sidewalk graffiti, Valencia St., San Francisco, Canon Digital Rebel

I feel like I have been so remiss in my postings!

Lots of great stuff going on over here at Superhero HQ. I have been deep in house hunting mode (Matt and I are moving to Berkeley or Oakland next month), Mother’s Day jewelry production is in full swing, and I’ve been coaching my heart out with my new clients. It is a very exciting time… or as my mother would probably say, I have been burning the candle at both ends.

Either way, I am feeling grateful for you.

Your existence gives me hope.

Marcia, Union Square in her sunglasses,Olympus Epic

This is my friend Marcia with Union Square in her sunglasses. As a food writer, she is the person I go to for advice about San Francisco restaurants and food. Now you can too! Check out her latest project, Tablehopper. It is a weekly newsletter and web site about restaurants in San Francisco, reviews, recommendations for where to go for that hot date (or when your parents visit) And if you are planning to visit San Francisco, she will give you some ideas about where the locals go. Her style is quirky, sassy and smart, so even if you don’t normally read restaurant reviews, you will likely find yourself immersed in gourmand reverie. Have no fear! Tablehopper is here!

Some other fun links:
– A new issue of Blue Eyes Magazine is here.
– My friend Wendy, very sweetly, knit me a pink, fluffy, angora uterus as a gift. I found this hilarious and touching all at the same time. Turns out you can also knit an entire digestive system.
– And my new obsession: Pandora. Enter your favorite band/artist and a radio station is instantly created for you!

self-portrait, mirror, Canon Digital Rebel

“Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives? When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight. Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater than sorrow,’ and others say, ‘Sorrow is the greater.’ But I say unto you, they are inseparable. Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your head board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed. So you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy. Only when you are empty are you at a standstill and balanced.”
– Kahlil Gibran

A friend passed this quote along to me recently and I am moved by its wisdom. There is an odd richness in letting ourselves go to the depths of our sorrow. It really is like carving out space, digging and discovering new territory, creating more space for a future joy. How much are we willing to feel? How much (and what kinds) of emotions are we willing to let ourselves have?

I noticed that in the past couple of years I have been afraid to feel the completeness of my emotions, good or bad, joyous or not. Its as if I was cutting corners on my emotional life, not completely feeling any of it, not surrendering to any of it with my whole heart. It’s as if I was standing at the ocean’s edge, dipping my toe into the water and not diving in, not letting the waves envelope me, cleanse me, for fear of being sucked into the tide. {I think I have been afraid the waves would overtake me and I wouldn’t come back.}

But if you have ever been in the ocean, you know that the waves are only safe if you are willing to dive into them, to surrender to them, to move towards them. It is when we are half there, stiff and resistant that they knock us down and put us through the salt water spin cycle.

I have a lot to learn from my husband Matt. When he gets sick or sad, he lays on the couch and reads fiction or watches episode after episode of the West Wing (literally for days on end) until he feels better. He doesn’t move (hardly speaks) and surrenders completely to feeling bad. After a few days, he is fine and emerges healthy and happy.

When I am sick, I work and I work and I work. I stay busy and distracted and “productive.” And I remain at a low grade of sick or sad for many, many weeks.

I am beginning to see that letting ourselves have our emotions, really touching the depths or heights is the key to healing. It is like we are increasing our range, only to make our voices more stronger and beautiful.

street graffiti and styrofoam cup, San Francisco, Canon Digital Rebel

I had a dream last night that I was yelling at men on the street and they were afraid of me. In the dream I told a friend that my anger had become “uncorked” and now I was afraid it was spilling all over the place, like when you pour ketchup and it is stuck and stuck in the bottle until it comes out in one big, messy plop.

I’m afraid that’s how my anger will come out. {I am not good with anger and avoid it as if my life depended on it} Anger isn’t delicate or pretty or endearing like tears, or sadness or melancholy. Anger is more like a wild animal. I suppose that’s why I’ve avoided it for so long (so many women do) It repels people. It’s hard to be with…

I also see there is a strength to it, a fierceness, a sense of both feet being on the ground, fists in the air, roaring away like a lion. In the dream I felt like a lion.

I found a link to an article yesterday saying that infertility causes as much depression as cancer. I don’t know how you can make such comparisons, but I do know that it is the most devastating sadness I’ve known. The despair is so deep, it has to be primal. Every once in a while, I hear myself as I sob on Matt’s shoulder and I know that I sound like a wounded animal. I am always so grateful that Matt can take this in and just hold me and say, “I know.. I know…”.

I am sharing bits of this journey and some of its depth so that you might feel comforted, or less alone (in whatever grief or anger you might find yourself in) or so that you can understand your pals who are. I also want to share that finding the anger in this experience has been a doorway to my strength.

My coach helped me discover this one day. I was crying on the phone to her, saying how hard we’ve tried, how we’ve done everything right, how I’ve drinken every potion, stood on my head, done acupuncture, chi nei tsang, and herbs, taken my basal body temperature, built an altar, thought positive, “let it go,” stopped coffee, stopped alcohol, prayed, prayed, prayed, and how it’s not fair…”

And she stopped me dead in my tracks. She didn’t come right out and call me a victim (which would have been appropriate) but said, “Okay. So there’s a lot of self-pity here. What about the anger? Where’s that? Aren’t you pissed off and frustrated? Where’s the ‘why-the-fuck-hasn’t-it-happened-by-now?’ Aren’t you mad at God or your body or somebody?!”

And that’s when I got it. As I stepped into the anger I felt my strength, my fierceness and my aliveness as well as my longing. I also saw how little power there is in the self-pity. The victim place is just that-totally helpless and impotent. As we explored the anger, I found my feet firmly planted on the ground. I practiced role playing with her. We pretended people were asking me how it was going, and instead of my usual “It’s so hard…” and crying almost immediately. I practiced saying, “It fucking sucks!!! We’re fucking frustrated!!!”

And that felt better.

I believe it was the naming it that held the power. Just calling a spade a spade. I don’t necessarily have to walk around being angry, but naming it when it comes up is so much more powerful than covering it up with self-pity.

I still get sad.
I still get hopeful.
I still feel sorry for myself.
I still feel jealous.
I still feel very afraid.

But I’ve added something else to my repertoire: a healthy dose of anger.

Because if you want to know the truth, this fertility business really bites.