Me, in a beautifully produced video, being open. Or something.
A few weeks ago, my therapist said to me something that left me reeling. Jordan, she said, I have known you for years. And you are one of the least authentic people I have ever met.
How's that for a compliment?
Tarrytown, New York, with Dad on Friday
Something has been in the air these past few days, and I've been having one beautiful little experience after the other. So I thought I'd tell you about them.
It started on my flight to New York, where I currently am for my high school reunion (more on that in a mo'). The woman in front of me was traveling with her kids, and one of them - the baby - started fussing, and immediately the woman next to her said, "Oh, let me hold him," and then just...helped her. The whole way to JFK. I passed stray toys that I found at the bottom of my backpack to the older one through the crack in the seat, and the flight attendant brought extra snacks and helped fill bottles, and there we were: A miniature village of women at 36,000 feet.
Last year, on my birthday, I wrote this - and I think that even though I didn't know it at the time, that moment very clearly marked the end of one thing, and the beginning of another.
This year, my birthday was - for lack of a better word - weird. It was my weekend with the kids, and a three-day weekend at that, so I came up with all sorts of grand plans. These, alas, ended up getting sidelined by a monster head cold, but on Saturday night I rallied, having planned a whole hibachi dinner-bowling fiesta for myself, the kids, Francesca, and my neighbor Margo and her daughters. And then, at 6PM, Francesca took one look at me getting ready to head out, all sniffles and patheticness, and suggested we take it down a notch.
Here's the part that got weird: By 6pm, I didn't actually want to go to the hibachi-bowling thing; I was sick and exhausted and half-asleep already. So when Francesca suggested we just do a low-key dinner somewhere nearby I immediately agreed...and then, just as immediately, started crying. Like, heaving.
Totally casual magazine-reading outfit (dress by Cleobella)
On Friday afternoon, I arrived at Francesca's house for a little kid-free staycation only to find her triumphantly reducing some apricots to make a pork chop sauce. "I just invented this dish!" she declared. "It's SO DELICIOUS!"
We exclaimed over and over about the particular combination of flavors - how unexpected! how delightful! - and snapped a couple of pics, because clearly I would need to post about this unexpectedly delightful new dish.
So, shocker: It turns out that doing a press tour for a book about anxiety results in QUITE the intense interviews. For my first two books, people asked me about...you know, like, Tips For What To Wear When Pregnant. For this one? "Tell me your deepest childhood traumas and most profoundly held fears."
So...that.
You can listen to my interview on The Mental Illness Happy Hour here; the interview part starts at around 1:10.
