The 52 Weeks

Blogging for Sanity: One Mom’s Story--Pam Godwin

Pam Godwin — Sun, 13 May 2012 17:33:15 +0000

This is a guest post by Nicole Wolfrath. We met Nicole serendipitously through a mutual friend that neither of us knew the other was connected to. It was only through our respective blogs and our appearance at the 92nd St. Y that it all came full circle. We love when good stuff comes from getting out there! Nicole is the founder of Why Parenthood Sucks…Sometimes where she writes as Rookie Mom about being a first time parent to a feisty little 21 month-old girl. She’s works full-time in college student affairs and would quit her job to become president of the PTA if she could. She loves to be creative, write, read, decorate cakes, and watch sitcoms with her husband. Her frequent daydreams consist of spending time in a house with a large kitchen and touring the country as author of a bestselling book about the challenges of parenting. We are happy to share her story this week. You can read more of Nicole’s posts at www.whyparenthoodsucks.com.

Why did I reach out to the52weeks.com? I found what Karen and Pam were doing to be very inspiring and their journey of self-growth resonated with my own. Starting my weekly blog about being a first time parent pulled me out of my rut and in honor of Mother’s Day I’m excited to share my story.

I often look at the photos of me holding my daughter the day we brought her home. My husband is beaming at her over my shoulder. Though she was cradled closely in my arms I can see the distance between us. The excess weight in my cheeks and fear in my eyes make me unrecognizable in the photo. It was the scariest day of my life.

I was told by so many people that a baby changes everything but here I was months later, exhausted and anxious, wondering where all the joy that comes with parenthood was. My job was still stressful and our finances were no different. Aside from the additional little person in my apartment, the only new things were my husband and I arguing all the time and a tedious schedule of feeding, changing, and crying.

One night while lying on my lumpy, food stained couch, I read an article on the challenges of parenthood. The author posed a tongue-in-cheek question, “Why does parenthood suck?” Immediately I could name ten reasons why. I jumped off my couch, ran to my laptop and started typing.

My daughter had just turned one and I had found in that first year that having a child brings your life full circle. You start to remember parts of yourself that existed before adulthood. I wrote a lot when I was a teenager and was editor of the literary magazine in college. I’d intended on becoming a journalist, but my career path took a different turn and my writing stopped. That night, having typed out at least three story ideas, I started to feel like the old me.

Those stories served as the first posts for what has become my blog, “Why Parenthood Sucks….Sometimes.” It debuted in September 2011 and since then, I’ve written weekly about my daughter, my husband, and myself. While the stories often begin with my frustrated misery, they somehow always end on a positive note. I am very honest with my thoughts, feelings, and more importantly, insecurities. Topics have included: not knowing how to play pretend; the horror of letting my kid cry it out; and what it feels like for my husband to be the primary caregiver.

Readers confirmed I wasn’t alone and that I was saying things they were too afraid or embarrassed to discuss. Many people suggested new topics. A self-described tired mother simply said, “Thank God there is you.”

My life with my daughter now fits into two categories: life before the blog and life after. Life before the blog was confusing, judgmental, non-stop and at the same time, stagnant. Life after the blog feels in sync: I feel much more connected to her and to my role as a mother. My marriage has strengthened as well. My husband and I reflect on how we’ve overcome obstacles and how our love for each has grown.

Some days I feel I write more for my daughter, my husband, or my readers. Mostly I know it’s for me: to fulfill a hobby that has been dormant for so long, my need to be a role model for my daughter, my passion for helping others, and to create something much more vivid than pictures and videos to document this time in my life.

It’s also a daily reminder that I have other interests and talents that like many people, have been buried under the monotony of full time work, chores, and anything else preventing us from the whimsy we remember as kids. Every week I push myself to tell a new story; in doing so, I’m brought further out of the rubble of adult responsibility and into the bright, refreshing light of possibilities.

My job is still stressful and my financial situation is still the same, if not worse. My couch cushions are even more lumpy and stained than that moment last fall when I was inspired to start my blog. Most days I can still quickly answer the question, “why does parenthood suck?” But after 34 blog posts and the way I now look in photos — confidently and lovingly holding her — I remember it only sucks sometimes.

