I am 32 years old today

I was looking over some of my older posts, and found one from  my 27th birthday back in 2004. I was living in Israel, a poor student with a great set of friends from all over the world and most likely a nominal drinking problem. I was still a born-again Christian. I was still dating dear Jef. I was the same and I was entirely different. In the five years since, I have survived two failed relationships and entered The Relationship, left behind the religion of my childhood and converted to Judaism, lived in New York with another set of wonderful friends from all over the world and a slightly worse-than-nominal drinking problem, lost a job and fled to South America, nurtured The Relationship long distance before finally moving to Scotland, got pregnant unexpectedly, and moved back to my hometown with my love and his child inside of me. All in all I'd say it's been an eventful few years. How did my life bring me here? And where will I be in five years time?

I have always wanted to be a mother, and at 32, surprise or no surprise, I've actually had quite a late start. I wanted to live my life first, do daring and extraordinary things, take risks and make bold and irreversible choices. I wanted to have a life defined by intimacy and adventure, and void of shame and regret. And I feel like I've done a good job so far of living that way. But the problem is I am not done. I want to continue living that way. And as I turn another year older and get closer and closer to being a mother, there's always that fear, a little niggling anxiety, that I won't be able to. Because my old lifestyle, in a way, required a dogged and innate selfishness to achieve. Not in an "I'm more important than you" way, but in an "I'm not going to compromise because people think I should" way. But now it's not just me. Suddenly it's me, and it's David, and it's a little boy, and they matter more than I do, and compromise is inevitable, loving, and necessary. It's natural, and it's a whole new adventure, but it's still scary. It's my birthday and I'm just not ready to give up myself yet.

One April Fool

It's now been nearly five months since I've written anything on this blog. For those of you who don't know, the dark days of October and November were due to the unexpected arrival of an embryo in my womb, lovingly placed there by my boyfriend the day I arrived back to Scotland. Those dark days turned into even darker days as we moved back to Cleveland--more specifically, moved in with my parents--and settled in for four months of terrible winter. We were pregnant, unemployed, living with my parents, and cold ALL THE TIME. It was very, very unpleasant and not much worth documenting. But we have made it through to Spring, and things are looking up. Coming back to this blog is, in  a way, like coming back to myself after a long and painful absence. Where have I been the past several months? What have I been doing? Surviving, I suppose. But that's just not enough to satisfy me anymore. I'm done with surviving. I'm ready to live again.

Here goes nothing.

I am 30 years old

But only for five more minutes.

It's been quite a year. I lost my job. I earned my Masters. I lived with lesbians in Buenos Aires. I was beaten up by children in Paraguay. I lost my beloved grandfather. I fell in love. And now I'm following my love to Scotland.

So goodbye, cruel youth. Hello wrinkles and uncontrollable urges to steal other people's children. 31, here I come.

As promised, another blog you won't read...

It's been a busy few months. I passed my Hebrew Exam, finally managing to graduate, only to return to New York and find I no longer had a job. Yes, Success Magazine failed. Cue bad and overly obvious jokes here. Still, there is an upside: When I went to pick up my things at the apartment of my former boss, David (also suddenly unemployed) a few too many drinks and a bit too much freedom resulted in what should have been a short-term fling, but what has become something long-term. And unfortunately long-distance. David is returning home to Scotland.

What will happen I cannot say, but for now we'll have a phone relationship and I have taken this opportunity to go abroad yet again. Destination: Argentina.

I have been a week in Buenos Aires, and after many requests (many being three: Luise, Shannon, and Olivia to be exact) have decided it is time to satisfy the curiosity of the small but devoted group of people who apparently care whether I live or die in South America. Noticeably absent from this group, if you hadn't noticed, would be my parents, who, satisfied upon hearing of my safe landing, proceeded to not write me a single email after the first day. And it's not like they're on Facebook so they can see my clever status updates. Clearly there can be no explanation other than their indifference. I invite them to refute this position. Preferably with multiple emails/comments/phone calls to the contrary. A deposit in my USbank account would also be acceptable. But I digress.

So, yes, I am living with two born again lesbians and a somewhat mentally ill cat in the Orthodox Jewish quarter of Buenos Aires. If you don't know how I came to be here, it's because I got fired. So I'm gonna write a book. Which for obvious reasons is much easier, or at least cheaper and more artistic, if one is living in a foreign country. So here I am.

I forgot to bring a camera, which to me is tantamount to a crisis. So I bought a cheap camera that requires me to use (gulp) actual film. As in the stuff you used to have to unroll on the little spool in the camera and then wind up. As in the stuff that takes a limited number of pictures that you can't even actually see. It's horrible. Last night I had a houseful of homosexuals over for Taco Tuesday, an event that practically screams for pictures, and I don't even know if any of them will turn out!

Anyway, today I went to Chabad of BA to find out where to go for Shabbat services on Friday, and tonight I'm off to try and see me some of that fancy tango. I love trying new things because you never know when you're gonna stumble onto your genius, and I have a feeling that I might just be gifted at the Tango. I'll let you know.

