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Hi, friends! I hope the first month of the year has been good to you. It always flies by for me, and I’ve noticed the days are already getting longer. January was a mixed-bag of promising movement, proud accomplishments, happy reunions, and harsh realities. In other words: life in full color.
I don’t know why I’m continually surprised each time the message about the duality of life is driven home, but once again I am. Then I take a step back from my own set of worries and see that duality reflected in the books I read, the podcasts I listen to, and the accounts I follow. Viewed from that perspective, I find a strange comfort in the rightness of it all.
This is what it means to be human. The beauty of feeling my way through the fog of uncertainty is in the bright spots that appear to light my way. A few weeks ago, I was texting with my sister about a difficult family situation, and suddenly we were laughing at something completely inappropriate—and it was like an instant reset. I felt palpable, full-body relief from that unexpected outburst.
My niece got married in early January, and I flew with my husband and daughter to West Palm Beach, Florida, to be there. It was the first time all three of us had been back there as a family since February 2020, as well as the first time my three siblings and I were in the same city since our dad’s funeral 13 years ago. We’d seen each other multiple times since then, just not all together at once.
At the wedding reception, we asked the photographer to take a picture of us—three sisters gathered around our brother, who hours earlier had used an electric scooter to escort his daughter down the aisle, because Parkinson’s made him too unsteady to walk.
This is what it means to be human. The beauty of feeling my way through the fog of uncertainty is in the bright spots that appear to light my way.
I had the thought that with our mom in Memory Care, our parents were essentially gone. If we wanted to remain connected as a family and continue gathering as a group with our spouses and kids, we needed to make a deliberate effort and not wait for the next wedding or funeral to bring us together. Such an obvious, simple thought, but sometimes those are the ones that elude us.
You can know that you love your family of origin but forget what it feels like to be among them, part of a unit. My siblings call me Ab, like my parents used to. No one else calls me that except my husband. To me, it feels like love. Like being known.
On that trip, my daughter impressed me with something she said. She pointed out that when you don’t see family members in person, it’s too easy to form mental screenshots that don’t capture them fully. Spending time together as a group gave us a chance to recalibrate those images. It’s not that any of our impressions were bad—they’d just become flattened, reductive.
I’m used to living thousands of miles from my siblings, but when we reconnect in person, something clicks into place. It’s bittersweet—another duality of joy and pain intertwined.
Three Things That Helped Me Start the Year Right
Humor. I’m so excited about a piece I wrote for HuffPost that’s going live this week. It’s titled, “How 'Curb Your Enthusiasm' Has Made My Marriage Stronger.” It’s about how my husband and I like to turn random moments of absurdity into comedy improv for our own amusement. The deeper message is about how humor has gotten us through some pretty dark times and kept us connected.
Humor is a core value in my family and something we proudly passed down to our daughter. While my husband and I have our comedy shtick, she and I have our own routines that make us laugh. Our current guilty pleasure is watching trashy reality TV after my husband goes to bed. We’re latecomers to The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and (I can’t believe I’m confessing this publicly), we’re six seasons in and completely hooked.
The fun is in watching together—analyzing storylines, impersonating the cast, and (always) casting judgment. Before we flew to Florida, she threw down a challenge to see who could slip more catchphrases from the show into casual conversation at the wedding, with no explanation.
Finally, I started the year by entering the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. The first-place winner gets $1000 and free registration to the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop this spring. I’m not registered to go (one of my non-resolution resolutions this year is to curb my spending) but if I were to win, I’d happily splurge on the airfare and hotel. I wrote the piece just for this contest and, regardless of how it does, I’m so pleased with how it turned out and will find another home for it if it doesn’t make the final cut.Small talk. I had a couple encounters over the last few weeks that underscored the upside of chatting with people for no other reason than it feels nice. I know. This belongs in the “Duh, no kidding” category right next to “If you want to be in your siblings’ lives you need to actually see them.”
At our hotel in Florida, we were hanging out with my brother’s best friend, who I’ve known forever. I made an offhand comment about work that ended up turning into a new business opportunity, at a time when I’m looking to expand and diversify my client base.
Then, this weekend, my husband and I stepped into an elevator with another couple at our condo building at the shore. “So where are you heading to tonight?” the woman asked. I told her the name of the Mexican restaurant we were trying for the first time, and she told us the name of the place they were going to that featured Southern cooking.
It was the briefest encounter, 30 seconds maybe, but it felt like a gift—a light moment of friendly connection with two strangers. It also put another restaurant on our radar for next time. Another pin in the map of our future home.
I remember reading an article in the early days of the pandemic about losing out on those small personal interactions during lockdown. The friendly chats with familiar faces on your daily route or the spontaneous joke you make to a stranger on the street. They add up, like pearls on a string.
Social media can give the impression that humanity is circling the drain—a snapshot that’s flattened, reductive. I’m lifted each time I’m reminded that good people are all around us.Action over avoidance. Lately I’m trying a more direct approach to managing the things that are nibbling at my brain. I’m booking the appointments, making the phone calls, asking the questions I may not like the answers to. Adulting, some would call it.
I’m discovering that storms are no less scary from the floor of my closet. Sometimes the best place to be is in the front seat of a Jeep, chasing down the funnel cloud.
Not every task has been so dire. I’ve been pursuing new business and writing opportunities with a spirit of adventure and possibility, and making a concerted effort to quickly move beyond the sting of rejection.
My daughter shared another bit of wisdom the other day, something she heard or read but couldn’t recall where (if you know, please comment so I can give credit).
“Rejection is really redirection,” she told me.
Wow, I thought. That resonates so strongly…
And just as I was swelling with pride at the mature adult my daughter had become, she intoned in her haughtiest British accent the words of Real Housewife Lisa Vanderpump:
“Throw me to the wolves, and I shall return leading the pack.”
Excellent read, Abby. A few weeks ago I read about some research that had delved into longevity. One of the top predictors of a long, happy life is engaging in interactions with those around us.
OMG, so excited about your HuffPost piece!!!!