my bicycle christening.

i'm getting rid of my car in a week and this means i'll be relying on my legs like i never have before. walking, biking, running... whatever it takes. don't give me any credit for the switch; this has nothing to do with the environment or my own health or any of the other fabulous reasons people choose to walk/bike over drive... this is simply a financial decision and my lease is up. it should be... interesting. my goal is to try it out for six months- november twentyninth to be exact.

so last night i was practicing on my roommate's bike (yes, i need practice cycling around the city) and let me tell you about the muni tracks, those little bitches. i was already nervous because i was (one) on my roommate's bike which doesn't fit me and has super wonky and old school gears and (two) i'm usually the car who almost hits the bikers, not the biker who avoids the cars. you could say i had some anxiety during my practice session.

this is where the story gets exciting: literally one block from my house... i fell. over my handle bars and through the woods to grandmother's house we go -or- just over the handle bars and on the ground, with numb palms and bloodied and bruised legs to follow. good thing i was with my super-biking-hipster-friend-stephan, who was a champ and took care of me while trying to hold back his laughter while i tried to disguise my pain. and shame.

the strange thing is when people ask what happened to my hands and i tell them about falling on those little bitch muni tracks, everyone seems to have their own story of falling on those little bitch muni tracks, too. i guess this was just my bicycle christening?

here's to getting back on the saddle, just like my parents made me do when i got bucked off my horse at age nine. and here's to not giving up on cycling around san francisco. i sort of feel like i belong now that i've had my first fall.

wiggle, here i come!

get your text on.

thanks to michele, i watched a fabulous ted talk on texting that saves lives. you can watch it, too.

speaking of ted, my favorite fourteen year old cellist is performing at a stanford ted talk. get out.

mamaw's derby pie.

when walking around the bart station with a homemade pie, it's hard for people not to smile. they stare, too, but they mostly smile. it seems that a young woman carrying a derby pie on a late thursday afternoon invites strangers to sit nearer and ask questions: where are you going? fresh pie, my favorite... who are the lucky recipients? the kids across from me who are eating chips ahoy original chocolate chip cookies are jealous- they haven't had an unprocessed sweet treat in years. in fact, they report they've never had a slice of homemade pie.

and it made me think about how the art of using my hands in the kitchen has been suspended in practice as of late. what a shame. there is so much joy, so much conversation, that comes from the beauty of baking... sweet or savory, it doesn't matter. creaming butter and sugar and adding bourbon and walnuts and chocolate chips to create someone else's mamaw's derby pie... it is so worth it, even if it doesn't turn out just "right." because it meant i received one-more-than-normal smile.

sometimes i crave this stranger's smile as it quickly reminds me of human existence.

hey ma.

a haiku for my mother, on her fiftyfifth birthday:

your wisdom and strength
reveal themselves in your eyes,
love is in your touch.

the quest for love.

i went on a hunt this week to determine what love means. when things aren’t linear or black and white for me, or if i don’t understand something or it gives me anxiety, i externally process and ask lots of people what they think about a topic. this week it was love.

i thought the questions i asked were simple: what did it look like when you fell in love? what does it mean for you to love? how did you know you first loved your person?

some responses i received:
it was a feeling in the beginning but now it just is.
love is getting up in the middle of the night when you're warm in your bed to get your partner a cup of cold water.
i knew i loved her because when we weren’t together, i wanted to be with her.
why don’t you try reading c. s. lewis’ the four loves?
a co-worker said, “i heard first corinthians has a good list.”
a better question is not whether you love your person, but whether you respect your person.
loving is a choice.
bask in this shit, because new love is so epic and it has an expiration date.
dude, you're over thinking this.
i missed him when we weren't together.
i just knew.

you should know that only some of these answers were satisfying. ultimately i was looking for a prescription and no one could offer me that. it was highly disappointing.

but a dear friend who knows me so well wrote this: emily, this isn't a question of loving your person, this is about receiving love and allowing yourself to [sit in your anxiety and drama and] be loved.

i re-read her words a few times. i took a deep breath and was able to let go of the responses i'd collected from the week. she was right; my quest for love hasn't actually been about my love for another. instead, this is about whether or not i'll allow myself to be loved by another... to work hard enough to believe that i am lovable. will i take this risk, stop asking what you think, listen to myself and swim face to the sky?

i can. and i will.

last night i had dinner with my friend rusty.

i hope when i'm eighty i'm as vibrant and beautiful as she. we found ourselves sharing ideas about love and grace, and the concept of time as my friend. i kid myself as i write 'sharing ideas'-- rusty amused me and listened to my young thoughts, rambling on about redemption and life coming full circle. of course i listened intently and held on to her every word; as she spoke i could imagine Wisdom coming through the lines in her face, her crooked little fingers and white hair. God lives in rusty.

i hope when i'm eighty i'll have read more poetry and slowed down enough to memorize some. i'd like to be able to sit with a person and recite one as it relates to the conversation at hand. rusty shared with me this poem about grace... it was so fitting.