Testing 1, 2, 3

It's been two years since I kept a blog. In that time, I left Israel, moved to New York with Dave, broke up with Dave, converted to Orthodox Judaism (why, oh why did I not keep a blog during that bizarre fourteen months?), settled happily into life as a bad (read: reform) Jew, became an editor at a business magazine, and got myself published. What I did not do in this highly productive time is BOTHER TO GRADUATE FROM HEBREW UNIVERSITY. So tomorrow I'm off to visit Luise in Berlin en route to Israel, where I am going for six weeks to finally get the albatross of my masters degree surgically removed from its current location around my neck.

You can read about it if you want.

My last post in israel?

I leave Israel in two and a half days.  It is heading towards me far too quickly, which is strange.  I almost never leave a place before I am ready to leave it.  Usually I am in a terrible rush--no matter how happy I was in some non-homey place--to get home.  HOME.  I am so excited to be with the familiar, the family, the people and places that I love, but this is the most bittersweet little exit I've ever made.  Mostly because the whole color of the world has changed for me.  While I am accustomed to looking forward to the mundane everyday activities that make home home, (Mom setting the table, Dad fixing me a drink before dinner, sisters laughing or fighting, Koti following me around, bla bla bla a hundred simple little happinesses), and I still do, it is hard to imagine them all happening without HIM there.  This is particularly strange because he has never been a part of any of these things, they have always occurred, quite naturally, without him.  But now, pretty much anything that happens without him feels unnatural, and all my silly, wonderful memories are not enough to make the new yet-to-be-made memories worthwhile if he is not there to make them with me. 

There is so much more to write, updates on what I've been up to during my last two week respite, but now I am too sad and melancholy.

Let me just say Happy Birthday to my Papa, the best Papa of ever, who I love and love and love, and to Wes, who's also okay in my book...(wink and smile)

Back again

It's been a long, long time. I'm sitting in my apartment in Israel, completely alone for the first time in three months, and feeling almost beside myself. My parents and Anne both left early this morning, so I feel that extra loneliness that comes with sitting in an empty apartment that was only hours ago overflowing.

I did have two extra days with them, however. My grandfather's flight had just made it out, and my parents were waiting to go through security at the airport, when the municipal workers of Israel announced that they were on strike, and that most government offices would be closed indefinitely, including the ports and airports. So my parents took a taxi back home, and we waited it out for two days until they could make it on a flight. It was a wonderful two days, if not a bit stressful.

Soon I'll put up some pictures from our whirlwind tour--a week in Italy and a week in Israel--of which I am told there are almost three hundred in my dad's digital camera. Maybe then I'll have more energy, not being so sad as I am now, and can write all about it as well.

It's good to be home.

Fifteen minutes

In fifteen minutes a taxi will be here to sweep me off to the airport and home. I haven't posted in a long time. It gets hard near the end of the year, when every day looks the same--a cycle of eat sleep and study. Soon I will have so much more time...I am hungry for my country...I am desperate to see Jef and my family....I am going home!!!

Maybe I will see some of you there?

Back again

It's been a long time since I've written anything, but this life of mine spun out of control briefly and I'm only now picking up the pieces. My grandmother passed away three weeks ago, and the next thing I knew I was on a plane from Tel Aviv to Cleveland. I had two weeks left in the semester, but my professors all let me arrange things so that I could go home and be with my family. I did just that, and in a few days I head back to Israel and all the work I left behind. I feel disconnected from my life there right now, understandably so, but I have this nagging feeling I won't be able to catch up.

It's been a long time since I was in school last, and even then I don't recall ever worrying as much about my grades as I do now. That's not all I'm worried about though. The future is still there, lurking, closer than it felt when I was in my last respite--college. There is no more running from it! But I am. I am running from lots of things, and toward nothing certain. Bla bla bla.

First Things First

I am spent. The past month has been so exhausting, both physically and emotionally, that I haven't yet been able to make sense of everything that's happened. I have left my home, my loved ones, my sense of security--everything easy and understood--and moved to a distant and dangerous place. I don't even know exactly why I'm here. I know the facts: I am a grad student; I attend the Hebrew University; I am studying religion. These I know. What I don't know is why, ultimately, I felt that I was meant to be here for these things, and what I don't know is where this will all take me. (Hmm...a Masters in Religion...fascinating...but what are you going to do??) So I suppose what we have here is two journeys in one--a pilgrimage, and a quest.

I have been here for a week and a half. The majority of that time I have been in Ra'anana--a suburb of Tel Aviv--with my roomate Tammy's family. It was the perfect way to transition, spending my first few days in a real home with a real family, as opposed to staying in my not-yet-clean-or-cozy student apartment in Jerusalem. Tammy and I have been back and forth, cleaning, unpacking, painting, and hopefully we'll have everything done by the time school starts on Sunday. Right now I still feel like I'm on a trip, not like someone who will be living here for two years. I need to settle, put down feet, stake a claim on this place somehow. Then maybe I'll begin to believe that I'm actually here.