I never met Whitney Houston, but I have shed tears since her death and spent much time on the phone with my sister talking about her and her music. This is what came out when I sat down to express about it.
Today’s Game Plan: What Whitney Did for Us
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As I write this, I imagine there are women running around getting pedicures and bikini waxes and men filling candy stores in droves. And the frugal and philosophical sorts making a big deal of not celebrating. And the people in dead marriages not knowing what the hell to do with the whole red and pink extravaganza.
I am sitting home with my left knee in a brace, crutches next to me, letting a sprain heal. My peek at Louise Hay’s chart that relates a physical problem to a probable underlying cause tells me the knee is about this — “Stubborn ego and pride. Inability to bend. Fear. Inflexibility. Won’t give in.” Even the fact that it’s the left side of the body is meaningful — “Represents receptivity, taking in, feminine energy, women, the mother.”
Hay’s suggested new thought patterns with relation to both are:
~ Forgiveness. Understanding. Compassion. I bend and flow with ease, all is well.
~ My feminine energy is beautifully balanced.
Before even reading this today, I felt this happening within myself. I’ve been buoyed with love since injuring myself on Friday — one friend dropping off a prescription, another picking it up, yet another bringing DVDs to pass the time better, others calling and stopping in. It is heady to be so cared for at a time when I am in unknown territory. I was never an athlete (but, ironically, as a sports writer saw many go through it), so I find this time very scary and the control freak that lives in me is cursing up a storm.
Yet at base I am calm. Grateful. And, oh yeah, wondering why there is no lover this year. I kind of know. And I’m not in a spin about it or anguished in any way. This is a serene Valentine’s Day. I can’t leave the house. It is me and my thoughts.
What I found myself thinking this morning is how several of my friends are adamant that I get back into the online dating world. Put myself “out there” so to speak. My gut says no. You know why? It finally dawned on me today.
I put myself “out there” week in and week out. You see this post you’re reading? This is bare Nancy. My picture is on the site. Ninety five percent of my freakin’ thoughts, fears, joys, philosophies, rants and musings are “out there.” Gentlemen, really, this is one big, fat personal ad. Read it and cringe or read it and yearn for more. Your choice. Trying to keep my identity “hidden” via some clever hot user name requires more energy than I care to expend in that arena. I am very much alive and engaged in life. I’m a little bit nuts. Guys seem to dig my hair and the fact that I really listen.
This morning I woke to a “Happy Valentine’s Day” phone call from a man I love very much. We aren’t a couple and we won’t be (see roughly 8,000 previous posts for backstory). But as we spoke I felt that calm I described earlier in this post. The forgiveness, the compassion, the bending. I needed to touch base with my own humanity and talking to him was like a mirror and a direct route into that.
So it’s OK that this Valentine’s Day my leg will be spent propped up on a pillow that’s covered in a fabulous red Egyptian cotton pillow case. I’d sure rather be putting those sheets to another use, but hey, maybe next year.
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I have this penchant, it seems, for writing about sports but it not really being about sports. I can’t help myself. Lessons and parallels abound. Plus, I spent a great deal of my journalism career as a sports writer and it’s become a part of me to see these things.
I always watch the Super Bowl, but this one had a special feel since I grew up a Giants fan. Maybe that’s why I was extra annoyed at Dan Patrick messing with the trophy presentation high.
Today’s Game Plan: Can We Ever Just Savor the Moment?
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Let’s call it predictable, me recommending authenticity as the way to go in life. It’s not always easy or popular, but it ultimately pays off in unimaginable ways. The answer to this whole Susan G. Komen for the Cure debacle is no different.
Today’s Game Plan: Life Coaching Susan G. Komen’s Nancy Brinker
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Something came over me when Madonna’s name was announced last night during the Super Bowl. It took me by surprise. I became hyper focused on watching her, riveted to my bar stool in a Hoboken restaurant/bar.
As a relatively new member of the ’50′ club, I realized I was heavily invested in her performance as a fellow 50-something woman. It was weird. I’ve never been that attuned to her age before. I was sending her good vibes because I felt like she represented me.