As swimmers dare to swim face to the sky
and water bears them,
as hawks rest upon air
and air sustains them,
so would I learn to freefall and float
into Creator Spirit's deep embrace
knowing no effort earns
that all-surrounding grace.
-Denise Levertov

i hope when i'm eighty i have house guests and visitors and the ability to parallel park in the city and a desire to break bread with someone one third my age. i hope i still travel and i hope i still vote. i hope i have faith as beautiful as rusty's and i hope God still lives in me. i hope.

a corrective emotional experience.

this weekend i am going to have what we in the therapy world refer to as a corrective emotional experience.

last year at this time i attended (and coordinated!) a wedding. i remember asking lisa to meet me in the bathroom for a pep talk; i cried and whined and didn't want to do what i needed to do but she was a gem and probably said something great and recommended i lean on my liquid courage. after the wedding ended, i endured the longest and most tearful drive back to san francisco. hope tortured my heart and anxiety consumed my mind. i didn't want to go home. the next few days were a blur filled with more disappointment, but some of the most grace-filled words exited my mouth and forgiveness was the only response i knew. a big God surrounded me, as well as a strong group of cheerleaders.

this year i will attend another wedding. i won't coordinate or have any responsibility except to listen to the bestman practice his speech and tell him how dashing he looks in that tux. [i will be a great plus one.] i won't be preparing to end things with someone, but rather, i'll be excited to continue on with this really good thing that's happening. there will be no long drive home, just a quick flight back to san francisco where i'll be thrilled to walk through my front door. i probably won't shed a single tear unless it's representing joy. that same big God and cheerleaders are with me.

the fact that this weekend aligns with the easter holiday encourages me; this story has come full circle and demonstrates redemption. never, not once, did i imagine this would be my current situation. i'm so grateful for the way things are unfolding, and especially for what i did not know i even needed. this is good.

the chicken and her eggs.

a while ago during staff meal at the restaurant we ate the most delicious salad and a frittata made of potato skins and chicken (very gourmet, straus). before my fork met the frittata, i crinkled my nose: for one, i had never eaten this combination of items and for two, is it okay for one to eat the mama (chicken) and the baby (eggs) at the same time?! i've probably made you crinkle your nose now. ultimately, this comes down to my aversion to eggs that aren't cooked all the way through. (yolks make me think of a fetus. sorry.) this story has no point, whatsoever. i just wanted to document the first time i ate the baby-mama combination.

it's the last day of march. where has a quarter of the year gone? time is passing.

to love the world.

my friend sarah posted this poem and i fell in love all over again with mary. i'm spending my time these days getting back to loving the world well: close to onehundred handwritten notes of love sent via snail mail.

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird —
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

-Mary Oliver

quitting is never as easy as you hope it to be.

often times people quit jobs because there's a new adventure or something more exciting waiting for them. sometimes they quit because it's a terrible environment. my friend erin quit her job because she was going on a seven month travel escapade and another friend lauren quit because her dream job working with obese kids was knocking on her door. i'm sure there's other reasons people quit, too.

i recently gave notice at the restaurant, a place that i've grown to have a fond attachment to... in the year that i've been there i've learned a lot about food and wine and hospitality. and serving and hosting and cleaning up dropped floral arrangements and the service industry in general. and apologies and management styles and eating habits and table manners and couples who turn the table to sit side-by-side and human-resources-stuff and invoices and statements and entertaining and life... i sure have learned a lot about life.

you see, i went to the restaurant in order to escape; to turn my grief into a money-maker. i had a feeling twothousand eleven would suck so i thought it would be a good idea to grieve by keeping busy. this is not something i recommend. in fact, this is a terrible way to prolong the grieving process. but it's what i did.

who knew i'd grow to love coming to this place three nights a week, smiling and buffing wine glasses while exhausted. or tasting new kitchen creations and learning about new and old world wine. or learning how to make an espresso and problem solving when people tell me they (God forbid) won't sit at the communal table. who knew i'd get to exercise a different part of my heart muscle as i worked with middle and upper class privileged people- quite the change from what my day job offers. who knew i'd stop judging servers who are serving because they want to make a career out of food and this isn't just a stop on the train getting them through school or supplementing their income. who knew i'd train for a marathon while working sixtyfive hours a week. who knew? i didn't.

so now i'm realizing that quitting this restaurant thing is not so easy. there's no better job or adventure waiting for me on the other side of this quit, just a need to put a little more effort into studying for my licensing exams. matt keeps telling me i can change my mind and stay. i'd be lying if i said i hadn't thought about it... but i can't. as much as i want to, i can't. it's time to be a bit more serious about my career, my relationships and me. i hoped this would be easy to quit... it's not; my heart aches as i think about not being part of staff meals and discussions about acid and tannins and blind tastes. and the people. i will miss the people... they've become a second family.

this type of quitting is not enjoyable or easy. especially because i'm not a good quitter. help.