Dear 2020,

This marks a decade of writing letters to the new year. The past ten years have been a time of dramatic change and transition as I’ve carved out a new way of life for myself. It’s largely been wonderful, but there have also been plenty of dark nights of the soul woven into the experience. Most of my previous new year’s letters (and resolutions) have reflected on the past year with a feeling of “Good riddance, that was hard,” combined with “Please New Year, be nice to me.” Yet this year feels different. I woke up New Year’s Day with tranquil gratitude, and a clear sense of what this year’s resolution will be.

Here’s why:

As a woman who has had creative aspirations and spiritual explorations for as long as I can remember, you would think that listening to my intuition­—my gut feeling—would be second nature. But after going to law school to hone my analytical skills, and then jumping into the business world, things got complicated. When I’d receive what might be an intuitive hit, my mind would get involved and start analyzing things from every angle before I finally acted. By that time, all that overthinking confused things and I could no longer determine what my intuition was telling me in the first place. My brain always got in the way.

Speaking of brains, I have two of them—one in my head, and one in my gut. The second brain is super duper smart, and, amongst other things, it controls the digestive system without any help from the central nervous system. Scientists call this our enteric nervous system, or ENS. Now here’s where it gets really interesting: the ENS also influences mood, behavior, and thoughts. Not only that, but gut microbiota (trillions of diverse bacteria that live inside the colon) are also important for preventing, and even treating, some diseases.

The two brains communicate in healthy people, making sure that our minds and bodies are a well-oiled machine. That’s the symbiosis necessary for listening to a gut feeling and acting on one’s intuition. Unfortunately, I haven’t been very kind to my 2nd brain over the years. I was a pretty sickly kid and spent a lot of my childhood on antibiotics. As a young adult, I’d pop antibiotics like candy at the slightest sniffle.

I’d tell my doctors, “I know my body, and this will turn into bronchitis if I don’t nip it in the bud.”

The doctors would always quickly write a prescription without actually walking me through the fact that I likely had a virus and viruses are not treatable by antibiotics. The result of living my life this way is I have always had a very messed up gut. In addition to killing disease causing bacteria, antibiotics also kill the good bacteria in your gut, leaving your health (mental and physical) potentially compromised.

I wised up as I got older and embraced a healthy diet and lifestyle. Now, instead of popping antibiotics, I popped probiotics. But alas, I couldn’t figure out how to fix my gut. For years I struggled with IBS and food intolerances, as well as brain fog and anxiety. All of these things can be linked to compromised gut microbiome.

Last September I was on a broad spectrum antibiotic for a sinus infection that probably would have eventually gone away on its own. Once that antibiotic killed all my good gastrointestinal bacteria, an evil intruder bacterium called C. diff moved into my colon to play house. This almost killed me. After spending a week in the hospital with sepsis, I relapsed a second time. Because this was my third related episode (making it very clear that the strong antibiotics I was on for C. diff were doing jack for getting me better), I finally qualified for a fecal microbiota transplant. This was one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received. Not only did it save my life and cure me (immediately!), but my gut is now healthier than it has ever been. I’ll write more about the fecal transplant another time. They say it takes 3 months for my microbiome to match my donor’s, so I’m still getting to know my new innards. But suffice it to say that a fecal transplant really just may be the Spice Melange.

When you are given the gift of life, it’s something to celebrate. So it goes without saying that this year my new year’s resolution is all about the gut. I’m going to pay attention to my second brain and feed it food that helps the good bacteria flourish and that discourages the bad guys from setting up shop. And with healthy new gut microbiome, I’ll now be able to better listen to my gut feelings so that I accurately hear the voice of my intuition without my analytical first brain stepping in and making me second guess the message.

My doctor told me my gut is like a beautiful garden. For it to thrive, I need to tend to it, and give it food and water. If I take care of it, it will give back by helping keep me healthy and strong. So New Year, my promise to you is that this year it’s all about my gut.

In closing, Year 2020, I think I love you already.


