And yet, I am grateful. The sun is shining. There is breath in my lungs. My legs work. I have a roof over my head. I have food in my fridge. There is love, laughter, and light in my life everywhere I look.
I give thanks to the medical professionals who cared for me this year through shingles and a ruptured appendix. I’m grateful for those who showed compassion and kindness for my father in his final days.
I’m grateful for sports, especially women’s basketball. I haven’t done a complete count, but I may have attended over 50 sporting events this year, spanning the NCAAWBB, WNBA, NWSL, NFL, and NCAAWVB in three states. Sports have brought new friends into my life and deepened my connection with people I’ve known for years. They deliver joy when desperately needed and never fail to surprise and delight. Thank you.
I’m grateful for family, friends, and colleagues who stepped up when my chips were down.
I’m grateful for my mom and sister as we grieve separately and together. They lift me up.
And then there’s Tiffany, the love of my life, my person, my partner, who has been, well, everything over the last 12 months.
I’ve been journaling twice a day for three weeks now. That’s coincided with a morning routine of no internetting, my new day vibes playlist, chores, and meditation.
The journaling is usually not spectacular. Most days, it’s a diary of how I’m feeling, what earworm was in my ears, and what I plan to do with the day. I recount the day in the evenings, including minutiae like what I consumed, whether food or entertainment.
Some days, though, it’s been about deep reflection, An opportunity to reconsider my actions or an interaction. It gives me a chance to release a rumination into words or process something stuck in my craw.
I weigh 235 lbs. In my adult life, I have almost always weighed about 235 lbs. There was a time a little over a decade ago when I was uncomfortably in the 240s. During the first few months of the pandemic, I dropped down to the low 220s. But, regardless of changes to my diet or physical activity, my body tends to settle here. Sometimes there’s more muscle or fat or water in the mix, but this is me.
I don’t feel unhealthy at this weight. I don’t feel unattractive at this weight. I like myself at this weight.
I work out daily. I don’t have nagging or chronic pains. I like the way I look in my clothes (and when I don’t, it’s usually a challenge with a clothing item rather than some imperfection I find in myself).
I like me and this body.
I haven’t always felt this way. I don’t always feel this way now.
But, far more often than not, I look in the mirror and like what I see. I’m stepping on the scale without judgment. It’s just data.
“Let’s keep these wheels in motion Tell me where you wanna be”
— Jessie Ware
I deleted Twitter and Facebook off my phone this morning. On the latest episode of The Shop, Naomi Osaka, Wanda Sykes, Kevin Love, and Jadakiss discuss social media and the generally negative experience it has had on their lives. There’s a uniqueness to their situations as people of renown deal with many people with unsolicited opinions and advice.
Wanda Sykes noted that we’re told as kids not to talk to strangers, and yet, we get on these apps, and that’s all we do.
Jadakiss says he has to remind his kids and his team that the shit going on on Twitter is not real life.
Naomi Osaka only installs Twitter on her phone when she needs to tweet something, and then she deletes it again.
I was catching up on my stories last night: The aforementioned The Shop, Star Trek: Lower Decks, The Morning Show, and Nailed It. I sampled Foundation (keep it) and The Wonder Years (pass). And for about half the time, I was also swiping around Twitter. During Foundation, I realized that I didn’t want to be distracted ad yet there I was. I put my devices down, paid attention, and took in the experience in total. When I switched over to Nailed It, I remembered what the people had made by the show’s end and caught a lot of the small, hilarious moments that I fell in love with when it first premiered but that I have missed as the seasons have gone on and the pull of these apps gets stronger.
Again, this morning, I found myself going to Twitter when I merely intended to turn on some tunes and start my morning routine. Because of the tweaks and intentions I set early in the week about how I want my mornings to go; I could catch myself and course correct. I recognize how frequently those apps are vibe stealers.
Today’s wake-up from Headspace was about taking control of your tech experiences. The brief meditation asked me to think about the relationship I wanted to have with my tech, and there was clarity. I don’t need to be rid of these experiences altogether, but I don’t need them on my phone.