Why Follow-Through is Overrated--Pam Godwin

Pam Godwin — Tue, 01 May 2012 01:35:02 +0000

This is a guest post by Amy Gutman. Amy is a writer, lawyer and journalist whose work has appeared in the New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, Salon, the Huffington Post, and The New York Law Journal to name a few. She is the author of two suspense novels, Equivocal Death and The Anniversary (Little, Brown & Company) and served as a speechwriter for former dean of Harvard Law School (and now U.S. Supreme Court Justice) Elena Kagan. Among her many eclectic interests, Amy has now added blogger to her resume. Here she eloquently contemplates her next move.

Amy recently contacted us as part of our outreach for 52 Writers for 52 Weeks. A recent blog entry she wrote really hit a chord with the52weeks.com – and we are excited to share it with you. You can read more of Amy’s musings at Plan B Nation.net.

Efficiency is doing things right; effectiveness is doing the right things. — Peter F. Drucker

This month’s Life Experiment has been a total bust. Except that it’s also been a total success. Let me explain.

As some readers will recall, I began this month with the idea that I would take at least one photograph each day. I was interested in how this would shift the way I moved through the world and also viewed it as an opportunity to learn to use a recently acquired but languishing digital camera.

All of this made sense in theory. In practice? Not so much. Here’s how it played out.

At the end of a harried Day 1, I snapped a hasty photo with my iPhone. (Better than nothing, I told myself.)

Day 2, same thing.

By Day 3 or 4, I’d forgotten about it. Ditto the days that followed. Until at some point over the next week I realized that this wasn’t happening.

My first reaction was to get stressed out over my follow-through failure. What was I going to write this month? What would I say to you readers?

But the more I thought about it, the more I saw another possibility. After all, this was billed as an experiment. No, it hadn’t gone off as planned, but that was entirely different from saying that it had been a total loss. I decided—as an experiment—to adopt a different perspective, to detach the experience from the goal and ask what it had to teach me.

Here’s what I found:

1. I need to reconnect with my core purpose.

When I embarked on monthly Life Experiments at the start of 2012, my goal wasn’t to create yet another to-do list. Rather it was to explore how changing one thing in my life might lead to other unexpected shifts. Over time, I’ve started to lose track of this, and my “experiments” have come to feel more and more like 30-day Challenges. Be more productive! Just do it! That wasn’t what I’d been aiming for, but it’s where I ended up. Time for some reflection and retuning.

2. I need to do less, not more.

The reason I wasn’t taking photos was very simple. I’m really really busy! Over the past six months, I’ve gone from struggling to fill my days with meaningful activities to a jam-packed schedule, with freelance deadlines, workshop facilitating, friends, exercise, and life maintenance all vying for time. This is in many ways a good thing, but it also has its own challenges, which I need to find ways to address. (Also: I need to take time to appreciate how far I’ve come!)

3. I need to do more to infuse my life with playfulness.

I recently wrote about an ah-ha recognition that I need more playfulness in my life. During my time in Plan B Nation, I’ve taken a lot of pride in my ability to simply carry on, to put one foot in front of the other during hard and uncertain times. There have been days—and not a few—when simply getting out of bed felt like a real accomplishment. It seemed like enough that I could say, in the words of 12-step programs everywhere, that I’d managed to “take the next right action.”

But I’ve come to see that, while this approach can be helpful in times of crisis, it’s not (for me) the best approach to life over the long haul. Over the long haul, I want to be happy, not simply to endure. Getting things done is certainly part of a happy life, but it’s far from sufficient.

Language plays a big role here: The more I think about this issue, the more aware I am of how the words I use shape the quality of my daily experience. Tool kit. Task List. Marching orders. This is the language of command and control. This is the language that, all too often, I use when I talk to myself (when issuing marching orders).

It doesn’t have to be this way.

For example, instead of “next right action” how about “breadcrumbs”? Think fairy tales, think Hansel and Gretel and the trail they left to find their way back home. (Okay, so in the story birds eat the bread, but I still like the metaphor.)

Over the past few years, I’ve thought a lot about what qualities help us thrive while traveling Plan B Nation (and other psychologically harsh terrains), and it seems to me that one of the most important is the quality of openness. By this, I mean the ability to see alternatives and possibility where we might easily see failure.