Kee Kee



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Recently I’ve been spending time with the new regulars at Shama Sanctuary, Pearl and Maude. Pearl has a pretentious air about her and is a bully, regularly chasing off the twin orphans, Precious and Petunia. Maude is easier to love. Her personality is quite chill, and with her one floppy ear, white spot between her eyes and white tuxedo stripes running the length of her legs, I’ve developed a soft spot for her quirkiness. That said, each time I sit outside with them, my heart hurts. Bad. I’m familiar with this feeling. It’s called grief.

October 9th was the last day I saw her.

Lily has been the matriarch of Shama Sanctuary since I moved here in 2015. She was a graceful doe, with jagged ears and nicks in her fur—a sort of scrappy edge to her beauty that came from years of leaping through the scraggly brush. Lily’s entourage included her daughter Sparkle and all of their many offspring. Carrying with her fearless traits of a born leader, she was assertive and strong, but also loyal to and protective of her tribe. Moreover, she was compassionate, and, unlike pretentious Pearl, even adopted orphaned fawns that she raised as her own.

My connection with Lily was not at all immediate. In fact, it was her spunky fawn Magic whom I first felt was my spirit animal. Magic helped me through the grief of losing Yoda in the spring of 2016. There were times that I would be so overcome with emotion from missing my dog that I would go outside and holler “Magic, I need you!” Moments later he’d trot out of the woods and I would blubber snotty tears as I told him all about Yoda while he snacked on corn at my feet. Magic, now a majestic 8-point buck, occasionally still visits, often bringing with him a posse of young bucks under the protective cover of darkness.

It wasn’t until late summer of 2016 that Lily let down her guard. It was as if after months of cautiously observing me, she finally made the decision that I was friend and not foe. She never retreated from her decision to befriend me. From then on, the trust between us grew. She’d visit at least once or twice a day. If I was sitting outside, she’d sometimes lay down near me and chew her cud. She once did this for an hour, and my sense of contentment was a feeling I will never forget. It was no longer me sitting outside with a wild animal. It was now me simply sitting with Lily. When she gave birth to her fawns the past two years, she visited in the mornings as big as a house, and then came back later each day after giving birth noticeably slimmer. I like to think she wanted to share the news with me, but in all likelihood it was simply that she wanted some corn to replenish her energy.

Lily had the most gorgeous eyes of any creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. They were big, brown liquid eyes rimmed with exquisitely long lashes. She would stare in the window at me at my desk until I noticed and came outside with an apple. And then she would gaze intensely into my eyes before she took her first bite. She’d take her time, never rushing, seemingly content to spend time together.

Yet this summer I saw something different in her eyes. It was around the time that her new fawn disappeared (likely prey of the coywolf who obliterated the woodland creatures at Shama Sanctuary this summer). In place of the well of trust, warmth and wisdom that I always found in her eyes, I now saw sadness. Not only did she lose her fawn, but Sparkle and the other deer that have always been a part of Lily’s family were no longer around either. It was Lily, all alone. And I know she didn’t like it.

On October 9th, I sat outside with Lily and talked to her. I told her that I knew about the savage slaughter that had taken place at Shama Sanctuary this summer, and I said how very sorry I was that she lost her fawn. But I also reassured her that this is the cycle of life, and that one day things will shift back and our wildlife will return. “Hang on girl. Please, hang on.”

The next day we left for a business trip to LA. When we returned a week later, Lily was nowhere to be found. This in and of itself wasn’t cause for concern. When we travel, Lily goes elsewhere to feed on woody vegetation. But within a few days of our return, she has always made her way back to her home range of Shama Sanctuary. Only this time she didn’t. It’s now been over two months since I’ve seen her, and I’ve finally stopped holding my breath with hope that she’ll appear. She’s gone. I miss her. My heart hurts.

And now, instead of talking to Lily, I talk to myself. “Hang on girl. Please, hang on.”


Rest in peace sweet Lily. Thank you for the memories.



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This blog post is half public service announcement, and half spiritual expose. It’s about poop and knocking on death’s door. And it’s ultimately about how we need to treasure every breath we take because we never know if it will be our last one.

I recently spent a week in isolation in the hospital battling sepsis and the deadly super bug Clostridum difficile (C. diff). This is an important story for me to tell, because it just may save your life.

