I know some of you prefer to win tickets to the Super Bowl (Go Giants!).  Or, maybe you still haven’t landed tickets to the amazing The Book of Mormon on Broadway (I haven’t either).  We can’t help you there but we can help you score tickets to the 92nd Street Y for a night of inspiration where you can hear some great authors and bloggers talk about the risks and rewards that we all face when forging new paths. The52weeks.com is excited to be a part of this great panel that includes Ree Drummond, an award-winning blogger, TV personality (have you checked out her show on the Food Network?). She is also the author of The New York Times number one best-seller The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Recipes from an Accidental Country Girl; Kathryn Finney, an amazing author, TV correspondent, fashion blogger and budget shopping expert who is best known for her blog, The Budget Fashionista; and Sarah Brokaw, a psychotherapist, philanthropist and author of the The New York Times best-seller Fortytude: Making the Next Decades the Best Years of Your Life — Through the 40′s, 50′s and Beyond.  The panel is being moderated by Elisa Camahort Page, co-founder and COO of BlogHer, the web’s leading cross-platform media network and publisher for women, reaching more than 26 million unique visitors per month. Wow, we’re in amazing company.

We originally launched the52weeks.com when we made a pledge to try something new, fun, challenging, or even ridiculous every week for a year. Well, as we’ve said again and again, life got in the way at times, but we still forged ahead. So far, our stories have educated, entertained or inspired many.

In 2012, we are on a mission to inspire others to get better, get moving or just get over it!  Now we want to hear from you. Tell us what you plan on doing this year that is just fun or different;  maybe it’s something you used to do and you loved but you just stopped doing for no particular reason? Or maybe you have some fears that you just haven’t tackled yet?

If you share just one thing on your list with us you can win tickets to our February 16 appearance at the 92^nd Street Y — “Top Authors and Women of the Web Share their Stories.”    So send us your funny, crazy, or inspirational to-do’s for 2012 and you will be entered to win tickets.  It will also help us gather more great ideas for ourselves and our 52 followers.  It can even be something “small” — or seemingly-small!  Last year there were some weeks when we just changed one thing in our daily routines -eat more blueberries anyone?  (They’re Not Just Blueberries).  So help us out and tell us what you’re doing this year and maybe you will win some tickets…and, sorry, we just can’t help you on the Super Bowl!

Details:

Want to go or just want to join the conversation? We have two pair of tickets to give away!

How to enter: Tell us one thing new or different that you want to learn or try this year.

Post it on Twitter (http://twitter.com/The52Weeks) using this hashtag: #unstuck (must have the hashtag to be eligible). Or you can enter via this blog at the52weeks.com@gmail.com.

The Deadline: 11:59pm ET, Tues. Jan. 31.

We want to hear from you.

Winners will be announced on February 3.

To find out more about the event, click here: http://bit.ly/wrGKsK

This is a guest post by Diana Spechler.  She is the author of the novels Who By Fire (Harper Perennial, 2008) and Skinny (Harper Perennial, 2011). She has written for The New York Times, GQ, O Magazine, Esquire, New York Magazine, Self, Details, The Wall Street Journal, Nerve, Glimmer Train Stories, and elsewhere. She is also a Moth StorySLAM winner and has been featured on NPR. She received her MFA degree from the University of Montana and was a Steinbeck Fellow at San Jose State University. She teaches writing in New York City and for Stanford University’s Online Writer’s Studio.

As an adult, I’ve overcome most of my old insecurities. I’ll sing karaoke. I’ll propose a toast. I no longer panic upon making new acquaintances or  about whether to kiss on the cheek or shake someone’s hand. But my negative body image, the demon I most wish to destroy, still shrieks when I address my full-length mirror and taunts me in the presence of food: You’re seriously going to eat that? What are you, a sumo wrestler?

I’m tired of that voice. I’m tired of lamenting the same stomach I lamented in high school. I will never have Janet Jackson’s abs circa 1998. Why can’t my brain accept that and move on to important things? Like global climate change. The unemployment rate. Will Ben find love on The Bachelor?

Recently, when a friend told me about Naked Yoga, just the words juxtaposed—naked, yoga—sent a shock of dread up my spine. I thought for a moment about those spider phobes who get locked up in rooms full of spiders, who scream and scream and finally stop screaming, and then they are no longer afraid.

I knew what I had to do.

In New York City, where I live, one may choose from an eclectic menu of yogas—laughing yoga, trapeze yoga, yoga for foodies, for gay men, for children. Because I’ve been practicing yoga for four years, I’m familiar with the local scene: In this city of eight million, classes are packed to capacity. I’ve been kicked during warrior three, smacked in the face during spinal twists. When the whole room chants “Ohm,” the floor shakes. Picturing those crowds actually gave me courage: in a crowded Naked Yoga class, no one would notice the ingrown hairs on my bikini line. No one would notice my imperfect ass. I’d be one imperfect ass in a sea of imperfect asses.

The day before class, I spoke briefly on the phone with the teacher, a friendly woman named Cindee who equipped me with an Upper East Side address and answered my astute questions, including, “What should I wear?” That evening, I showered, applied eye liner, and blew my hair out smooth, as if I were primping for a hot date. Pointlessly, I dressed in black, the hue of concealment. When I looked in the mirror, my stomach quaked.