So Twitter and the always problematic (and rarely used) Facebook are gone. So are several social media apps that I never use but were sitting there waiting to pique my interest again and get me back on the sauce.
I’m grateful for a commitment to morning rituals this week. For music and chores and coffee making and meditation and journaling before being sucked into notifications and messages and the terrible or absurd or disappointing news of the day.
I’m grateful for evenings with music, journaling, and reading (I’m on pace to get three books down this week!), a set bedtime, and leaving devices outside the bedroom. I’m grateful for giving myself permission to break or tweak a rule when it serves a larger goal.
The days didn’t always go as planned, but I have found that my ability to navigate the days, be more present, be more gracious, be a better me improved with each day.
Now let’s see if I can keep it going. Removing those apps feels like a commitment to that plan.
Apparently, July is for binging The Polyphonic Spree. The last time I decided to pull up the albums I love from the Texas-based psychedelic pop choir was this same month six years ago. I don’t remember what sparked that session, so let’s mark this one.
I bought airplane tickets to Paris, France, this week. The anticipated travel feels both imminent and precarious even though it’s a couple of months away. Trying to live in the age of COVID-19 continues to be like this: having the courage to live life to the fullest in unsettled times.
— Michael Lieberman (@michaelagrammar) July 23, 2021
It is the summer of uncertain vibes! On the night I bought those tickets, I also chose not to go to the gym because I couldn’t find my preferred mask for working out. Those tickets were purchased weeks later than I intended because I struggled to work past my fears that something might derail the adventure before it even got off the ground. Will my passport renewal return in time? Will the variants change border and travel rules? Will the anti-vax fervor in the states continue its expansion across the globe? Will some yet to be known threat grip us anew?
As I fought through those thoughts to click a big blue button to confirm purchase for two on a rocket that will cross the Atlantic, Section 14 (Two Thousand Places) shuffled up into my ears.
“You gotta be good. You gotta be strong. You gotta be two thousand places at once. And I know there’s a lot outside the window. It seems a lot for you and me.”
I’d already been thinking about making a playlist for this summer in which, internally, I am two thousand places at once. Mostly, there’s joy here. There’s sun on my face and in my heart as I get back to all that is outside my window. But, there’s also trepidation and anxiety as we mask up and fires burn, and dudes with too much money go to space while the neediest of us sleep under those same stars hoping to make it through the night. I’ve been bopping around between the latest from Hiatus Kaiyote and Tyler, The Creator sprinkled with productions from Adrian Younge and the mysterious folks behind the artists associated with Sault but it was Tim DeLaughter’s box of oddities that brought it all together.
I bought plane tickets. I bought some new masks. I’m grateful this week for my good fortune and the sun and courage.
And I’m grateful for this music that is soundtracking one weird-ass summer.
I did yoga today. It was the kind of session where sweat had pooled on my mat. By no means was I able to accomplish every move as intended. In fact, there was a whole section where my brain could not process the instructions or their performance on-screen throughout the two or three rounds in which they were part of the flow. I attempted them, though, ending in a lizard lunge each time and feeling my hip flexors release just a little bit more with each pulse and breath.
At the end of those 45 minutes, I had no problems relaxing into shavasana. My feet fell to their most comfortable position. My shoulder blades wanting to wrap up and under unprompted. There was no furrow in my brow or struggle to slow my heart rate or mind or breath. It all came with ease.
As I got up from the mat, I felt pliable, fluid, and in balance. It reminded me of sessions years ago with my favorite yoga instructor. She’s no longer on this mortal plane, but my muscle memory of her guidance and her desire to make shared yoga practice a thing that all body types can and should enjoy was with me this afternoon. I was inside my body and happy to be there with all its imperfections and benefits. It got me through those intense stretches and positions as it has gotten me through every event of my life, and I was grateful.