The official narrative has always been that girls don’t poop. So you can imagine my discomfort with the past seven weeks of my life being all about poop—potentially deadly poop. Seven weeks ago, while I was on antibiotics for a sinus infection, I had a routine colonoscopy in the hospital. Four days later diarrhea started, along with piercing abdominal pain. My GI doctor ordered a fecal sample and it came back positive for C. diff. I had never heard of this, and I’m sure many of you haven’t either. After a couple days on a very expensive 10-day course of antibiotics, I felt better. I thought “C. diff? No big deal.” As you will see, I couldn’t have been more wrong, because I was one of the 1 in 5 people who have a relapse.

In a nutshell, C. diff is a very resilient evil bastard of an extremely contagious bacterium that is resistant to most antibiotics. It used to be confined to outbreaks amongst elderly people in retirement homes and hospitals, but now more and more cases are being seen in healthy, young people. One common way of getting it is when you are on antibiotics, you kill all the good bacteria in your gut. If you are then exposed to C. diff spores (in a hospital setting, on a grocery cart handle, on a light switch, on a toilet seat…) and then touch your mouth, the C. diff can proliferate and take over your colon because you don’t have any of the good bacteria left to keep the C. diff in check. The toxins damage the lining of your gut, causing dangerous swelling of the colon and extreme abdominal pain, fever, diarrhea, and vomiting. This is scary stuff. 29,000 people die of C. diff a year, and 270,000 people die of sepsis each year.

Five days after I finished that first course of antibiotics, I relapsed without warning. It came on fast and hard. In the morning I was running errands feeling healthy and strong, but by evening I was in the ER. I had severe diarrhea and vomiting, along with the most pain I’ve ever felt, centered in my abdominal area. I couldn’t breathe without moaning, and I was delirious with fever. Luckily Eric spoke with my sister Didi, who is an ER nurse, and agreed I should be taken to the emergency room.

I was admitted to the hospital where I spent a week in isolation. This means I couldn’t leave my room (except for a couple CT scans), and anyone who entered had to wear a protective gown and rubber gloves. I don’t remember much of that stay. I was on massive doses of three antibiotics, IVs, heparin shots in my belly, anti-nausea drugs, pain drugs and a host of other things I can’t recall. I had three doctors on my team, including an infectious disease doctor, and they couldn’t get my fever down for four days. My white blood cell count, plasma, platelets, blood pressure, and potassium levels were all low and they couldn’t figure out why. I was on so much IV fluid that I GAINED 14 pounds without eating for almost a week (check out this photo of my bloated face, and my toes looked like fat little sausages).

When my fever finally broke, the worry on my doctors’ faces finally made it register how serious this was. I could have died. They told me I needed to try to eat, even if it didn’t stay down. I could handle a small bit of gelatin, but that’s it. They also told me that I needed to try to walk in my room for 5 minutes twice a day. The first time I tried this I failed – my body just wasn’t strong enough. But eventually I did it – carting my IV along with me as I paced back and forth in my room. It was only 10 steps from wall to wall, so power walking this was not.

Because I was in isolation, I was put in the cardiac ward because it has single rooms. It is the newest wing of the hospital, so my room was big and beautiful. I was also the only room in the hospital that looked out onto the life-flight landing pad. The helicopter arrived five different times, which was simultaneously super cool and very sad.

I can’t sing the praises of the doctors and nurses at Hunterdon Medical Center enough. The level of care I received was phenomenal, consistent and kind. One of the highlights of my stay was the orthopedist who treated me last year for my tibial plateau fracture, Dr. Eric Gordon, got wind of me having C. diff and he visited me two different times. The Chief Medical Officer of the hospital also visited me because my friend Linda is a close mutual friend.

Equally important to the hospital care, I have some powerful healers in my life who were all working on me from afar. Thank you Selena, Dorry, and Lynne for all the healing light you sent my way, and thank you to my family and close friends for all of the prayers. And a very special thank you to Starr Fuentes. Starr is the Curandera in Hot Springs, AR who took me in on my Seeking Shama road trip in 2010-2011. She is the lineage holder for an energy healing technique called Divine Intervention, which she describes as “the loudest, most specific prayer that can call the forces of nature and heaven together hand in hand.” When I first met Starr and her shaman husband Art, I was skeptical of their gifts. For good or for bad, I don’t follow anything on blind faith. But time and time again Starr demonstrated things that I couldn’t explain away. While I was in the hospital, she performed Divine Intervention on me. It was the night my fever peaked, and was one of the most intense experiences of my life. A whirlwind battle between good and evil, with an essence of Starr orchestrating healing peace at the core. When I woke up the next morning, my fever had finally broken. I know without doubt that Starr was instrumental in saving my life.