In a feature story about famous accidental discoveries, the Daily Beast recounts how the discovery of penicillin came about after Scottish bacteriologist Andrew Fleming noticed that mold had started to grow on some cultures he’d left exposed. Years later, he toured a state-of-the-art medical lab, far cleaner than the one where his scientific breakthrough occurred.

“If you had worked here, think of what you could have invented,” his guide remarked.

Fleming’s cool response: “Not penicillin.”

What is a Baritone?--Karen Amster-Young

Karen Amster-Young — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 16:42:29 +0000

This is a guest post from John Malik and the first male guest blogger for the52weeks.com. Originally from New Orleans, John Malik is the author of the novel Doughnuts for Amy. He and his wife Amy owned and operated 33 Liberty Restaurant in Greenville, SC from 2001 until 2008. John received a James Beard semi-finalist nomination for Best Chef in the Southeast in 2008, was a Who’s Who in American Barbecue by Bon Appetit magazine and holds the whimsical title of Certified Kingsford Flame Master. John’s online essays on BBQ, peaches, kids, airplanes, dogs, root canals, dining with Sara Moulton and trading shots with Tony Bourdain were a highlight of the Southern food scene when he owned 33 Liberty. John began writing stories for his Mom when he was in 5^th grade. He has a Bachelor’s degree in English from Southeastern Louisiana University and on his honeymoon he rappelled into a 180 foot high cave.

“So John, do you think you’re a tenor or a baritone?”asked Tina as she scrutinized me momentarily. Tina Broussard, our church’s assistant choir director and a former opera singer, is smiling her stunningly beautiful smile and waiting for me to respond.

When I was in fifth grade I really wanted to play a musical instrument. I had already accepted that I was a bit different than most of my friends. Instead of making money cutting lawns or delivering papers, I was tutoring and was often paid with currency far more precious than cash: the use of a favorite bike for an hour, first dibs on a favorite fishing spot or even candy bars and some Jolly Ranchers. It was during this time that I convinced mom to buy me a trombone so I could join our school’s jazz band. For a fifth grader desperately in search of cool, I might as well have won an uncontested election as the mayor of Dorkville. The trombone was protected by a cumbersome case that only added to my dork status. Every time I climbed onto the school bus with this thing, the pretty girls I was hoping to impress would have to dodge and duck this 45 pound, blunt-end pendulum. I managed to soldier on for an entire school year, never quite coming to terms with the trombone or the pretty girls until my sophomore year in college. That’s when I took up cycling, which led me to other adrenaline-fueled endeavors. I raced road bikes for a few years, then mountain bikes: I was in love with the adrenaline high that comes from doing something dangerous. I recently turned 50 and was hoping to celebrate by going hang-gliding, which miraculously has eluded me all these years. My wife Amy had another idea. She had already convinced the52weeks.com that I would try something outside of my comfort zone. “Like ice rappelling?” I asked with a mischievous grin.

“How about something that comes without a potential Emergency Room bill?” she replied. You’ve always wished you could sing. Tina could give you some lessons.”

“Hang-gliding?” I stubbornly persisted.

My wife folded her arms and stood her ground. When I finally relented she smiled and kissed me, relieved that she wouldn’t have to add another rider to my life insurance policy. So now, determined to learn how to sing at age 50, I stand in front of Tina, a woman that routinely reduces her audience to roars of applause with the subtle manipulations of her vocal chords and once again I find myself trying to impress a pretty girl.

“So are you a baritone?” Tina asked again. “Yes. I’m a baritone.” I responded without really knowing what the word meant. Tina saw the look of confusion on my face and then I swallowed my pride and asked, “What’s a baritone?”

So with that Tina handed me a book titled Sing at First Sight and we reviewed some of the basics of the language of music.

As we reviewed the book she uses with her kindergarteners, she led me to a big, floor-sized staff where her five-year old students can literally jump from one note to another as they are learning the basics of music. My feet were a bit too large to fit between the spaces but as Tina placed her feet on or between the lines on the staff, slowly but surely some of those fifth grade music lessons start to come back to me. As she moved from the lines to the spaces, she effortlessly sang the matching notes and asked me to hum along. As we got to the middle C range, matching her tone became easier. “That’s perfect John!” she almost shouts, “we were in unison, did you hear that?”