I wasn’t sure I would find myself to that kindness and gratitude at the start of the day. Today’s meditation was about self-forgiveness. Timely, as I haven’t been very forgiving of my body this week. I joked with Tiffany that I felt like the pregnant man emoji that may be coming to our devices soon. I have felt in conflict with my middle and the scale and my naked form in the mirror or fully clothed in pictures. Even my return to doing yoga in the mornings has been an exercise in self-critique rather than stretching and breathing.
During those twenty-minute flows in the AM, I’ve been frustrated by my forward folds and my tight hips, and my even tighter hamstrings. My TikTok For You Page has recently been frequented by people cracking their backs in yoga positions and talking about mobility and flexibility, and I’ve been envious. It has felt like this frame of mine hasn’t wanted to twist or bend to my liking at all this week.
And so, when I sat in front of this blank page earlier to write about gratitude for this body and to grant myself kindness, I wasn’t feeling it. Of course, those are the right words and the right thoughts and the perspective to have, but this belly is still here, and the number on the scale isn’t the one I was hoping to see, and wait, let me suck it in.
But then I did good yoga. “Lock in the practice,” instructors sometimes say. Far more often than not, I find that a difficult thing to do. The vibes that leave the mat with me don’t stay for long. As I write this, though, they are still here.
And I am thankful for this body I’m in.
And I forgive myself for not granting it the grace this week that I know it deserves.
It contains all that I am. It works. It takes care of me.
Before breakfast this past Tuesday, I sat in a beach chair with a book in hand. I wasn’t reading, though. I was eavesdropping on the young family with two sons under the age of ten and their dog talk to the San Luis Obispo local who was roaming the cliff’s edge looking for people to impress with his canine knowledge and obedience training. He was as boastful as the fog was large, and I watched as one of his doggies snuck away. It took a few quiet steps up into the hotel restaurant’s outdoor area and found a place to curl up under a table. The family finally escaped the conversation, and the overconfident pet owner looked around to see he only had one of his two charges by his side.
By this point, I was making way into Marisol for eggs and such and walked past the stray dog found by some of the wait staff. “His owner is whistling for him on the path, I think,” I said and watched relief cross their faces. One of them hustled down the steps and waved him down, and I went inside for some coffee and bacon and an unexpected delight: a house-made English muffin!
And I was grateful.
Tiffany would join me in short order for some breakfast of her own. Her birthday was the reason I had planned this trip up the coast. It’s a milestone year for her, and the pandemic has delayed the international travel I would’ve otherwise tried to provide for the occasion. But California is open, and we are vaccinated, and a resort at the literal edge of the Pacific meant lots of outdoor space and good weather just a few short hours from home in a place she’d never been.
We listened to cookout classics for the ride up, stopping briefly in Oxnard and for a while longer in Santa Barbara. If you’re going up the coast, how can you not stop at La Super-Rica Taqueria at least once? I had the chilaquiles for the first time, and they were a revelation.
Our map apps have taken to sending us on a scenic detour over San Marcos Road (state route 154) when we go up and down the coast, which puts you through the mountains for nearly nine miles before plopping you back out on the 101. Those twists and turns are a lot to deal with, but it’s beautiful. Also beautiful? A time that feels like your own.
Those few days where I could choose anything from sitting in a beachside park, watch surfers, day drink, nap, workout, or whatever came to mind—including doing nothing—was precisely the reset I’ve been touting to my team. It felt necessary after the hyper-long term stress of the last year and a half. Instead of worrying about getting others sick or coming down with the deadly disease myself or elections or the police, there was an exceptional sushi dinner and drinks at the Madonna Inn. There were cupcakes, mimosas, and flower petals. There was conversation and quiet and an excellent deli found just as we were leaving.
There were 90s tunes for the traffic-free ride home.
There was a return to a mostly empty office Friday, including my first ride on the bus in seventeen months.
There was a weekend with Duke.
There was Summer of Soul and Black Widow and Why Women Kill Season 2.
There was clarity in what routines serve me and which have become meaningless burdens.