Now, I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve related to Madonna. I love her music, dig her ability to express freely and, as one who was also raised Catholic, the rebel in me always loved that she was saying what I didn’t have the courage to say until much later in life.
I got what I wanted from her last night — entertainment, inspiration and a touch of nostalgia. The Madonna songs on my iPod sounded fresh during my workout this morning.
I suppose the age identification was about a subconscious feeling that I’ve entered this new place where so much is possible, ambition is soaring and I keep wanting to see others who are on that track, too. After the game, when I saw Huffington Post Tweets about Madonna’s minor stumble as the headline, I defensively fired back as if it was me, imagining some young twit editor dwelling on one of the most human things about the performance.
When I first saw that stadium setup unfold before Madonna as she sang, my stomach dropped. What is she thinking wearing those hot (but high) boots on bleachers? I wouldn’t have agreed to that in a million years, such would have been my fear of falling. But she took it on, moved past the stumble into grace, not fazed by the blip, not letting down her audience an ounce. She knew the material. She kept going. And she seemed to be enjoying it.
Prior to the game I heard the announcers quote her as saying she had never been more nervous than she was for that event. Isn’t it just the best when we take on something that turns our stomach inside out?
Like I said, I got everything I wanted. And more.
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It has been my pleasure on several occasions to interview author Julia Cameron. This time it was about her book with Emma Lively called The Prosperous Heart. Another 12-week program (a la The Artist’s Way), only it offers a way to delve into our definition of prosperity via the spirit. I also spoke with Lively and she offered some wonderful insight.
Today’s Game Plan: Our Heart Beats, Maybe We Should Listen
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Let me tell you about 50. Unlike, say, 20 years ago, I can almost take constructive criticism like an adult. So when my friend wrote me this evening to tell me he thinks I’m holding back in my “Unfettered 50″ blog posts, I got filled up with tears but I also went and scrutinized them a bit. On a few I think he’s crazy, but on others he had a point.
But something more was in play. I was only a wee bit defensive. More like feeling grateful I have chosen to surround myself with smart, honest people. This friend once told me something I’d written hadn’t an ounce of vulnerability. Yep, he’s good. So why was I biting my lip to hold back the water fall?
Duh. Because he was right. I was holding something back.
I un-Friended someone I love on Facebook this week. To paraphrase a line from the Sex and the City movie, I love him but I love me more. I invested a lot of time and emotional energy in him, hoping for romance at one point but agreeing to friendship when that seemed my only choice. The connection was that good. The friendship has been strong but challenging.
Finally this week, though, the price to be friends with him became too high. His Facebook posts are a reminder of what isn’t. My Facebook feed is a place I go to relax with the terrific community I’ve built and I want to keep it that way. I can no longer be “big” about it at my own peril.
So with a click of my mouse I was free. That’s how it felt when I un-Friended him. Incredibly liberating. Mature and weirdly “junior high” at the same time. Take your shot at happiness, my friend, while I take a deep breath into mine.
The next day I woke up and while I was preparing breakfast I looked at the photo he’d taken in Ireland that I’d blown up and had framed for my wall. I wrote about it in another blog post but didn’t fully explain the weight behind taking it down. When he was here a month ago I saw him glance into the kitchen to see if it was still there. It meant something to him that it was.
I have no bitterness around any of this. As I wrapped the picture in plastic and put it away, I remembered telling him I liked “life through his lens.” He loved that because he’s a man who appreciates words. It felt soothing to think of the memory.
After breakfast and a workout, I was walking by Carlo’s Bakery (yes, home of Cake Boss) and, lo and behold, there was no line. I walked in and bought two chocolate-covered strawberries, my absolute favorite treat there. It had been over a year since indulging in them because this now nationally acclaimed hotspot is always mobbed.
From there I visited a shop where I could buy some flowers and walked out with two bouquets — Gerbera daisies and tulips. As I walked through my home gazing at the fresh flowers, eating a strawberry, it felt like the Universe had given me my own special Valentine’s Day filled with nurturing self-love.
Now I feel raw and euphoric and more like me than I’ve felt in a long, long time.
And I take criticism pretty well, too.
Imagine that.
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