I was released from the hospital 12 days ago. I was weak and pale and my clothes were falling off of me. The weather was miserably grey and pouring rain. Yet all I felt was awe at the magic and beauty of the world. I had (and still have) an intense love for everything – for the good, the bad, the angels walking amongst us and even people who carry with them ugly negativity. Life is a miracle, and while I have it, I’m going to treasure every little inch of it, even the painful parts.

Don’t forget to shake yourself out of the haze of your daily routine every once in awhile and open your eyes to marvel at the joyful magic of life. You don’t want to be knocking at death’s door when you finally realize how very precious your very existence is.

I’m going to be on antibiotics for a couple more weeks, and I’m still pretty weak. Once all that fluid from the IVs was absorbed, it turns out I lost 10 pounds in one week. So now I’m beginning the long process of healing my digestive system; trying to eat (it’s still a challenge) so I gain my weight back; and eating as many prebiotic and probiotic foods as I can to help replenish healthy, good bacteria in my gut, because I need those little guys to fight off monsters like C. diff.

So what can you do to ensure you don’t get C. diff? First, be very cautious about ever going on antibiotics and if you absolutely need to, then be sure to take probiotics at the same time. Nurture the good bacteria in your gut (goodbye sugar and processed food!). And always always always wash your hands with soap and water after you use the bathroom and before you eat. Alcohol-based hand sanitizers will not kill C. Diff, so soap up and sing the ABCs while you scrub away (that’s about the time it takes to really get your hands clean).

Please do all of these things, because you never know when you will be running errands in the morning and be fighting for your life that night.


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Shama Sanctuary has been anything but a peaceful safe haven for woodland creatures this summer.

When Eric and I returned home in early July after a few weeks of travel, we were excited to meet this year’s fawns. Lily gave birth on May 29th and Pearl and Sparkle likely did soon thereafter. Although initially as newborns fawns are kept hidden, we knew that by now they would be tagging along with their moms out into the open. Except, when we got back, Lily and Pearl didn’t have fawns with them, and Sparkle was nowhere to be found.

Then we noticed that the groundhogs were also missing. Studio Sam (who lived under the deck to the recording studio in the house) and her pesky friends from other places in the woods had just disappeared without a trace.

We were puzzled.

A few days later it occurred to us that all the feral cats had also disappeared, as well as the chipmunks, bunnies, raccoons, squirrels, and turkeys. And where were the birds? Each morning we have our coffee on the back deck and listen to them sing. But now, the woods were eerily quiet.

We soon realized we had new residents at Shama Sanctuary who happen to be at the top of the food chain.

One day I was alone in our very long driveway picking wineberries, when Eric came running out of the house saying “Did you see that? It was huge!” What he saw was a very big coywolf cross the driveway ahead of me. It even stopped in the middle of the driveway and scratched itself, while I was right there picking berries. A coywolf is a hybrid between a wolf and a coyote, so it is bigger (and scarier looking) than your standard coyote. They also like to snack on small mammals, including fawns.

Other new residents are a pair of hawks: Harold and Henrietta. These two broad winged hawks had been screeching pretty much nonstop most of the summer. My sister even saw one of them swoop down and grab a bird off a branch. We also saw bear scat; meaning Elmo the black bear has been hanging around. If that wasn’t enough, a bobcat has also been spotted in our neighborhood.

It appears all our new residents have been hungry.