I didn’t so much as hear it as felt it. We then moved to the piano and we went over the notes again in relation to the keyboard and then I really became confused. Tina started gently plucking at the keyboard and asked me to try and match the sound, first by humming then by holding a note. When we reached the middle C’s again, Tina got excited. “You do have a singing voice in there John, you do!”

We kept practicing. Then it was time for a real song so we flipped through our songbook until I settled on Amazing Grace. Tina briefly twists her lips. She smiles and says “sure John, why not?” (Being a chef, I imagine I would give her the same look if she walked into my kitchen and asked me to show her how to make a torchon of foie gras).

We hummed first as I slowly tried to match her hums and she gently asked me to go “a bit lower” and soon I matched her hums and she smiled. We do it again but this time at its intended pace. Then we did it again and incorporated the words. I was amazed but for a few measures I was actually singing.

I am sure it wasn’t pretty to anyone but me although Tina told me that she sees possibilities. “I have a schedule of classes that I host through the summer, why don’t you take some, just think about it?” I briefly picture myself jumping around her floor length staff intended for kindergarteners, trying to hold notes without stepping on the toes of six year-olds.

“They’re adult classes, John.”

“Oh, of course Tina, I would love to.

Hang-gliding can wait for another day and my wife is thrilled that I have taken up a pastime that won’t draw any blood.

johnmalik@charter.net

Doughnuts for Amy on Facebook

@chefjohnmalik on Twitter

50 Shades of Red, Black & Blue--Karen Amster-Young

Karen Amster-Young — Wed, 04 Apr 2012 15:14:48 +0000

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Perhaps I’ve spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.” — E.L. James, Fifty Shades of Grey

50 Shades of Blue

I am reading the “book of the moment”, Shades of Grey by E.L. James. I am (trying) to get swept away in the main characters, Ana and Christian, and their S&M-fueled, passionate encounters. He wraps me in the towel, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me hard, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I long to reach round and embrace him…touch him…but he has my arms trapped in a towel. I am soon lost in his kiss. Tame example I know but you get the idea.

I try to quiet my non-stop brain. I am desperately, futilely trying to relax. Hot book, hot weather and a gorgeous turquoise ocean spans for miles in front of me. I am sipping (gulping?) a Bahama Mama and it’s not even noon. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I relax? I remind myself that it always takes me about two days to unwind when I go on vacation. I love traveling but I hate flying. Despite many efforts to be otherwise, my body tenses in flight and I literally have to decompress once I am on the ground again. It’s taking you a bit longer this time, I think, mad at myself for still being challenged in this area despite my herculean efforts and this blog (partly originally conceived to become a better version of myself and inspire others to do the same). My daughter, now 11, is growing up fast and happily playing in the pool with other kids, not “bothering” me at all so I can’t use the “I couldn’t even sit down for a second” excuse. Why do I feel like a fish out of water in paradise? Why can’t I just chill out? Yes, the past months have been incredibly busy. This blog – all about trying new things and facing fears and getting out of my comfort zone has brought many great things to my world. Was I upset about all I still have to conquer and do? Was I thinking about my relationships and a million other things? Yes, But I don’t think that was it. I think like most people I have trouble sitting still and at home I never really stop to just be. Can I really change the things I want to change about myself? Can people really, really change? I hope I can. I think people genuinely want to. I know I am not alone. That is why we all look to shows, blogs, books and professionals for inspiration or to make changes right? But right now I just feel tired and tense. I am trying to get lost in Ana and Christian from 50 Shades and despite transporting language about a hot, decadent affair, I can’t turn off my brain. I don’t know why but I feel 50 Shades of Blue. I just do.

