Am I My Mother?

The old adage goes: “If you want to know what a girl will turn out like, look at her mother.”

Yet if you hear a woman actually talk about her mom you’ll hear: “Don’t ever let me turn out like my mother.”

My mom hits a milestone birthday this week, and it’s made me start thinking about the woman I am apparently destined to become.

It’s easy to find fault with a woman you’ve lived with your entire life. It’s much harder to sit back and realize her gifts. In honor of my mom’s birthday, I decided to do just that.

My mother has an unlimited capacity for caring. If her heart muscle were as large as her “heart,” it would have exploded right out of her chest ages ago. She takes care of everyone, but it’s not just about taking responsibility, it’s that she genuinely cares about the wellbeing of everyone she knows.

From her students to her best friends, from the synagogue congregation to her family, my mother provides a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on and a guiding light. She invests herself in her relationships, giving not just a piece of herself but her whole self. She is never too busy to devote a phone call to a friend who needs to vent. She is never too tired to accommodate that last-minute student who texts at 11pm on Saturday asking for her to meet with them at 9am on Sunday. She devotes herself to their success.

To be honest, my mother doesn’t take care of herself the way she takes care of others. And it’s important to know this so that I “don’t turn out like my mother” who refuses to be selfish, but also so that I do turn out like my mother who characterizes herself by the amount she cares.

My mom’s greatest accomplishment is our family. Bar none. Her commitment to us is never-ending. After 25 years, she still loves my dad completely and unconditionally. In this way, there is no one I would rather turn out like than my mother who has built a marriage that has survived the odds of the divorce rate and unhappiness statistics in this country. She works at it, but she also enjoys all of the time she spends with my dad. I can only hope to be so lucky some day.

She does everything for her kids, no matter how much of a pain in the ass each of us can be. Her patience rarely wavers. Most people are amazed by how close-knit our family is. Not only do we love each other, we all really like each other. In fact, when I am home in Connecticut, I choose to spend my time with my family rather than visiting long lost high school friends. The credit goes to the way my mom raised us and the household she held. I’m not sure what she did…what her secret is. I’m going to have to find out.

Maybe part of it is that we all have fun together. My mom is really fun. Just ask her.

In all seriousness, her enjoyment of friends and music and laughter make her fun. She’s not afraid to talk to anyone, which is why we made friends with the people sitting five inches from us at the Carnegie Deli and the cute guys sitting behind us at the US Open. There is no one I would rather gamble with than my mom. We get on the crap table together and it’s the recipe for a good time. The line between friend and mom blurs from time to time. (Still contemplating if this is how I want to be with my kids). There is the occasional embarrassing moment, but that just reminds me she is, indeed, the mom.

When you first meet her, her strength shields the fun-loving and sensitive Mommy I know. My mom taught me to be strong. To hold on to my beliefs as principles to live by. To be unafraid of the challenges these principles may present—it wasn’t always easy to complete a week’s worth of schoolwork in advance so I could observe Passover or to use practically all of my vacation days for Jewish holidays. She led by example and taught me to be strong.

Now my mom isn’t perfect. There are times when she dwells on problems. There are times when she stresses about things beyond her control. There are times when she pries. There are times when she gives too much.

I think it’s important to look at our parents, not just our mothers, as potential forecasts of our future but not as destinies carved in stone. What do you love about them that you want to emulate? What behavior do you dread repeating? I don’t believe that who you become is as fated as the old adage decrees. And while I am in my 20s and laying the foundation for who I will be when I grow up, it is crucial to realize that we shape ourselves and choose from the models set before us.

We determine if we become our mothers.

For the record, I think the world could use her spirit and generosity.

So I must admit: the woman she is at this milestone is a pretty amazing example to follow. Happy birthday Mommy.

Am I My Mother?

The old adage goes: “If you want to know what a girl will turn out like, look at her mother.”

Yet if you hear a woman actually talk about her mom you’ll hear: “Don’t ever let me turn out like my mother.”

My mom hits a milestone birthday this week, and it’s made me start thinking about the woman I am apparently destined to become.

It’s easy to find fault with a woman you’ve lived with your entire life. It’s much harder to sit back and realize her gifts. In honor of my mom’s birthday, I decided to do just that.

My mother has an unlimited capacity for caring. If her heart muscle were as large as her “heart,” it would have exploded right out of her chest ages ago. She takes care of everyone, but it’s not just about taking responsibility, it’s that she genuinely cares about the wellbeing of everyone she knows.