While this summer slaughter at Shama Sanctuary has been going on, I’ve been thinking of the parallels happening in the world around me. The list is so long that I can’t possibly list everything that causes angst. But here are a few things that come to mind:

  • Friends in my life are dealing with infidelity, divorce, leukemia, breast cancer, death of family members (both human and furry), and one friend’s girlfriend was even horrifically just deported (and she was here on a LEGAL VISA!).
  • One of the most magical and important places I’ve ever been — the Amazon rainforest (which produces 20% of the world’s oxygen) — has been in flames.
  • Our world leaders are breeding contempt and division, through hateful and even criminal actions.
  • Hurricane Dorian has obliterated the Bahamas, and let’s not forget about Puerto Rico.
  • Friends are still rebuilding after their homes burned to the ground in last year’s California wildfires, and this year’s fire season is just starting.
  • School shootings. Need I say more?

I think we are all walking around in a haze of grief from the state of the world, and that’s impacting our relationships, our decisions, our sleep, our moods, our health, and literally our very lives. People I love and care about are literally blowing up their lives with anger and finger pointing, creating conflict where there should be none.

It’s a savage world.

But, if I may, it’s also a beautiful one. Shama (inner peace) can be found everywhere if you remove the negative filter with which you are looking at things. Last week Lily was gazing into my eyes. When she does this, with her gentle, trusting, big, beautiful liquid eyes with impossibly long lashes, my body and mind tingle and it feels like my sense of self begins to dissolve. This may sound bizarre, but when I look into the eyes of a deer, I see God. Lily’s gaze is so intense, and the feeling it gives me of utter detachment to this world is so foreign and unsettling, that I always look away first. I wonder what would follow if I just surrendered to what was happening without getting scared?

But you don’t need to befriend a deer to find shama. Inner peace is found in little moments, the spaces in between the beats of everyday life. Like in the smile of a close friend (such as Beth from The World Needs More Pie, whom I visited at her Iowa farm last week); in the laugh of a baby; in the intricate wings of a bumblebee feeding on a coneflower; in the colors of a sunset sky; in the feeling of your feet walking barefoot in the grass; or in the moment of intimacy that is felt after having a tough, vulnerable and honest conversation with a loved one.

Things have started to look up at Shama Sanctuary. Sparkle returned and brought with her a sweet fawn named Wren. A couple feral cats have been spotted. We’ve seen a bunny, as well as a raccoon and a couple squirrels. We watched three juvenile hawks fledge, and since then, we haven’t seen them or Harold and Henrietta. We have been collecting birdhouses to hang so that the remaining birds have a safe place to seek cover from predators and weather.

We still haven’t seen any groundhogs, chipmunks, or turkeys. But this is the cycle of life. It’s savage, but it’s also lovely and ever changing.

One day things will shift and not only will the outside world be a better place, but our woodland creatures will be back. Until then, I’ll continue to seek shama in the deep ocean of Lily’s eyes.

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It’s been 11 months since The Pomerianian Incident left me with a tibial plateau fracture and a broken femur. Although I’m not happy I had this accident, there have been times when the gratitude I feel for the experience of this long, complicated, and on-going recovery has brought me to my knees (uh, figuratively, obviously).

But I wouldn’t be so thankful for the things I’ve learned if my ego hadn’t taken a huge beating this past year. Huge. Because ultimately it’s the surrender of ego that allows us to see through the fallacy of our lives in order to let go of the stories we tell ourselves so that we may blossom and grow into whom we are meant to be.

My recovery has been a series of contradictions and humble pie:

  • I can leg press 200 pounds…but I still can’t run.
  • I can confidently climb stairs carrying things in both arms…but I still keep a death grip on the railing when I take my first steps walking down them.
  • I work out for 1 ½ to 2 hours every day…but until recently, I needed to hold on to someone if I was walking down a ramp or down a slope of any kind.
  • For months after I no longer needed crutches I endured dirty looks when I went into the accessible bathroom stall (I looked able bodied, but I needed those bars because my tiny little noodle leg did not have the strength for me to sit or stand on my own).
  • Because I look fit, people have expected me to move out of the way on a sidewalk when they are walking past…yet until recently, pivoting and doing anything but walking straight ahead was cause for an elevated heart rate.
  • After I returned my disabled parking placard, for the longest time parking lots were sheer terror for me because I wasn’t able to walk fast or jump out of the way of a moving car.
  • I endured looks of pity when I was in the wheelchair… that is if people noticed me at all.
  • When I first started PT, I wept in front of my new physical therapist out of sheer terror of getting into the water therapy pool. Being a strong swimmer all my life, the fear I felt about getting into the pool was completely foreign to me.
  • Until recently, airports sucked. People zipping around me while I slowly walked as I concentrated on lifting my knee cap and activating my quad, engaging my calf and then moving my leg forward to take a step while putting my hamstring and buttock muscle on red alert that I need them to participate for the backward movement of the step (all while terrified someone would bump me and make me fall), made me choke back tears of shame because I used to be the speedy airport walker.
  • Today I can walk fast, squat, kneel, jump, and I can even walk downhill without holding onto someone…yet there are still times when out of the blue I feel like my leg is about to give out.