50 Shades of Red

I love casinos. I probably love them too much. For some strange reason the decadence, the noise — they all calm my nerves. We are traveling with other families and kids so it is hard to sneak off to the hotel casino very often. I find myself catching an hour here or there when possible. I love relaxing at roulette or in front of a slot machine, zoning out. “I am going shopping for a bit,” I casually announced on the second day after a bit too much sun and as I was grasping for, desperately seeking my vacation zen. Okay, I did do a little shopping; however my primary goal was to catch an uninterrupted hour at the roulette table. I couldn’t hit a number. I was playing “my” numbers which are mostly the black ones on the roulette wheel. (13 black, 6 black, etc.). Each time I played one of my numbers, it came out as a red number on the wheel (i.e. 3, 21, 32). The only good news? I was starting to relax. I could feel my thoughts slowing down. My skin was hot from the sun. I saw my reflection in the mirror as I was leaving the casino. Too much sun, too red all around. 50 Shades of Red. Not the right color yet. In the casino or my skin for that matter. But I think I was starting to relax.

50 Shades of Black and Blue

“Daddy hurt his back,” my daughter announced, rolling her pre-teen eyes at me as they entered the hotel room. I looked at my husband, pain etched on his face. He has a bad back and it acts up from time to time but this looked bad. “He slipped on a rock in the ocean,” she added. Within 20 minutes he literally could not get out of bed. I am not going to bore my readers with all of the details but to sum it up we had to go to a hospital in the Bahamas and get an MRI, major pain killers and treatment. Much, much later I tried to read Shades of Grey in the emergency room here and there when my husband was finally dozing off from the pain killers. Needless to say, the environment and that book didn’t quite mesh. Getting hurt when you are not at home sucks. We were at the hospital for many hours. I was strong on the outside, rising to the occasion, trying to take care of what I had to do. On the inside I was pretty much a mess and worried and trying to figure out how we would get home if he couldn’t fly. Not a fun 24 hours. Relief swept over me when the 4 A.m. MRI revealed that nothing was broken. I found out later he was throwing a football with my daughter when he fell on a slippery rock while running into the ocean to get the ball. Once I knew he was going to be okay, I selfishly couldn’t help but be a little mad: I was pissed that my middle-aged husband was probably flying into the ocean like he was in college with the knowledge that his back was not great to begin with. I was pissed this happened at all. I admit it, I was. Thankfully, after many drugs (for both of us – ha!) we were able to get home later in the week. He is now actively going to physical therapy and exploring what the heck exactly happened that made this particular time so much more intense (I don’t know…hmm…maybe the football-catching, running in the ocean with your 45-year-old body that usually sits at a desk is a clue?).

I wish I can tell you that our vacation was great but obviously it wasn’t. I never had a chance to completely unwind, never got in my vacation zone and just was exhausted when I got back. There were, of course, some great moments with good friends and even a moment or two that I successfully got lost in 50 Shades and Christian and Ana. And, of course, being only 11, my daughter was fairly unaffected and still managed to have a great time. That is what is most important. And of course, that my loving, cute, annoying husband is okay.

Like Ana and her literary heroes I have to accept that even before the injury maybe my expectations are sometimes just too high. I need to keep working on being “in the moment” and will continue my perpetual quest to relax and change some habits. Being scared in an emergency room away from home and seeing someone you love hurt puts it all in perspective as you can imagine. If I could just have those first few days back back with my Bahama Mama and Shades of Grey….

This Week’s “Getting Unstuck” Sticky Notes

Never forget a well-stocked, little “survival” bag including all the prescription medications that you may need based on your own history; traveler’s insurance (there is absolutely no insurance accepted outside of the U.S.); cash and an unlimited credit card. Note: the mini-bar is a good source of emergency supplies if you have to leave a room quickly.
There are many shades of color; unfortunately they all pop up once in a while.
TWO good books, including one you can read anywhere.
And remember, sometimes you have to lower your expectations and ideals and be thankful for what you have. Just f@@king relax when you DO have the opportunity. Shit happens sometimes.

My Journey from Fashion to Passion--Pam Godwin

Pam Godwin — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 03:13:59 +0000

This is a guest post by Marni Heller. Full disclosure: Marni is one of my (Karen’s) oldest friends since the college years. She is creative, driven, funny, and fashionable. She is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and a great friend. I have many fond memories of our “entrepreneurial” endeavors together many years ago. She was inspired to write for the52weeks.com recently when she found herself embracing a new career after many years out of the fast lane and many years after her “sexy “career in the high-paced and exciting world of fashion. This is her first guest post for the blog. Marni lives in Westchester with her husband and three children and her dog Lucy.