I was surprised to find that the address Cindee had given me was an apartment building, and that when she let me in, I was standing in her home. I hung my coat among her coats and followed her through a beaded curtain into a room large enough for no more than six yoga mats, where incense burned and wall hangings of the Buddha surrounded tapestry-covered windows. My pulse began to race. What about the sea of yogis I’d envisioned? The lighting wasn’t even dim. The only other people in the room were two silver-haired gentlemen, their mats rolled out on the hard-wood floor. They each extended a hand to shake. I looked around, as if the rest of the students might be hiding.

“Is this it?” I asked. I didn’t add, It’s just me and two dudes?!

“This is it,” one of the men said cheerfully.

When Cindee instructed us to disrobe, I accidentally saved my socks for last, and was, for a horrible moment, the woman in nothing but striped socks pulled straight up her calves. In the next moment, I was fully naked, shoving my clothes into the corner, and then Cindee was telling us to sit, my single most offensive naked position.

I tried not to focus on my rolls, and felt relieved when Cindee, naked and unfairly gorgeous with her toned arms and wild mane of curls, told us to begin in child’s pose. At least for a minute, I could hide my stomach. I was less relieved to flip over onto my back and simulate riding a bicycle, elbow to opposite knee in slow motion, my breasts spilling into my armpits.

Throughout the floor series, I kept my eyes closed. As long as I didn’t look at anyone — scanning their bodies for tattoos and piercings, didn’t glance between their legs to see what their penises were up to, maybe no one would look at me, either.

“We come into the world naked,” Cindee said. “We go out naked. But while we’re here, we tend to hide inside our clothes.” She walked through the room, adjusting hips, the angles of feet, unfazed by our gaping ass cracks. “You’ll see that you don’t have to hide anymore,” she said. The heat was cranking and sweat beaded up on my arms. By the time I rose for the first Vinyasa—plank, chaturanga, up dog, down dog—I was less worried about sucking in my gut than I was about failing. As any New York City yogi knows, yoga is quietly competitive. I wouldn’t dream of sitting while my classmates stood in tree pose. I wouldn’t pant while my classmates breathed easily. I would keep my face calm while my heart raced.

Cindee was working us—one posture flowing into the next. By the time she told us to stand on the left foot, grab the right big toe, and open the right leg straight out to the side, my self-consciousness was all but forgotten. My left leg trembled from exertion. “Good morning, sunshine!” our genitals cried out.

I kept fluctuating between wanting to laugh—everyone was naked!—and wanting to weep—my waist would never be as sculpted as Cindee’s—but as I lay in final Savasna, my eyes fell closed, my body tingled, and I eased into my blissed-out yoga buzz. This is what I love about yoga—the post-class sensation, reminiscent of relaxing in front of a fire after a hard day of skiing.

As I dressed, I was all smiles.

“Not everyone gets it,” Cindee said. “Why we do this.”

One of the men nodded. “We’re a subculture. But just wait. It gets to be like swimming. Soon you’ll wonder,” he promised, “why you ever did yoga in clothes.”

I’m not sure that skinny dipping has ever made me want to burn my bathing suits, but I saw his point. The world had shifted: The scarf I wound around my throat was a noose, the underwire of my bra a cage. I didn’t want to zip my coat. Most interestingly, my “rolls” felt like “curves.” The feminists would have saluted me. I opened the door to go and waved goodbye to the men, trying mightily to stop picturing their naked bodies.

For places to try Naked Yoga in New York City check out: nakedyoganyc.com and hotnudeyoga.com

This Week’s “Getting Unstuck” Sticky Notes:

• In life, as in Naked Yoga, often the only one judging you is you.
• Most of us will never have perfect abs or perfect anything.  Embrace who you are, not who you fantasize about being.
• Baby steps are important but sometimes you have to dive in and face your fears head-on.

We’ve all heard it before:  New Year’s resolutions don’t work. In fact, according to an article in this week’s Huffington Post, psychologist Richard Wisemen says nearly 80 percent of people who set New Year’s resolutions fail. Wiseman also says that resolutions can be achieved but most people simply set themselves up for failure. We couldn’t agree more and although we are not experts and just two friends, we know from personal experience that reaching too far and too fast just doesn’t work. We probably knew this instinctually when we conceived the52weeks.com. So by just making a list of stuff we wanted to do or change about ourselves and crossing them off our 52 lists one by one over the course of a year, it made it all a bit more realistic and real.  Some things worked. Some didn’t. Some we haven’t gotten to yet and maybe we never will.  Some things we loved and some we just liked and some we didn’t like at all and won’t be doing again.  And some things were just for fun and for no other reason. That’s what we think is great about the 52 week plan: just make a list, cross things off when you can and gain confidence and motivation by doing even the littlest of  things which may in fact give you the confidence and inspiration to do the bigger things.