Oh I could go on and on and on with other ways that my ego was stomped on this past year, but I think I’m making my point.

I remember last July when my orthopedist told me that after the long non-weight-bearing period of being locked in a metal-hinged DonJoy brace, I would walk in three months. At the time I presumed that meant that’s when life would be back to normal. He was right in the sense that my first steps were at the three-month mark. But what I didn’t grasp was that these would be wobbly toddler-like steps, and it would be over a year before I would be back to normal.

The past 11 months have involved physical therapy, massage, cupping, CBD oil, chiropractors, KT Tape, Aleve, ice (So. Much. Ice.), doctors, a CT Scan, an MRI, cortisone shots and more x-rays than I can count. Despite it all, my body has hurt every single day. It’s a complicated recovery because after being non-weight bearing for months, basically everything in my body atrophied. When I started physical therapy, some of my muscles were almost non-existent. I have needed to rebuild, and then teach to move properly, everything from my ankles up to glutes and lower back. It’s been an absolutely frustrating, yet completely fascinating process.

This recovery has been a series of firsts: first standing shower, first time I put a shoe on my foot, first steps, first time driving, first time kneeling-jumping-squatting-skipping. I’ve always been a Type A overachiever, so it’s been a big mental shift to learn to celebrate that little things are actually the huge milestones for me.

Check out the photo at the top of this blog post of me sitting cross-legged. I’ve always been pretty bendy and this is my favorite way to sit; yet I wasn’t physically able to do it until about two months ago. Only in the past few weeks have I been able to hold that position for longer than a few minutes.

I finally graduated from PT on Friday. I went 3x a week for the first six months, and have been going 2x a week since March. At the beginning my “exercises” were things like squeezing a ball between knees, or even simply staring at my quad and willing it to engage. Now I’ve progressed to a level of strength training and cardio that leaves me drenched in sweat after my workouts. Having always been a fit, strong, ambitious woman, I was determined to get back to normal life in record time, and so I have pushed myself harder than I ever knew I had in me. Unfortunately this aggressive approach to recovery has led to many set backs, including one that landed me back on crutches for a couple weeks over the holidays.

But nowadays I feel strong, and at times even confident. I’m still working on my knee’s stamina, and oh my gosh I want to run soooo badly. I know I will get there. This past year has been the most physically and emotionally challenging of my life, yet it has also taught me patience, and that I need to be gentle with myself and the demands I make on my body.

The cool thing about being on this end of recovery is I can look back with awe and pride that I found it in me to power through the continuous ego-blows and physical setbacks to get to where I am today. I mean really, if I taught myself to walk again, that should serve as proof that if I fully commit myself, there really is nothing I can’t accomplish.

This is where the gratitude comes in. I’ve learned so much about my mind-body-spirit, about other people, about what really brings about shama (see my post about Broken Bones and Inner Peace). I have so much more patience, compassion and understanding for the differently abled and for people navigating hurdles of any kind in life.

This past year will forever be a reminder to take pause when I’m tempted to quickly pass judgment, because on the surface, you never know what kind of internal emotional or physical battles someone is fighting.

So to finish where I began this post, I think you can understand how even though I’m not happy I broke my knee, I’m eternally grateful that it happened.

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For years now I’ve lived life as an exercise of “How can I find shama in this situation?” Well I have one personality trait that has posed a humongous hurdle to finding inner-peace—my fierce need to be liked. That’s right, I want people to like me, and in the past when they didn’t, I found it had the potential to eat away at me, threatened to plunge me into despair, and left me questioning whether or not I was a good person.