Before I lay my head to sleep tonight, I’ll spend 50 minutes in mostly silent guided yoga, the traditional end to Adriene Mishler’s annual 30 Days practice to start the year. I’ve attempted this program each of the last few years, finishing it once or twice, though never on time.
The pandemic has given me the unfettered opportunity to stay on track. While I’d give much not to be spending nearly all of my time in our condo, without these constraints, I’d undoubtedly had failed once again at keeping pace. There would have been work travel at least once. The rain would’ve disrupted a commute a couple of times. I’d have gotten sick with whatever was going around the office after winter break. An impromptu weekend plan would’ve come together and taken a day. I’d have looked up on the last day of this month and realized I was at least a week behind.
Instead, I will close January 2021 with many others: on the mat navigating my thoughts, my body, and my breath. And, I’m grateful.
Despite the wild three Wednesdays to start this new year—Insurrection, Impeachment, Inauguration—I feel like I’ve finally gotten the hang of living in the age of COVID (note: I knocked wood right after typing this not to tempt fate). My toolkit has included: two and a half weeks off from work to close 2020 and start this annum; Headspace (and occasionally other meditation apps); nearly daily journaling; workouts via my trainer (virtually) and Apple Fitness+, a good long walk or run in the park once or twice a week, going to bed and waking up mostly on a schedule, and the Wake-Up/Wind Down podcast by Niall Breslin.
Wake Up/Wind Down—a twice-daily short audio adventure—provided a 31-day mindfulness program that paired nicely with Yoga with Adriene for my morning routine. The program first asked me to capture and consider my values and explore how I sabotage or limit my ability to live those values. The closing two weeks asked me to examine my relationships and how I operate in them, and, finally, to put to paper how I wanted to live out my values in this coming year.
It was a surprisingly powerful approach to the act of resolution-making/goal-setting that pushed me out of my comfort zone as I faced how I deal with conflict (avoidance) and trip myself up (by severely protecting my heart and managing my emotions). I’ve dipped my toes into the water of leading with my heart and giving space for my feelings at the moment more frequently than usual with unexpected outcomes.
A heated conversation with my mom led to me delivering an apology and a reconciliation that felt good and right. Meanwhile, a joking attempt to let my wife know that a tweet was bruising my feelings is still sitting with me a week later.
I’m a work in progress. And I’m proud of myself for progressing in that work in an open, honest, and committed fashion to start my 46th year on this planet.
Here’s what I value right now:
And my goals for the year look like this:
Personal: Commitment to supporting people and causes that work for justice, equality, and inclusivity in society.
Social: A commitment to being thoughtful, open, joyful, empathetic, and giving in all my relationships, including with myself.
Professional: Commitment to being bold, brave, and demanding of excellence of myself and others while being a humane, sincere, and compassionate leader.
There are specific actions I’m taking to achieve these, but those are for me to know and you to see in my deeds.
“Yeah, as the earth spins into a brand new day/ I see the light on the horizon’s not fading away”
— Beastie Boys
I went downtown yesterday for the first time since the pandemic began. Perhaps, the first time this year? Who even remembers what you were personally doing in January and February of 2020?
Anyway, in only my third or fourth trek out of the valley in nine months, I trundled through holiday traffic to pick up our pre-made Thanksgiving Dinner—who wants to cook for fun or ceremony right now?—from a fancy restaurant. Things like the chaotic puzzle of getting over from the 110/101 merger to the 4th street exit haven’t changed, nor has the amount of construction happening in DTLA.
The surface streets were emptier, though. Free street parking was available, and the sidewalks were not full of people moving around. They were, however, bursting with tents. “Garcettivilles” are what some of the most assertive activists on the socials have taken to calling them. They are in my neighborhood as well, particularly along the river at Van Nuys and Riverside. If you’ve had the privilege of staying home only roaming a few blocks in your zip code as I have been, you do not have a scale of the problem.
Unhoused neighbors are everywhere! Along Main and Spring. In every patch of grass on the side of the 101. It’s maddening that we allow for people to fall into homelessness in these numbers at any time but during a pandemic? What are we doing?