You also have to remember to count even baby steps towards any goal; and you also need to count doing things just for fun because they often lead to other, more so-called important things (trust us, we’ve been doing it).  There isn’t an official “start” time or an “end” time.  Our blog just set things in motion – it got us out of the gate. And forget about the January 1^st thing; we started this whole thing sometime in the middle of the summer.  The Huffington Post article goes on to say that resolutions are more likely achieved if you 1) are specific; 2) have support from someone or make it public; and 3) write it down!  The 52 Weeks is all about writing out your list, having a friend if possible to support you, and being specific. We’re still checking things off but we also know it’s time to get out there to help others do the same. Here are just some of the things we already did in 2011. Hopefully the list of things we did will give you some food for thought and a little inspiration:

• Learned to play poker
• Drove amazing, impractical  sports cars
• Started to do away with some bad habits (or at least take some baby steps!)
• Faced some fears (public speaking, flying, what else?)
• Took golf lessons, nude drawing lessons and even weaving lessons!
• Read more in general and re-read the classics
• Remembered to laugh more
• Suffered through at least one new and different exercise class
• Discovered blueberries, broke up (sadly) with cheese
• Experienced Kabbalah and sought other things to feed the soul
• Built some confidence:  took rifle shooting lessons, rock climbed and learned how to box!
• Explored France even if one of us couldn’t seem to get there:  started French lessons, saw more French movies
• Volunteered more
• Smiled more
• Did nothing, intentionally
• Took piano lessons (again)
• Explored our own city, got out of our routines
• Cooked something new or out of the box and baked if we usually cooked and cooked if we usually baked
• Repaired some relationships
• Got makeovers to have some fun
• Did something romantic with our significant others
• Learned to Tango
• Listened to more music
• Took Yoga (again)
• Played Tennis (again)
• Took nature walks for no reason and walked more –  anywhere, anytime
• Explored new careers
• Visited Ground Zero
• Meditated
• Went hang gliding (or inspired someone else to!)

And most of all, don’t beat yourself up if you don’t check-off 52 “new” or different things — or even 10 things on your list.  We’re the ones that started the52weeks.com and we’re still trying to get to everything too.

Happy New Year!

“I’m astounded by people who want to ‘know’ the universe when it’s hard enough to find your way around Chinatown.” -Woody Allen

I recently took my first Kabbalah class. It is something I have been meaning to do for a very long time. I am not sure why it took me so long to get there; I have been seeking something “more” in the spiritual sense for too long. It has also been on my “52” list since the beginning. Maybe with the New Year approaching it took on more of an urgency for me, I am not sure.

The strangest thing brought me to spiritual counselor Eitan Yardeni’s Kabbalah class.  How I arrived there was proof (even to me) that the universe works in mysterious ways and sometimes things show up on your doorstep and you have to look at it.  Let’s just say it was strange because one seemingly random business introduction led to another person which led to Kabbalah and Eitan.  I contacted Eitan on the phone and he generously spent time talking to me and invited me to the first class of a new 10-week course that was about to start at the Kabbalah Center in New York on East 48^th Street.

When I entered the lobby it was filled with people of all ages, stages, religions and races, all mingling. There was a great gift shop to my right filled with books and the ubiquitous red Kabbalah bracelets. I was tempted to shop but I knew that I didn’t earn any of the jewelry just yet.  I was directed to the 3^rd floor and was surprised to see at least 75 people already seated, theater style, facing front where a screen and podium stood waiting for Eitan to start.

He captured my attention from the beginning (“He had me at Hello”). He started with the history of Kabbalah, what it really was all about and what this course was intended to teach us.  He challenged the audience with some amazing exercises that demonstrated how “blocked” we really were – that we experienced life using only 1%  of what we are capable of and that the other 99% was not being tapped at all as we navigate through every day challenges and opportunities. He asked us talk to the people around us to share stories. Most of all, he made me think.

Perhaps the most shocking demonstration was when Eitan distributed a handout that had just a few sentences on it.  He gave us about 20 seconds to read it and re-read it and asked us to count the number of “F’s” we saw on the page and then turn the page over in our laps.  Now I consider myself a good editor and reader and as a marketing/PR professional I am constantly proofing things and reading documents.  I counted three “F’s”.  He then asked the entire class:  “Okay, everyone who counted three “F’s” raise your hand.  I raised my hand confidently and so did a handful of others.  He then continued, “Everyone who counted four “F’s” raise your hand.” A larger percentage of the class raised their hands.  I started to get worried and embarrassed! He continued up to six “F’s!  That was the correct number. I was amazed. How did I not count the correct number of “F’s” in a simple, three-sentence handout?  He went out to explain what it all meant. Something about that if you didn’t count six “F’s” you were blocked and you didn’t see what was always right in front of you. I was sold.  Countless other examples — both tangible exercises and anecdotes from the history of Kabbalah followed – too much to get into here.

It wasn’t until my 40’s that I even cared much about spirituality.  This past year I did take some baby steps toward bringing more religion and spirituality to my life, especially after my father-in-law passed away. I wrote about it in Finding My Religion.   And spirituality for me before 52weeks? Well, I lumped it together with yoga (finally went), meditation and holistic stuff and have basically ignored it until this blog when I finally went kicking and screaming to a few things.  Ironically, I probably need “it” more than most.  As I have shared before, I need to slow down, breathe a bit more, be present and all that stuff.  I was fighting it constantly and just sitting on my spiritual ass too much.  I was trying to get by with the wrong tools, with the wrong vices, and in some cases the wrong support.

According to the The Kabbalah Center’s web site, the word Kabbalah means many different things to many different people. In a nutshell, it is an ancient wisdom that reveals how the universe and life work. On a literal level, the word Kabbalah means “receiving.” It’s the study of how to receive fulfillment in our lives. It’s a whole new way of looking at the world that can connect you to the kind of permanent fulfillment you may be seeking.