From her students to her best friends, from the synagogue congregation to her family, my mother provides a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on and a guiding light. She invests herself in her relationships, giving not just a piece of herself but her whole self. She is never too busy to devote a phone call to a friend who needs to vent. She is never too tired to accommodate that last-minute student who texts at 11pm on Saturday asking for her to meet with them at 9am on Sunday. She devotes herself to their success.

To be honest, my mother doesn’t take care of herself the way she takes care of others. And it’s important to know this so that I “don’t turn out like my mother” who refuses to be selfish, but also so that I do turn out like my mother who characterizes herself by the amount she cares.

My mom’s greatest accomplishment is our family. Bar none. Her commitment to us is never-ending. After 25 years, she still loves my dad completely and unconditionally. In this way, there is no one I would rather turn out like than my mother who has built a marriage that has survived the odds of the divorce rate and unhappiness statistics in this country. She works at it, but she also enjoys all of the time she spends with my dad. I can only hope to be so lucky some day.

She does everything for her kids, no matter how much of a pain in the ass each of us can be. Her patience rarely wavers. Most people are amazed by how close-knit our family is. Not only do we love each other, we all really like each other. In fact, when I am home in Connecticut, I choose to spend my time with my family rather than visiting long lost high school friends. The credit goes to the way my mom raised us and the household she held. I’m not sure what she did…what her secret is. I’m going to have to find out.

Maybe part of it is that we all have fun together. My mom is really fun. Just ask her.

In all seriousness, her enjoyment of friends and music and laughter make her fun. She’s not afraid to talk to anyone, which is why we made friends with the people sitting five inches from us at the Carnegie Deli and the cute guys sitting behind us at the US Open. There is no one I would rather gamble with than my mom. We get on the crap table together and it’s the recipe for a good time. The line between friend and mom blurs from time to time. (Still contemplating if this is how I want to be with my kids). There is the occasional embarrassing moment, but that just reminds me she is, indeed, the mom.

When you first meet her, her strength shields the fun-loving and sensitive Mommy I know. My mom taught me to be strong. To hold on to my beliefs as principles to live by. To be unafraid of the challenges these principles may present—it wasn’t always easy to complete a week’s worth of schoolwork in advance so I could observe Passover or to use practically all of my vacation days for Jewish holidays. She led by example and taught me to be strong.

Now my mom isn’t perfect. There are times when she dwells on problems. There are times when she stresses about things beyond her control. There are times when she pries. There are times when she gives too much.

I think it’s important to look at our parents, not just our mothers, as potential forecasts of our future but not as destinies carved in stone. What do you love about them that you want to emulate? What behavior do you dread repeating? I don’t believe that who you become is as fated as the old adage decrees. And while I am in my 20s and laying the foundation for who I will be when I grow up, it is crucial to realize that we shape ourselves and choose from the models set before us.

We determine if we become our mothers.

For the record, I think the world could use her spirit and generosity.

So I must admit: the woman she is at this milestone is a pretty amazing example to follow. Happy birthday Mommy.

Take a Class

I just rolled in at 11pm from my new Wednesday night ritual: Travel Writing with Cullen Thomas.

Last January, I picked up Memoir at Gotham Writer’s Workshop. It lent a purpose to my Saturday afternoons—not to mention a great community of writers I still keep in touch with and a boatload of writing that seemed to pour out of my head the moment my teacher mandated an assignment. The structure of organized learning less than a year out of college warmed me like steaming chicken soup in flu season.

When the offer came through to spend another winter semester with Gotham’s finest, I jumped at the chance.

Rather than Saturday afternoons, I thought I’d give the weeknight circuit a whirl. This leaves me Saturday afternoons to actually write; or Saturdays to gather my brain after its gradual spilling out Monday through Friday and then write on Sundays.

After blogging from Argentina, I began to think about travel writing. How amazing would it be to get to travel and write at the same time? Those people at Travel & Leisure got it right. But I definitely need some honing. After all,ruthieinargentina.blogspot.com is a far cry from Fodor’s.

My class meets once a week for three hours, during which Cullen—who reminds me of the grown-up version of my high school boyfriend—guides my class of nine women through the basics of Travel Writing. What types of travel writing exist? What are the basic structural ingredients of a travel piece? Travel memoir or destination piece? Use more sensory detail. Use less first person.

We read the masterful work of Bruce Chatwin and the short pieces of the Times travel writers. We study their style. We critique them. We bring in our homework. We critique each other.

Each week we have an assignment. On top of that, twice in my ten-week course I will write longform pieces of 5-12 pages to be ripped apart—and hopefully also complimented—by my classmates. I am on deadline.

And yet, the pressure is just enough to yield quality work without completely stressing me out. One class at a time is manageable in an adult life.