I thought this as I picked up our expensive meal-for-two, which we can afford easily because no one in our house has lost work this year. No one in my immediate or extended family has contracted the virus (yet). I’m sure some have had to pinch a penny here and there, but no one has struggled to feed or house themselves. I’ve gotten healthier in 2020. We’ve been able to make our place more of a home, buying furniture, hanging art and photos, replacing appliances, and making fuller use of the space.
We even voted out that guy.
We’re fortunate, and I’m grateful. There are people in tents all over Los Angeles today. This year has gone very differently for them, likely due to circumstances well beyond their control. Regardless, a nation, a state, a county, a city, and a community as wealthy as ours shouldn’t allow it to happen.
We could stand together. It’s about time. We got to get together.
It was the first night of my New York trip that I had gotten a decent night’s sleep
My back wasn’t stiff
Everything fit in my suitcase without much trouble
My flight was still on time despite the previous day’s airport drama.
The front desk lady’s New York accent and banter
The bite in the cold morning air
The relative quiet of the 7 am Saturday morning streets in NoMad
The smile of my Lyft driver
The lightning charger in the back of his car
The ease of the ride to JFK
The ease of the TSA pre-check line
The pleasantness, consideration, and care of every black Airport worker I encountered including the one who informed me my coat had escaped from its tie to my backpack
The short line at Shake Shack
The bacon, egg, and cheese from Shake Shack
The Shake Shack employee who showed up right on time with the fresh bottled water
The baby’s face that lit up when she saw mine
The free wifi in JFK
The chance to complete my Saturday Morning music rituals
Not remembering when I fell asleep but knowing it was likely in mid-conversation with Tiffany, our hands or feet touching for the first time in a week
The last essay in Zadie Smith’s Feel Free is titled, Joy. In Joy, Smith considers the difference between Joy and pleasure. She finds happiness in many things throughout the day but only sees a few moments in her life as ones of pure joy. It was a timely read as I prepared to write this response to Tiffany’s Twitter question:
It’s like this. The only expectations I have for most days is that I will be the best person I can be within its confines. I find pleasure in many things big and small (many, many little things) throughout every day starting with the small delight that I awoke once again. I have an extremely short memory for frustrations, challenges, and setbacks. I rarely recognize, let alone acknowledge, aggression as it happens which, I imagine, naturally deflates most of those situations. I assume just about everyone I meet has a harder day than I do. I’m comfortable with change and prone to adaptation. Things that could be better that I can influence, I do. Things I know that are beyond me at that moment don’t get dwelled upon.
I enjoy this life.
This isn’t all gravy. Throughout the many conversations I’ve had with others who’ve taken the FiveThirtyEight personality quiz, I’ve come to realize that my relationship with anger (or lack thereof) has created a big gap in my ability to empathize effectively with those who do experience frustration or anger more easily. It is a struggle for me to connect with something in myself that feels similar. I can appreciate why someone else is angry. I’ve learned to accept the idea that anger is a valid response to a situation but, it’s foreign to me.
I love to argue over ideas and ways of being. I share this trait with my mother. We also both have a propensity for being passionate in our position without realizing that passion can be seen as an attack until it’s too late. That we don’t take a heated debate as personal doesn’t mean others operate in the same fashion.
My forgetfulness for “bad things” makes it hard for me to be a good critic or judge of particulars. I take what I need and leave the rest. This can be annoying for those who want a more technical accounting of my feedback. I’m sorry, though, I have no similar mental checklist for this as I do for those pleasures and pleasantries noted above.
In the end, though, I operate from a place of realistic optimism. I know bad things happen. I’m aware of how much a struggle being on this mortal plane can be but, every day, it’s just as likely things go right as the other way. Nothing’s a certainty, but, hey, we may overcome.
And that’s enough to put a smile on my face, a flutter in my heart, a sparkle in my eyes, a dip in my dimples, and a dance in my step.