I loved the class. I adored how it made me stop and think. I loved how it started me on the road to react differently to every day events, people, challenges and opportunities. I was mesmerized by Eitan and his introduction to Kabbalah.  I am not sure how it will fit into the big picture for me but it was definitely a new experience (check off another “52″) and I hope somehow it becomes part of my routine as I enter 2012.   Now, if I can go to yoga and Kabbalah in one week I just may start to slow down and get some answers.  Or, as Woody Allen would say, maybe seeking the meaning of life is all a bit too much when you can’t even find your way around town sometimes.

Getting “Unstuck” Sticky Notes:

• “Your soul can not grow if you are a spiritual couch potato.” (from this web site).
• Dabble, explore and show up — even if you are seeking just a little spirituality in your life.
• Count, count and re-count the “F’s” but don’t be surprised when you are wrong!

Adults are always asking little kids what they want to be when they grow up because they’re looking for ideas.  ~ Paula Poundstone

I was having a conversation with an acquaintance recently and after mentioning to her that I am looking to go back to work on a full-time basis again, she said to me “no offense, but you really aren’t that marketable.”  Not marketable? Wow! That stung.

Later that day, I took my car in for an inspection.  My mechanic said that the tires on the car needed to be rotated. I didn’t need new ones, but they needed to be switched around, rearranged and changed for optimum performance.  They’d then be up and running and good as new.

Sounds crazy, but I went home and thought about what the acquaintance had said AND about the tires that needed to be rotated. And then it hit me.

I needed a “career tune-up”.

I’ve always heard about “career counselors” but never thought that was something I would ever seek out.  I mean, what could they tell me that I didn’t already know I should be doing?  I’m a former school teacher, a Reading Specialist, and I worked in the non-profit sector for several years and have always thought that being in the “helping professions” was the place I wanted to be and the right fit.  So while I often turn my back on these types of coaches or self-help programs, this time I was game.  I decided to give it a go and at least try to be open-minded.  Isn’t the 52 weeks all about doing something that I could benefit from but that may be out of my comfort zone or routine?

Enter Pamela Weinberg of MYOBMoms.

MYOBMoms is dedicated to helping moms who are out the workforce raising families re-enter the workplace or explore new career opportunities. Faced with a similar professional identity crisis several years ago, Pamela and her business partner, Barri Waltcher, turned their own situations into a successful and rewarding second act.  They took their skills as a seasoned writer and successful lawyer, respectively, and really thought about how they could repackage the skills they had acquired. They ultimately received degrees in career management, becoming career advisors to other women with similar experiences.  Let’s face it:  even Oprah changed courses recently after twenty-five years as the host of her larger-than-life TV show.  In fact, coincidentally, her web site  recently featured an article about famous people who changed careers later in life; including Josie Natori (Wall Street banker turned designer), Joy Behar (didn’t become a comedian until age 40), Andrea Bocelli (lawyer turned uber-singer) and many more.

I must admit, as I knocked on Pamela’s door, I had no idea what to expect. But my meeting with her was unexpectedly enlightening.  Pamela listened and more importantly, heard.  Part therapy session, part strategic business meeting, she definitely opened my mind and forced me to look at my goals in a new way.  She also made me really think about what I am truly looking for in a career (or even just “a job”) and what I am capable of.  I think sometimes women of a certain age lose their self-confidence. Pamela really addressed that with me — and then some.

The meeting was very productive.  We discussed my previous work experience and sifted through what I liked and disliked about my past jobs–really focusing on which skills I liked using the most when I felt most satisfied. It was decided that I would create a new resume presenting my qualifications in a skills-based format, highlighting skills rather than former jobs–an effective technique often used for career changers and people re-entering the workplace after a “break”.  I also came away with a few contacts and leads so I could begin the important task of networking and arranging informational interviews to learn more about the fields I was interested in pursuing.

Pamela even gave me a homework assignment. Ugh! She guided me through a career values exercise. It sounded hokey to me at first but it actually helped me sort through what factors were important to me career-wise (i.e. flexibility, earning potential, autonomy).  The questionnaire allowed me to see that sometimes the job you think you want may not truly be the job that fits your values.

Like so many other 40-something women who left the career track behind, switched into a slower lane or pulled over completely (mainly to raise a family), I am now faced with trying to squeeze back into the moving lane.  Just as a car may need its tires rotated or a new paint job, this 40-something mom needed a little tune-up and repackaging too to help get back up to speed!

This week’s Getting Unstuck Sticky Notes:

• I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again: it’s okay to ask for help. Another point of view often puts it all in perspective. And affirmation is not a terrible thing either!

• Repackage yourself. Times change, trends change, you’ve changed. Embrace that and use it to your advantage. Take a class in your chosen field to get back up to speed.

• Don’t just join Linked In, use it! And for that matter, become familiar with using Facebook and Twitter for your job search. Mashable.com has great tutorials too.

• Sit down and finish that resume.

• Talk to people and network! As great as social media is for a job search, nobody gets a job sitting at home in front of their computer. Join a networking group, take a class or attend an association meeting in your chosen field. You have to get out and meet people.
  

• DO NOT sell yourself short. You are qualified AND you are marketable. You just may need a little updating. The good news is that statistically, the majority of women who want to go back to work will be successful in landing a job.