Learning after college is a must-do, a gift if you make time to bestow it upon yourself. I remember why I loved school. The excitement of knowledge. The taste of progress. Each week, I walk away with a new reading list of at least five authors to which Cullen has referred during our session, for my own exploration. Each week, I learn at least one thing about the craft of composition that renders me a better writer.

Meanwhile, little do I realize I’m also making friends. Because in the process of learning, we inevitably blunder. And as you make mistakes, and pick up your pen again, your classmates help you up. My classmates are just as nervous about criticism as I am. Yet we know it is the only way to improve. So we lean on each other. We make friends. We listen to each other’s stories—which at the very least are entertaining in a Travel Writing seminar.

Pick your passion. Find a class. Make time for the interest that makes you happy. Meet friends who share your zeal. New York bursts with a schedule of classes for anything you can imagine:pottery, painting, dance, yoga, business, social media, design, computers, rock-climbing, archery,skating, or a language (NOTE: I have not personally tried all of these). Enrolling in a class doesn't mean you have to break the bank, either.

A class might be just the thing to grant your life Purpose and light a fire under your...butt.

Risk like Rafa

For those of you who don’t know: I am obsessed with tennis. This is not “I like tennis a lot” or “I like certain players.” This is a full on obsession with the sport and a few of its players, primarily Rafael Nadal.

Yesterday was the men’s singles championship match of the Australian Open. It aired live at 3:30am—at which time I began watching—and finished on my DVR, since it was a five-hour and fifty-three minute match that I did not have the stamina to stay awake through.

I reside in the Nadal camp of the Federer/Nadal rivalry and I stick to those roots in the newly forming Nadal/Djokovic rivalry.

I prefer Rafa’s rough-and-tough, fight-for-every-ball, resilient talent and his fiery nature. Sure Federer is elegant, and Djokovic is a force. But Federer’s lack of emotion has always been a turn-off. And Djokovic’s over the top arrogance...I have no tolerance for it.

Nadal embodies everything I admire about a player and a person: passion, drive, desire, commitment, vulnerability, and humility. From him, I think we have a lot to learn.

Nadal is a prime example that big risks deliver a big pay-off.** SPOILER ALERT** Even though he didn’t win yesterday (and I cried—a lot), the points he did win were often after big, aggressive shot-making rather than the conservative avoidance of mistakes. Nadal is a risk-taker and that’s part of what makes him great.

Unexpectedly, I find myself to be a bit of a risk-taker like Nadal. I generally have a tough time making decisions, but my record reflects that when it comes to big ones I take the risk rather than the safe route. For undergrad, I chose between Barnard and Brandeis.

I felt completely comfortable on Brandeis’ campus from the moment I visited. I could see myself fitting in there. Barnard was a scarier choice. For one, it was all girls and I always relate better and more easily to guys. The atmosphere was more charged with debate about political and social issues (i.e. women’s issues), which were areas I had steered clear of in high school. Barnard was out of my comfort zone. Yet, I chose it.

The big risk had a big payoff. I grew, as a person, much more at Barnard than I could have at Brandeis.

Just recently, the time came again for another big decision. A publishing company approached me as a candidate for a position within their corporation. Although I was not on the job hunt, I felt it wise to at least consider the opportunity. As more information poured in, and I considered the scenarios at hand, I realized that the new job presented a risky option.

As in tennis: pointed, planned, aggressive shots making for winning points. I made a calculated gutsy decision considering the long-term effects of the move at hand. I decided to leave my current job and leap head first into the unknown of a new job.

With this new job, I realize that I am also taking a step towards emulating Nadal. Rafa infuses his every move with fire and energy. He is passionate about the game he plays. While in my last job I enjoyed my work, it did not light a fire within me. I did not feel it rev up my ambition.

Every time Nadal steps onto a court, he means business. He comes to do battle. He shows up and loves to do so. His passion for the game fuels his desire to win, and has raised the level of competition among his opponents. He causes the game to evolve.

Even after today’s loss he said, “I enjoyed. I suffered during the match, but I enjoyed all the troubles that I had during all the match. I enjoyed. I tried to be there, to find solutions all the time. I played a lot with my heart. I played a lot with my mind, and is something that is nice to be around and not just play tennis.” (FastScripts by ASAP Sports via australianopen.com)

I look forward to the the challenges. To finding solutions. To going to work and using my heart and my mind. I want to feel as passionate about what I do, as Rafa feels about what he does.

