its been a long ass time

since I wrote.
since I worked.
since I put myself out there.

That’s intentionally vague.

I think your forties are about self-reflection. About taking stock of things. Hopefully about being present in the way I always aspire to, with varying levels of success. Two months or so into them, that is my experience anyway.

I recently had to write a bio. For myself. Try that exercise if you haven’t in a while. Its bizarre, humbling, and important all at once. Maybe that’s where the taking stock part comes in for me, I had to. I am sure I am not the only woman at my particular crossroads who struggles with trying to quantify life at home with children in a professionally meaningful way. I won’t rehash an already well-covered subject here, but its a real jam.
I am off to North Carolina in a day or so. Scot and I are shooting a warm-up video for The Warrior’s Bridge. As an example of my current mindset, it never dawned on me in our preliminary discussions with the production team that I would be featured in this piece. Like not once. But of course I have to be in it. Of course. I just didn’t see that coming. Its been a long time since I have enjoyed the spotlight. My narcissistic twenties were all about the pre-cursor to the selfie. I recall at one time procuring the world’s tiniest James Bond-esque camera and stuffing it into my black baguette to capture every angle of nights out with the crew. Except then we would just ask some dude to take our picture, and sometimes that worked nicely in our favor. I’m not sure why we didn’t just stretch our arms out as far as we could and snap away, but perhaps the lack of immediate gratification had something to do with it.

Then you have kids. People say that your priorities change when you have children. They do. But something else changes. Focusing on yourself necessarily gives way to the needs of others. And the cuteness of others, which far surpasses your own doughy, maternal visage. It becomes more important to freeze every little moment of their lives in time, and you appoint yourself the memory keeper. Somewhere along the way you realize that you no longer like to be in the photos. At least I didn’t. Don’t.

I’m working on it.

When I try to encapsulate the experience of having little boys I think I invariably fail.  At least my words do.  But this…this is everything.


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