Before I go further, I want the punch line of this post up front and center: There is not one person on planet earth who is liked by everyone. It’s absolutely impossible, and striving to make that happen will bring internal conflict, instead of shama, into one’s life.

Recently I experienced a hiccup of a misunderstanding that reminded me of something that happened over a decade ago. All these years later, the sting still exists. I was at an event and was attempting to round up a large group of people, when my friend (let’s call her Lucy) came up and asked me a question. I don’t remember what the question was, but I do remember being epically distracted because of everything else going on. I answered without really thinking through the question, and the answer and my delivery apparently made no sense to Lucy and pissed her off (I don’t blame her, I was trying to do too many things at once, which is always a recipe for communication disaster). On her way out of the event, Lucy corned me and proceeded to yell at me for the way I handled her question. And then it was like a damn burst: she continued with an angry litany of my flaws as a friend.

Here’s the thing about me: I get flustered when people yell, especially if I’m not expecting that anger. So, with panic-induced tunnel vision, I desperately tried to calm Lucy down. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what I said or if it helped or hurt the situation, but it was likely the latter. I do remember asking her if we could push a reset button.

The reset never happened. I made a couple big friendship gestures after this, but Lucy had already created a narrative about me that she was convinced was true. In fact, the harder I tried, likely the more pathetic and disingenuous I seemed to her. I’ve never thought ill about Lucy (I still don’t) and my intentions towards her were never negative, but I’ll never convince her of that. No one can change a personal narrative except the individual who created it.

And let’s face it, as perverse as this is, sometimes it just feels good to be mad and to direct our rage towards someone. But feeling good doesn’t make it right.

It takes a lot of practice to take a step back, breathe through the anger, and find the necessary stillness to view a situation with clarity. I’ve learned that when I do this, I often realize I’m looking at a person or situation through a lens that is clouded by my mood, hormones, insecurities, or personal regrets.

More often than not I realize I’m taking something personally that isn’t at all about me. When it comes down to it, I believe that most people have good intentions, but who the hell knows what is happening in their lives to mask those intentions as something else?

Had Lucy and I sat down and calmly spoken with open hearts, my guess is that she would have understood that I’ve always liked and admired her and that she misread the intent behind my words and actions. But that didn’t happen.

And so it is that Lucy doesn’t like me.

But that’s okay. It’s taken me many years to realize that I actually don’t need everyone to like me. There’s a lovely freedom in that mindset. So, when presented with a situation like this in the future, I know there are three questions to ask myself: (1) Have I worked to find the divine in this person?; (2) Have I acted with good intentions, and apologized when I have not?; and (3) Is it better to walk away rather than to engage?

The only thing I can control is myself and the way I see the world. So, it’s OK if you don’t like me. I know what’s in my heart, I like myself, and that’s enough for me.

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Song for Yoda

February 28, 2019
Thumbnail image for Song for Yoda

Today marks two years since our furry shama warrior transitioned to the light. The night we set him free — during a ceremony we had to celebrate his life — I read a thank you letter to Yoda, and my husband Eric Troyer (ELO Pt. 2 and The Orchestra Starring ELO Former Members) sang through tears an […]

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An Open Letter to the New Year – 2019

January 10, 2019

Dear 2019, I have a confession. I wince when I look at the American flag. It horrifies me to admit this. I think somewhere down deep, I’ve buried the thought that the flag of my country has been hijacked by a sector of the population that doesn’t represent anything that I was raised to believe in. […]

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Broken Bones and Inner Peace: Tibial Plateau Fracture Pt. II

November 8, 2018

It’s now been 15 weeks since “The Pomeranian Incident.” At times it was tempting to feel sorry for myself with the feeling that the world was passing me by. This bone break is a beast, and the long recovery period from a tibial plateau fracture (TPF) is something that can’t be avoided or rushed. It […]

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Broken Bones and Marriage Vows: Tibial Plateau Fracture Part I

August 20, 2018

I’ve struggled to write this post about my recent injury. I usually blog when I glean some personal insight into finding shama/inner-peace. But the story I’m about to tell will continue for quite some time, and I have no idea when the ending will play out (months, years?). Eric and I quietly and privately got […]

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