“Cinderella is proof that a good pair of shoes can change your life.” — Anonymous

Design trips to Europe, trade shows and parties in Vegas, frequent trips to LA: this is how I spent the bulk of my 20’s and 30’s in the fast paced world of fashion.Driven at a young age to be independent, I ventured out on my own and opened a small showroom on 42^nd and Broadway representing West coast designers. Very soon it became clear I would need a business partner or I would not have anything resembling a personal life. Not having to look far (down the hall from my office) I met a fellow over-achiever. Together we plunged head-first in what would be an exhilarating 11-year ride of hard work, financial struggle, glamour and lets face it, a whole lot of fun.

We worked hard, shopped hard and played hard. All was wonderful until one day I found myself married with twins, moving to the suburbs, and simultaneously trying to keep up the same pace as I did when I was 24 and single. Needless to say, I was exhausted!

Making the decision to change my lifestyle at the time was one of the hardest that I have ever made. It is amazing how your career can become such a big part of your identity. As much as I loved my life with my husband and beautiful twins, I felt lost. How could I, the same woman so driven for so many years now be a “stay at home mom”? I couldn’t bare it. Luckily, I had my hands full with number three on the way and all the joy and exhaustion that comes with it but all along I knew that, to feel complete, I needed to make a move towards a professional future…at some point.

After leaving the garment center, I took some classes in what was always a personal passion: exercise. I took classes at NYU, received a bunch of certifications, and began teaching spin classes and personal training. Quickly realizing that teaching adults was not my forte, I began teaching after-school yoga programs and kickboxing. Okay, so keeping our youth fit, not bad right? But I knew something was missing.

When my twins, Molly and Ethan turned 5, it was time to put them in day camp. I also knew that I didn’t want them with their classmates at the local “in” camp so I began checking out a Jewish Day camp across the bridge in Nyack, New York. It was known for its diverse programming, large Israel focus and spirituality. I met with the Director and in no time at all I had a job as the kickboxing /yoga instructor At Ramah Day Camp in Nyack. Fast forward to what became a life-changing experience for my whole family: I quickly became a division head for the camp and moved my whole family there that summer. It quickly became our “summer home” for many years to follow. I was also brought on to recruit campers and staff during the off -season. Granted, I was the only person on staff who immediately changed into my four-inch platform shoes and skinny jeans as soon as the campers were on their way home, and I quickly became the staff “personal shopper” and style consultant. It was almost exactly 10 years after I left the fashion world but my experience at Ramah, initially started as something to help my kids go to the right camp, resulted in, once again, finding a passion that could be a career: the non for profit world of Jewish camping. But the fashion world was still gnawing at me. Was that part of my life really over?

Recently, my former business partner from those glamour years, who also had left the business world to raise her children, re-entered the fashion world. Honestly, I thought that it was only going to be a hobby and expected it to be very short lived. Much to my surprise she has now moved into a showroom and is back in business…without me. How was this possible?

This is when I found myself stuck. At a crossroads in my career, I began to question my direction. I started daydreaming of being back in the fast paced, glamorous world of fashion.

I even went as far as staying up all night creating a concept, a label, registering a name and a website. The next morning, when the rest of the world woke up, I was on high speed, telling anyone who would listen that this was going to be MY re-entry into my past life. I must admit, it could have worked. It was good stuff. Still, when the adrenaline rush wore off I felt torn, once again, stuck. Was this really what I wanted? Was I ready to take the last ten years and pretend that they never happened? Was I like Dorothy waking up after the tornado only to realize that what she thought was reality was only a dream? I knew that I needed to take a step back, have few glasses of wine, hit the gym (not necessarily in that order) and hopefully in a few days all would be clear.

Then it happened, browsing through a weekly email of job listings that I have been receiving for years (jewishjobsweekly.com), I came across a listing that literally jumped off the page. There it was, clarity. This needed to be my next endeavor: sending High School age children to Israel. My heart began to race as I read about the Alexander Muss High School in Israel (http://www.amhsi.org). A secular Israel experience that instills, at a young age, a love for the land and history of Israel as well as a deeper understanding of what it means to be Jewish. Not religious, Jewish.