“If you get tangled up, just Tango on…” — Al Pacino, Scent of a Woman, 1992

“You write better than you dance,” my husband joked as we awkwardly tried to do the Rumba.   The last time we took a dance lesson was the obligatory, “I am twenty-something”, pre-wedding dance lessons 100 years ago. Let me put it this way and I think I’ve mentioned before:  the year I got married the average price of gas was 1.05 per gallon,  Princess Diana and Prince Charles separated and Gotti was sentenced to life in prison.  The only thing the same today are Hillary Clinton’s pantsuits. Back in 1992, our first dance as Mr. and Mrs. Clueless was Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight and I didn’t need anything even remotely similar to SPANX Shapewear. And just by coincidence, Scent of a Woman was released in the theaters and we all watched as Pacino danced the Tango at the Plaza.

Mr. Sometimes-still Clueless is a closet Dancing with the Stars fan.  On the rare occasion when he isn’t working and has a few moments before his ridiculously early bedtime, my daughter and I will catch him watching the show. He used to try to hastily switch channels to hide his addiction; he finally just relaxed about it when the newest season made its debut last month.  Did Chaz Bono gave him the courage to be himself? (Ha-ha). I actually find it pretty endearing:  a pretty big, football-watching guy glued to an addictive dance show on television to unwind.  I am glad he finally “owned” it so I could write about it.

Coincidentally, I’ve been wanting to take dance lessons… again if you count 1992.  Mr. Dancing with the Stars seemed okay with it actually; it was finding the time together that was difficult.  It has been on my “52” list since the beginning:   I wanted to do something as a couple that was new, active, fun and out of our “couple comfort zone”. I also wanted to learn even a few moves that would surprise my body and give me a sense of accomplishment.  The fact is, like most people, we’re “average” dancers – if that. Of course, over the years, mostly in our 20’s and 30’s, there were some tequila-infused moments when we  actually thought we were pretty good but  the Salsa? No way. The Tango? Yeah right.  I just wanted to know what these dances were all about. Would they feel sexy? Would I feel like a fool?  Was I 20 years too late?  So I called Fred Astaire Dance Studio in Manhattan. When in doubt think Fred and Ginger I thought to myself when I booked the lesson.

This location was pretty close to Bloomingdale’s, I silently thought to myself. I was glad it was 9:30 at night and the store was closed. I may have been tempted, just for a minute, to beeline to the Lancome counter.

After an elevator ride to the 5^th floor, we were greeted at the door by Desi. She was terrific on the phone so it was no surprise she was the same in person.  I looked around at the big dance floor, lights and huge photo of Fred and Ginger and started to feel a bit hesitant.  Thankfully, we were soon greeted by a cheerful, pretty instructor named Gala.  She was warm and immediately made me feel comfortable.  We chatted for a few moments on the dance floor, then she casually inquired about our wedding song and before we knew it, it was playing.  Okay, this was a bit corny but it did the trick: we laughed and started following her confident lead, doing the Rumba and stepping a bit on each other’s toes. I had selected a “sampler” private class so we went from the Rumba to the Hustle to the Tango and Salsa all within 45 minutes.  When necessary she danced with each of us and never made us feel uncomfortable or too awkward.  I loved it.  I loved doing this with my “oh-so-busy” husband” and I loved not being on the treadmill or doing my usual stuff.

By the end of the session we were moving a little less awkwardly and smiling with a little more spunk in our step despite the fact that it was past a certain someone’s bedtime. That is what mattered most – our moods.  I am definitely considering doing this again.  Certainly with Gala as our teacher and definitely when Bloomingdale’s is closed.

This Week’s “Getting Unstuck” Sticky Notes:

• If you’re with the same significant other for a long time, shake it up and try something new together. Sounds simple. It’s not.
• Never underestimate the power of dance to feel connected.
• And, of course: If you get tangled up, tango on.

Did you read our update on the52weeks?  Check out what’s going on with the blog here.

This is a guest post from Jami Kelly. She is happily single, lives in New York City and is continuously getting “unstuck” doing amazing, interesting things. Jami’s last post for the52weeks covered some big ideas for getting unstuck and tomorrow she is off to Barcelona for some real adventures! Here, she demonstrates how the ten-year anniversary of 9/11 inspired her to move out of her comfort zone – even if it meant just behaving in a slightly different way…

“One day I jumped in a cab, late and in a bad mood, but I chatted with the driver and asked him how he was…And he said, ‘I’m fine — every day above ground is a good day for me.’ And I thought, Yeah, that’s true enough.” — Peggy Noonan, author- journalist

September 12, 2011

I boarded the subway downtown from the Upper East Side. I hurried to make it into the crowded car opposite the turnstile before the train pulled out. Generally, I try not to be one of those pushy New Yorkers but I was running very late. The doors were closing and I plowed through – right into a pack of teenage boys evidently on the verge of some school outing. “Oh great,” I said out loud. “Guess I picked the wrong car.”

I didn’t intend to come off as mean-spirited to the lively high school students and their anxiously alert teacher. Luckily, they didn’t take it that way. One boy — or should I say the young man closest to me said, “No, you picked the right car! I’m glad you’re here.” (I am not kidding he said this). “In fact,  I’ll even introduce myself. I’m Jonathan,” he said cheerily, as he extended his right hand.

The previous day’s event – a five-hour live televised memorial ceremony at the newly restored World Trade Center site which featured the still-grieving widows and children of victims of the 9/11 terrorist attacks on New York City – left us all revisiting where we were on that day ten years ago.

It’s true that after that horrible day, beginning on September 12, 2001, New Yorkers were friendlier to one another. With this spirit of collective remembrance in mind, I shook Jonathan’s hand as I said, “I’m Jami, nice to meet you Jonathan.” Not something that happens too often on a crowded subway car, especially on a Monday morning.

