment and occasional heartfelt, real issue storylines (remember this?).  I distinctly remember killing it with my Hilary Banks impression, doing the Carlton, and rapping my teenaged, white girl heart out about chillin' out maxin' relaxin' all cool.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that the biggest argument that my sister and I have ever had was about the theme song lyrics.  She insisted that the line "My life got flipped, turned upside down" was "My life got twistered upside down."  I know!  That's not even a word!  (What's the point of having your own website if not to publicly shame your totally-wrong sibling?)

So flash forward to 2005.  Somehow my ex-husband and I found ourselves invited to an Oscars viewing gala in Beverly Hills.  Excuse me, what?  Fly to L.A. and watch the Oscars with a bunch of celebrities?  Um, okay!  So away we went and the big event came.  We pulled up to the Beverly Hills Hotel in our fancy, um, taxi and walked the red carpet.  Shockingly, the paparazzi could not care less about who I was or what I was wearing, but I'm not going to pretend that it wasn't awesome to walk those few steps past the flashing cameras (although it's possible the thought, "Screw you, Thora Birch, you're no better than me!" passed through my brain). 

Lest you think this was all going to my head, however, not ten minutes into the party someone spilled an entire glass of wine down the back of my dress.  I just laughed and thought, "Yep, that's about right."

The evening progressed and essentially involved a bunch of B-list celebrities (those not famous enough to be invited to attend the actual Oscars) sitting in a ballroom, inexplicably interspersed with nobodies like me, eating dinner and watching the 77th Annual Academy Awards on huge screens as it was broadcast live from just a few blocks away at the Kodak Theatre.  While I find celebrity culture kind of fascinating, I'm not really someone to get particularly star-struck (they're just like you and me!), but at one point I did find myself thinking, "I'm in the same room as Jennie Garth.  I'm in the same room as Kelly Taylor from Beverly Hills 90210!  I'm IN Beverly Hills 90210!!!"

And then, there he was.  I was navigating my way back to our table after a visit to the ladies room and I looked ahead to see that there were two possible paths I could take.  One was free and clear.  One was being blocked by James Avery.  A.k.a. Uncle Phil from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.  Uncle Phil was 20 feet away from me.  And, without even a single moment's hesitation, I thought, "Well clearly I'm going to go past Uncle Phil" and I proceeded accordingly, wobbling in my high heels and my wine-soaked no-name dress, winding my way through the tables until I came to a mid-conversation James Avery, offered a polite "Excuse me" as I squeezed myself past him, and continued onward into a new and improved life in which I could proudly proclaim that I touched Uncle Phil.  It's possible this is now my go-to random fact about myself.  It's possible that's why some men don't call me for a second date (Who needs you?  I touched Uncle Phil!).

If you've read any of my previous posts, you'll know that I've never met a metaphor I didn't want to bring home to meet my parents, so it should come as no surprise to you to hear me extol this experience as a metaphor for life.  I've often thought back to that experience, that very moment of deciding whether I was going to take the easy path or the memorable path, and considered it a reminder to have fun and choose the path to the better story.  Listen, this particular example was a no-brainer, but there are lots of times in life when we choose safety over adventure, the path of least resistance that is known to us over the path that offers a new experience.  And I'd like to urge you to choose the latter, to choose the path that brings you both the heartfelt and the laugh-out-loud moments and allows you to tell a story all about how your own life got FLIPPED TURNED upside down.  Simply put, when (metaphorically speaking) two paths diverge in the Beverly Hills Hotel, choose the path of most Uncle Phil.  It will make all the difference.