But along with my passion and ambition to succeed in this world of publishing, media and journalism, I remember what got me here. It was difficult to make the decision to leave my current company—my first real job—and I will never forget that I gained my first work experiences and applicable skills there. It is this humility that will help me learn from mistakes and treasure victories in my career and earn respect from my peers, much like Rafa.

Rafa gives of himself and hopes for a big return. “You have to go little bit more, you have to fight a little bit more, you have to practice a little bit more....” (ESPN, 1-29-12 Australian Open coverage) Life, like tennis, is an individual sport. Push yourself to take the risks. Only then can you get the big W and feel fulfilled, satisfied and proud of what you do and who you are.

Get Crafty

When I met Alice Ripley at the stage door of Next To Normal in Shubert Alley back in 2009, an aspiring young actor asked her for advice. Unlike many who respond with encouraging cliches, Ripley offered advice of substance: Do something creative...with your hands every day. The only way to tackle this life is through creativity, and you have to exercise your creative muscle.

Although I was a musical theater kid growing up, a career in acting is not my pursuit. Nevertheless, I think Alice was on to something. There is an element of creativity and innovation in any career, quite frankly, but more importantly creativity is an ingredient in a successful and happy life.

After all, if we’re not consistently trying new ways to improve ourselves life would be boring.

This past week, I rediscovered what it is like to forfeit technology in favor of crafts. As a member of the Urban Girl Squad, I decided to sign up for my first Volunteer event. I devoted a couple of hours to Only Make Believe, an organization dedicated to bringing theater and performance to ailing children in hospitals.

What is theater without costumes? So, I spent my early Thursday evening designing and crafting medallions (decorated CDs) that the kids could wear as character jewelry in their play. Sifting through buttons, sticking to glue, slicing through felt and stitching ribbon, I realized how long it had been since I did arts & crafts.

When I was little, I had a couple of friends who weren’t allowed to watch television or play electronic games. When I went over for a playdate to their house I always dreaded the hours without the audio-visual stimulation. Yet, once we dug into the paint or pottery or yarn, I had the best time!

It may not have been quite that long since I’ve dabbled in crafts, but there is something both soothing and empowering about using your hands for creativity that I had forgotten. It feels productive. It feels simple. It’s fun. A little unpredictable. I was just grabbing materials and throwing things together to see what would come of it.

My thought was more freeflowing, less planned—which was relaxing. I found this large round button of tan leather, and immediately thought “that looks like a snout” so I made a pig based on that one button. It was an exercise in free association.

After this small taste of craftiness, I made the trip to Michael’s crafts to buy some materials for a project I have been thinking about for a long time. In college, I used to tack my Broadway show tickets to my wall. I save them all. Well, I no longer want to just sticky-tack paper to my walls—I’m not an undergrad anymore. But, I do love my tickets. So I’m going to make ticket collages and frame them for my walls.

My collages will add a dash of color and a dash of theater to my adult New York room. Not to mention, just as any good design-for-tv-show host will tell you ‘art is more special when you make it yourself.’

Crafts don’t have to be complicated. In fact, the simpler the better. Turn off the noise. Instead of lounging on the couch, or tapping on your iPhone, tap into your own creativity.

Good Art Need Not End Badly

There are a few things about the theater nowadays that bug me: a wasted theater ticket, the resulting empty seat, people who arrive in jeans, t-shirts and new balance sneakers, cell phones that ring during the show, people talking like they’re at a basketball game instead of a show. But of all these things, nothing truly upsets me more than a fantastic piece of theater closing far too soon.

This past Thursday, my brother was super awesome and grabbed me an extra student rush seat to Lysistrata Jones. This show should NOT be closing.

I’m having terrible deja vu from a year ago when The Scottsboro Boys closed. At the very least, I understood the closing of The Scottsboro Boys. While it was a brilliant and touching show, pumped with talent that ripped up the stage, many argue that the production didn’t have wide enough audience appeal.

The same cannot be said for Lysistrata Jones.

Cleverly written by Douglas Carter Beane, the book of Lysistrata Jones loosely follows Aristophanes’ classic play about the woman who stopped the Peloponnesian War by persuading the wives and lovers of the soldiers to withhold sex until the men agree to halt the fighting. (For those of you who didn’t know that brief synopsis of the story of Lysistrata, consider yourself educated. You should know this.)

In Lysistrata Jones, transfer student Lysistrata Jones convinces her girls to “give up giving it up” until their basketball-playing boyfriends win a game. Now it’s not their skills that have prevented a W for the past 33 years, it’s their sheer lack of trying. Their approach to life is “whatever.” And while this cheesy-sounding plot sounds like it could be just whatever, it carries its weight in cultural relevance, heart and a provocative message.