My parents sacrificed so much to send me to Israel when I was a senior in High School. That experience began what has been a lifetime of evolution which has helped me to instill in my family a love for a country as well as a people who defend the a place where I may not have my own address but will always feel comfortable calling it home.

So here I am, 46 years old and I finally get who I am; I am a four-inch (sometimes five-inch!) platform-heel, skinny jeans-wearing “fashionista”, wife, friend, mother of three, ready to utilize all of the experiences and passion that led me to where I am today and embark on this new path. This journey has taught me to embrace it all; where I’ve been, where I am today and most excitingly where I may be tomorrow.

And even though we know better now than to ever “sell” our daughters on the fantasy of Cinderella I can honestly say that a good pair of shoes CAN change your life. You just have to walk around for a while, preferably in 4 inch spikes, to find the career you want.

WANTED: 52 Writers for 52 Weeks--Pam Godwin

Pam Godwin — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 03:08:08 +0000

It’s your turn now to jump in! Please allow me to explain…

In the last two months I’ve taken the plunge – two plunges actually. I guess you can say I “jumped in the waters” – both literally and figuratively – in ways that before starting the 52 Weeks I don’t think I would have ever done.

On New Year’s Day 2012, I ran into the chilly waters of the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Long Island, NY for the Annual East Hampton Polar Bear Plunge to benefit the East Hampton Food Pantry.

Then, about three weeks ago, I walked out onto the stage of the 92^nd Street Y in New York City to be part of a panel entitled “Women of the Web.”

Both times, I jumped in and froze, but just for a minute: literally, when I jumped into the Atlantic and then when I walked onto the stage and a question or two threw me for a loop. Then slowly, the reason for doing both of these things struck me. Both were for good causes. I was giving back in two very different ways: donations for jumping into the Atlantic were going to help out a local food pantry and being on stage at the Y would hopefully provide a little “food for thought” for others.

On that sunny, chilly day I could have gone further into the ocean – pushed myself a little more;I could have gone deeper but I got a bit nervous. Maybe next time I will. On stage at the 92^nd Street Y, lights glaring and palms sweating, I could have spoken up a bit more and asserted myself — but I didn’t. Next time I’m sure I’ll be more relaxed and dig deeper to share more of what I am about. But there were no regrets. No backing out. Only moving forward—and that is very exciting stuff.

And that is why we are now turning it to you. We want you to have a try, to take a small step, or a big leap forward and tell us about it. This past year, we’ve talked a lot about the importance of taking baby steps — but sometimes you just have to just jump in and go for it. Run into the water, walk onto the stage–and see where it takes you.

It’s that simple.

We’ve already attracted some great guest bloggers to contribute to the52weeks.com but now we are officially opening the doors to everyone: 52 Writers for 52 Weeks represents a new phase of our growth and the next stage of the52weeks.com. We want published, aspiring, or reluctant writers (like I was) – who want to write a guest post for our blog.

Here’s all you have to do:

Just send an inquiry with your name and contact information and any background you want to share. Tell us what you want to write about: what did you do this year that was “new,” different or even just ridiculous; or tell us what you plan to do and when you’d like to submit something. We’ll e-mail you back right away and give you the go-ahead. Submissions should be around 500-1000 words. Photos would be great too. We can’t wait to hear from you!

My Journey from Fashion to Passion--Karen Amster-Young

Karen Amster-Young — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 22:10:32 +0000

“Cinderella is proof that a good pair of shoes can change your life.” — Anonymous

Design trips to Europe, trade shows and parties in Vegas, frequent trips to LA: this is how I spent the bulk of my 20’s and 30’s in the fast paced world of fashion.

Driven at a young age to be independent, I ventured out on my own and opened a small showroom on 42^nd and Broadway representing West coast designers. Very soon it became clear I would need a business partner or I would not have anything resembling a personal life. Not having to look far (down the hall from my office) I met a fellow over-achiever. Together we plunged head-first in what would be an exhilarating 11-year ride of hard work, financial struggle, glamour and lets face it, a whole lot of fun.