I can tell he was relieved that I reciprocated after he went out on a limb in front of all his buddies. To take it one step further, I asked my new train buddy, “Where are all of you headed?”

“To the Memorial,” he said.

Not Ground Zero. Not the World Trade Center site. The Memorial. The two reflecting pools at the very site where the towers once stood and where, just a day earlier, children traced names and placed roses into the letters etched into their granite frames. The place where a new building rises bigger and stronger as it climbs its way to a height of 1,776 feet. Jonathan and I chatted about how we had both watched the service from start to finish the previous day.

I don’t usually say hello to people on the subway. Like most harried New Yorkers, I look down at my newspaper or stare up at the advertisements. Anything but make eye contact. So when I thought about what I could do in the name of getting unstuck to contribute to Karen and Pam’s blog this week, I thought why not take a cue from Jonathan? When push came to shove, I wasn’t really looking forward to saying hello to a stranger on a subway —  a sure sign it would be moving out of my comfort zone.

September 13

I was one stop away from my destination when I remembered I was supposed to strike up a conversation with someone. . (I guess it wasn’t something I wanted to do or was used to). The person sitting next to me was buried deep in his BlackBerry. My stop was fast approaching so there was  no time to say anything, let alone figure out how to introduce myself. Then I cut myself some slack: The idea of the 52 Weeks is to do one thing new or different each week; I still had three days left to make a connection.

September 14

I told myself no excuses this time. I set up my own ground rules. It had to be someone sitting or standing next to me. This being New York, that person could be anyone –  just like the array of people from 93 countries who were taken too soon in the attacks. Maybe it would be Mayor Bloomberg, who  rides the same subway each morning on his way to City Hall – now that would be an introduction! Let’s face it:  it’s easy to have a two-second exchange with one of those kids selling M&M’s or a tourist who needed directions. But for this experiment — engaging in actual dialogue –  I had to prepare for outright rejection:  this is, after all, New York.  Maybe I should just work from home today and forget it. The three-day grace period I allowed myself  was starting to feel like a weight on my shoulders. I had to get it over with.  I had to see if the spirit of 9/11 would carry over ten years and three days after the attacks. I stood on the platform watching the digital countdown clock. How would my little 52 Week experiment turn out?

I didn’t account for iPods – lots of them –plugged into everyone’s ears (it’s difficult to introduce myself to someone who can’t hear me!). Then I saw her, standing against the far doors with plenty of room around her. No iPod, just a small, thin e-reader in her hand. Late twenties, pretty, blonde, casually chic in a low-keyed media professional kind of way. She would be the one. No time to think about it, otherwise I wouldn’t go through with it.

“How is that working for you?” I blurted out, not giving too much thought to my opening line. She glanced up, a bit taken aback, so I softened with “How do you like reading on that?” and then to allay any concern of my being a total weirdo, continued with “I’m thinking of getting one.” (which is true, thankfully!) It didn’t take her long to engage.

“Oh, I love it. I didn’t think I would but it’s so light and I can carry it with me anywhere.”

“What kind is it?”

“It’s a Kindle.”

“Can you read a newspaper on it?”

“Oh the pictures look great, yes.”

I was totally winging it. And then I remembered that the goal of this exercise was to truly introduce myself, not to just make casual conversation. So I went for it:

“I’m Jami.”

She could have nodded politely and gone back to her Kindle, waiting for the stalker chick to exit the train. Instead, looking pleased and without missing a beat, replied:

“I’m Courtney.” And THEN she added….

“Nice to meet you, Jami.”

Five words and mission accomplished! I had what I needed. I didn’t want to push it. I told her “I’ll let you get back to your reading.” Subtext – I’m really not a lunatic, I’m just trying to stick to my 52 Week list.

When she exited the train a few stops later, she looked at me and said “Have a nice day.”

“You too,” my new subway friend Courtney.

Contact! Again! This is easier than I thought. Now, who else can I talk to?

I was secure in the knowledge that although the world may have changed after 9/11, New Yorkers really do still share a sense of community. I can now comfortably return to burying my head in my newspaper during my morning commute. Or my new Kindle.

This Week’s “Getting Unstuck” Sticky Notes:

• The post-9/11 spirit of community is alive and well. Take advantage of it. Look someone in the eye today.

• If something – even the smallest of things – gives you trepidation, it’s probably worth doing.

• Doing something new doesn’t have to be hard. It’s the stories we tell ourselves that hold us back.

And remember, just a smile can go a long way.

We know it’s been a bit quiet. Over a year has passed since we conceived the52weeks.com and we are still working hard to get “unstuck” and checking things off our to-do list!

We quickly realized that doing something (even something small) and writing about it weekly was much easier said than done!  But our concept resonated with many people. So maybe, we thought, the “52” in the52weeks.com is really just symbolic and goes beyond just representing a chronological year.  Maybe it just represents staying  focused, getting moving again, trying new things and getting unstuck no matter what the time frame may be!  The fact is, we’re not done yet!  Yes, we’ve checked a lot of things off our to-do lists already – golf lessons, rock climbing, facing fears and bad habits, art classes, bringing more culture into our lives, poker lessons, re-reading the classics, test-driving impractical sports cars and even trying to repair some challenging relationships! Pam got over her fear of being on-camera and Karen is still struggling with breaking her own, sometimes “secret”, self-destructive nicotine habit (ugh). But the important thing is we took steps and we are still going strong.  After some exciting inquiries from agents, we’re also working hard to bring a book to life, inspired by our blog and featuring some well-known experts. We’ll keep you posted.