Lyssie J (played by the ridiculously talented Patti Murin) wants to feel inspired. She wants to feel passion. She is sick of people in her life giving up. And therein lies the brilliance of the show. While it just seems like a stupid basketball record, Lysistrata Jones proves that there are no small issues. Murin infuses her Lyssie J with a perky relentlessness and sincerity that proves laziness in one discipline translates to laziness in life.

Yet, DCB delivers this substance amidst spot-on jokes about iPhones, Kim Jung Il, and our tech-obsessive culture. He even inserts a smattering of intellectual humor (the basketball team happens to be the Athens University Spartans) mounted on the poppy background of Lewis Flinn’s catchy songs.

The cast, a slew of Broadway ingenues just making their break, execute every moment with explosive energy. Dan Knechtges choreography is a gratifying mix of hard-hitting cheer moves and classic musical theater choreo. Finally, a new Broadway show with fresh, peppy dance numbers!

And thanks to Knechtges direction, each actor creates a clearly defined character that feels more like a person you went to college with than an empty caricature more often found on the stages of late. Jason Tam captures your heart with the nerdy sensitivity of his character Xander and his sinewy tenor. LaQuet Sharnell brings just the right amount of sass before she blows the roof off the house with her insane belt in act two’s “Don’t Judge a Book.”

From Kat Nejat’s (Cleonice) comedic timing, to Alexander Aguilar’s (‘Uardo) hard-hitting moves to Liz Mikel’s (Hetaira) dominating presence, the whole cast makes you say “Wow.”

The show is relatable. It’s silly and smart all in one package. It’s fun and sexy and the perfect amount of shocking.

I wanted this show to be the new Spring Awakening. Not in the way of another dark show about teen angst, but in the way of a shocking surprise hit of a musical that makes stars out of their newbie-ish actors (see: Lea Michele, John Gallagher Jr., Jonathan Groff). Sadly, as it has already closed, that is not to be.

This is only because not enough people were going out to see it. So get your butt to the theater! Go see a show whose name you can’t pronounce! Climb out of your box and go see worthwhile art! But please, please, don’t upset me and let another fabulous new show with incredible potential close long before it should.

Belonging in the New Year

What are you doing New Year’s? Where will you be when the ball drops on New Year’s? Who are you going to kiss New Year’s? So much conversation leading up to the one night we kiss one year goodbye and say hello to the next one, when in the blink of an eye it’s 2012.

Over the years, I’ve found that the key to New Year’s is low expectations for maximum enjoyment. That’s not to say I don’t like to have fun. But, if I don’t plan for New Year’s to be the most eventful night of the year then New Year’s is just a fun night out. After all, how much of a bummer would it be if the first night of the year was the best?

I prefer to have more to look forward to.

All this said, I do like to celebrate New Year’s with a group of people I love.

Family tradition dictates that we take a trip to Mohegan Sun Casino on New Year’s Eve Day (aka December 31). This year, that day was Shabbat, so we went on Friday. My mom and I love to shoot craps.

Of all the casino games, craps is definitely the most fun—it’s easiest to make friends. My mom and I love to make friends on the crap table. Unlike other games, everyone is playing together against the house. All of the players around the table root for the same outcome. We scream and yell when the shooter—or shootress, as I was dubbed—rolls a number, and collective groaning when the dice crap out. You depend on each other’s rolls to make your money and it’s a never-ending game. Unless you are completely antisocial, you are bound to make some friends.

In fact, New Year’s 2010 my mom and I ended up singing Kumbaya around the crap table. Like a said, it’s a communal game. It was a great precursor to New Year’s.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, I went to synagogue with my family. It was comforting to return back to a place I have always felt is home. A rainy morning, only the Shabbat regulars attended the routine morning service. But it felt right to be with the people who watched me grow up, come back to my roots, as I was about to start another year on my own in New York.

How fitting that the rabbi’s sermon was about community. As he talked about creating a greater sense of community within our synagogue, I couldn’t help but think about New Year’s. It made so much sense. I have always spent New Year’s with my family, simply because I want to ring in the new year and wake up in the new year surrounded by people I love.

I have always found that what I do on New Year’s is less important to me than who I spend it with.

While this year I didn’t spend New Year’s Eve with the fam, I did spend it with a community of close friends in my building—making home a place full of people I know, love and have fun with. I welcomed the new year with a community of people I had worked to build bonds with in 2011; a perfect transition to 2012.

So even though December 31 was not the most exciting night ever, it was one full of friendship with a toast to belonging to a community.

Yup, I think I rang in 2012 just right.