What else has been happening?

We are now a featured blogger and strategic partners with The Balancing Act, a national morning show from Lifetime Television that is all about finding work-life balance.   We’ve also partnered with the BlogHer Publishing Network, with 25+ unique visitors per month.

Parent Guide News wrote about us this summer and we’re excited to announce that we will be talking at the 92^nd Street Y in early 2012 with a panel of incredible bloggers and authors – stay tuned for the date.

So, tomorrow we will run a great guest post by one of our regular guest bloggers but look for our new posts in the coming weeks about exploring new career options, dance lessons (Dancing with the Stars watch out!), meditation to reduce stress and finding our “pre-40-something Mojo” again. See you soon!

Note: This post was written before Hurricane Irene was approaching.  I hope everyone is safe and sound and enjoys the last week of August now that Irene has passed…

One Tequila, Two Tequila, Three Tequila…More! –  adapted from George Carlin

The Hamptons is a popular summer destination for many New Yorkers.   There are beautiful sunsets, great restaurants, perfect beaches, adorable shops, sizzling cocktail parties and much more.  It sounds wonderful right?

But this writer finds herself very restless around mid-August every summer.  This feeling usually coincides with my gray roots popping out on my head and seemingly no time to get them fixed. Guests are coming and going and my 10-year old daughter is in day camp for the month so I can’t really leave unless I want to abandon her – ha.  Despite the beautiful locale, I want to escape to an exotic destination. I want to stop worrying about the lawn, my barking dog and filling up the gas tank. Other women thrive and love it here in August; I find myself fantasizing about room service, some culture and a great margarita on a beach that doesn’t require a permit for admittance. This is usually the time I also try to accept the fact that my ambitious, summer plans for self-improvement (carefully written on paper in June) are fading fast from my brain as I count the days until school starts and I get my life back. Is someone reading this and relating at all?   Are my gray roots the only “frenemy” I have at the moment?

But then my blog partner, Pam, came to visit me for a few days. Pam to the rescue: she arrived while I was “alone” during the week desperately seeking adult company in the evening. There is nothing like a best friend and she showed up  just in the nick of time. Her girls were in sleep away camp and we had a pretty appealing mission:  taste-test a new Cuervo product that was sent to us from The Balancing Act, the national morning show that airs on Lifetime Television each morning.  Our assignment? Drink it, report back and write about  Cuervo’s “Zero Calorie” Margarita Mix. We wondered how it would stack up against Bethenny Frankel’s popular SkinnyGirl Margarita – one we had both tried previously. According to Cuervo, Zero tasted great and had no calories.  They graciously sent us a bottle of Cuervo Tequila Gold and Zero Margarita Mix and wanted us to test drive this new product targeted to female consumers. We were game. In fact, we embraced it as an opportunity to do something new for our blog, the52weeks.com.  Our blog was all about doing something new, different or something we were previously afraid to do each week for 52 weeks.  We had both done a few new things here and there this summer but have yet to write about them. Perhaps the Tequila would get us writing again!

“We can’t just drink Tequila for one of “our” 52 weeks,” I said passionately, feeling like it would be totally disingenuous and a cop-out. “We started this blog to really tackle our own to-do lists,” I added.  “I know,” said Pam.  “But we can have fun and spend time together.  I thought about it. She was right.  Didn’t we start this blog to also just do fun things together?  The Balancing Act invited us to do this  for them so why not?

To be honest, I was not in a margarita “mood” as the designated night approached.  My daughter was around and I knew that this was going to be a far cry from my Tequila-infused college nights.  To go beyond just drinking for this week, we decided to make an authentic Mexican dish to add to the experience. Pam diligently researched Mexican recipes on the computer while I wallowed in another room trying to figure out what was bothering me beyond gray roots.  She uncovered an authentic steak taco recipe and a new recipe for guacamole.  She even ventured out without me to get the ingredients (perhaps sensing my mood and taking the bull by the horns?).  Coincidentally, I had purchased the Margaritaville a few months ago – an amazing high-tech blender.  Despite its name it can be used for any frozen drink.  I still had not learned how to use it but the reviews from family and friends were favorable.  Believe it or not my daughter was an expert since she had watched Daddy use it numerous times since May.

While Pam chopped and measured, my daughter made a frozen margarita for both of us (nothing like keeping your kids busy to minimize their complaining).  Pam and I enjoyed the frozen version and the straight-up version and agreed we liked it better than SkinnyGirl but we weren’t sure why at first:  was it the calories and sugar we missed? Did our palettes simply get used to Cuervo’s Classic Lime Margarita Mix from our younger years? In the end we agreed that customizing our margarita was what we liked best about Cuervo’s new “Zero” Mix; Bethenny’s stuff is pre-mixed so you can’t customize your margarita!  Soon, we were rushing to serve authentic steak tacos, chips and homemade guacamole so that the minor in the house didn’t starve (the authentic Mexican dishes took longer than my usual boring kid-friendly meals). Okay, so it wasn’t the ideal setting to recapture our wild, college Tequila nights but most importantly we spent time together, ate pretty good food and had a 10-year old bartender taking care of us.  Not bad.

I decided to take the Mexican thing further; so a few days later I stopped in a top garden center to see what I could find out about Mexican plants and flowers (hey, learning something new is also what our blog is all about). I went to Silas Marder – a top-notch garden and gallery center in the Hamptons that I have never been to despite my years out here. I talked to some experts who told me about Mexican plants and flowers and discovered the Mexican Heather plant which requires very little maintenance.

Finally, just to top off the “escape to Mexico” experience I brushed up on a few useful Spanish phrases (it unfortunately brought back memories of my strange high school Spanish teacher).  Now, though, I was armed with important phrases if Pam and I ever have time to jet off to Mexico for an adult vacation without a care in the world.  Remember the great movie The Shawshank Redemption?  Andy, the main character, confides in his best friend Red that he wants to go to Zihuatanejo, “A little place on the Pacific, because they say the Pacific has no memory”.   Years ago, when I was young and needed little sleep I used to drink Tequila and have little memory of the night before upon awakening.  I am happy to report that with age comes wisdom: I am glad I remembered everything about the night before. College years are fun to remember but not actually relive (I am not sure my body could handle it anyway). There’s something about drinking Tequila the right way, with the right food and the right company (including my daughter) that makes getting older so wonderfully sweet – even with artificial sweetener.  Thanks Cuervo.

Oh, and don’t forget the ice! Or as they say in Mexico and the Hamptons, “No olvide el hielo!”

A sister is someone who knows everything about you and loves you anyway. – Author Unkown

Last week I heard on the news that a woman was suing her sister and Duke University over a pair of college basketball tickets. “How could family members get to the point of suing one another for basketball tickets?,” I thought to myself. The stupidity of it all confounded me.  And then, like so many times before, I thought about my own situation.  And I knew that it was time.  This time is was really just enough already.

Keeping up “my end” of the 52 project has been more challenging than usual lately and I know exactly why. I am definitely stuck because of something I have not been able to confront.  So before I can continue with fun, exciting, new, or inspirational to-do’s, this must be tackled. Call it facing a fear, working on relationships, looking within-whatever you want… but it is this week’s to-do and one of the most important ones I will ever check off my list.

About a year ago,  year my sister and I stopped talking.  I will tell you it is a thorny mess involving many players—and it gnaws at me on a daily basis. But figuring out how to repair this situation has not been simple for me. The easy answer would be to just reach out and call but it is never quite that easy, is it? The story is filled with he said’s-she said’s, jealousies, love, anger, frustration, husbands, brothers-in-laws, sisters-in-laws, parents, and everything in between.  And then, to make matters worse, my other sister and I stopped talking too.  Allegiance, confusion? Not sure why it all played out like this—but here we are at this awful point.

More often than not, I find myself just ignoring the entire issue. I cannot ignore it any longer.

My sisters and I have had a complicated relationship over the years, as I’m sure many sisters do. A little background – I am the (much) younger sister of identical twins who were the epitome, in my eyes at least growing up, of all that was picture perfect.  They protected me and cared deeply for me, but sometimes I think they were jealous of me as the baby sister who seemingly got it all. And yet I always felt the opposite was true.  Didn’t they realize that I didn’t have that special someone to whisper to in the middle of the night as they did while sharing a room growing up? Did they know I often felt alone or left out? I wonder.  Still, they were the ones I wouldn’t ever want to trade away.  Of course not – they are my sisters.  We grew up, they moved away (together!) and our lives became our own. Yet, whenever we get together, we revert back to the old patterns. It is as if we are eight and fifteen years old again — standing in the kitchen vying for the attention of mommy and daddy (who annoyed the crap out of us anyway!), arguing over the same things, and never really saying what we really want to say, both good and bad.

The domino effect is so apparent. Just as giving some time to oneself as Karen and I are trying to do every week inspires us and others in the end because your outlook changes, repairing this will obviously change things for the better too. It has affected my relationship with so many: with my mother, who is fraught and devastated by her daughters not getting along but who doesn’t know how to help; with my daughters, who know that something is up with Aunt A and Aunt B and who also have a “tricky” sister relationship that I cannot honestly address if I am not practicing what I preach and teaching them the importance of family bonds and ties; and with my husband, who is a part of the big equation as well.

One sister has not reached out yet and the other one has- and yet until this week, I could not bring myself to reach back. Fear was holding me back. Because of this, I find myself unable to move forward lately because it seeps into my thoughts daily even though I ignore fixing it.  Unfortunately, I know others very close to me who have also had falling-outs with their families and I have seen first hand what the disintegration of a family can do to a person. It just makes you feel really stuck. It can destroy a person. And I do not want that to happen to my family or me.

So I picked up the phone finally—and called my sister. Finally, I did it. Yes, she has sent me some text messages but it was the seemingly huge step of calling her that has paralyzed me.  My heart was pounding. Each ring on the end of the line seemed to last an eternity.  She wasn’t there but I left a heartfelt and honest message.  Surprisingly, it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.  I am sure she will call me back.  I hope so.  I will call my other sister as well and hope that she will welcome my call or at least respond back. It will take time I know, but it is one small step. I know this isn’t a quick fix.  I feel a little lighter by this incredible load that is beginning to lift and look forward rather than dread trying to call again.  Sometimes just picking up the phone can feel like the most difficult thing. I know it doesn’t seem like much but it can really change a million things. I hope in this case I am on the road to reconnecting and repairing my relationship with my sisters. They are, after all, my sisters.

This week’s Getting Unstuck Sticky Note:

• JUST PICK UP THE PHONE