Making the decision to change my lifestyle at the time was one of the hardest that I have ever made. It is amazing how your career can become such a big part of your identity. As much as I loved my life with my husband and beautiful twins, I felt lost. How could I, the same women so driven for so many years now be a “stay at home mom”? I couldn’t bare it. Luckily I had my hands full with number three on the way and all the joy and exhaustion that comes with it but all along I knew that, to feel complete, I needed to make a move towards a professional future…at some point.

After leaving the garment center, I took some classes in what was always a personal passion: exercise. I took classes at NYU, received a bunch of certifications, and began teaching spin classes and personal training. Quickly realizing that teaching adults was not my forte. I began teaching after-school yoga programs and kickboxing. Okay, so keeping our youth fit, not bad right? But I knew something was missing.

This is when I found myself stuck. At a crossroads in my career, I began to question my direction. I started daydreaming of being back in the fast paced, glamorous world of fashion.

I even went as far as staying up all night creating a concept, a label, registering a name and a website. The next morning, when the rest of the world woke up, I was on high speed, telling anyone who would listen that this was going to be MY re-entry into my past life. I must admit, it could have worked. It was good stuff. Still, when the adrenaline rush wore off. I felt torn, once again, stuck. Was this really what I wanted? Was I ready to take the last ten years and pretend that they never happened? Was I like Dorothy waking up after the tornado only to realize that what she thought was reality was only a dream? I knew that I needed to take a step back, have few glasses of wine, hit the gym (not necessarily in that order) and hopefully in a few days all would be clear.

So here I am, 46 years old and I finally get who I am; I am a four- inch (sometimes five-inch!) platform-heel, skinny jeans-wearing “fashionista”, wife, friend, mother of three, ready to utilize all of the experiences and passion that led me to where I am today and embark on this new path. This journey has taught me to embrace it all; where I’ve been, where I am today and most excitingly where I may be tomorrow.

From the Spotlight to Solitude--Karen Amster-Young

Karen Amster-Young — Wed, 22 Feb 2012 16:58:38 +0000

“Follow effective action with quiet reflection. From the quiet reflection will come even more effective action.” – Peter F. Drucker

Last week I appeared on stage with my blog partner at the 92^nd Street Y in New York City. We were part of a panel entitled Women on the Web. It was our blog’s debut “in the spotlight.” Pretty exciting, pretty surreal. If you’ve been following us you know that our blog is all about “shaking things up” and doing new things and let me tell ya, this experience definitely fit the bill! I am sure anyone watching us would have noticed it was not something we have done before. But we forged ahead, simultaneously trembling and proud. When our names were announced, we walked on stage. The lights were blinding as we took our seats and fruitlessly looked to the audience for our significant others and friends . It’s funny what goes through your mind sometimes; I remember thinking that we had been told we would be sitting in armchairs — chairs that actually had arms. I think I had even subconsciously thought about using the arms as a “crutch.” I remember looking at the chairs as they silently mocked me, thinking “Now what?” We were nervous but knew we wanted to be with the other bloggers and authors to spread our message and inspire others. This was truly a “52” – the ultimate representation of what the52weeks.com is all about: you have to do new things to move forward. You have to get out of your comfort zone sometimes to grow. Well, we grew alright.

We all candidly talked about the importance of taking risks, how we started writing and blogging and just shared bits and pieces of our lives and experiences. I thought about what forces brought us together with these particular women, in a moment in time, to share and spread a message.

To be honest, when I woke up the next morning, I was glad it was over! I was also tired and looking forward to reflecting for a few days about the event, our project and the past year. I was happy it was a long holiday weekend. My original plan was to “recuperate” for a day or so and then reflect on it all, think about the coming months, catch-up on work and plan for the52weeks.com. But I didn’t. In fact, I just decided I wanted to do pretty much absolutely nothing except eat, think, take some photographs and enjoy quiet time – away from e-mail, phone calls and being “on.” Here are some thoughts I wanted to share as I look back on our night in the spotlight and my weekend of solitude (with the exception of my husband and 11-year-old around!):

Reflections: The Spotlight

- There is such a thing as being uncomfortable and comfortable simultaneously. I would like to make up a word for it. I will circle back.

- Never underestimate the power of a good blow-out at your neighborhood stylist to boost your confidence (ha).

- There is nothing like a stage to validate what you are doing.

- Chairs are a big deal. We probably don’t think about them enough. Armchairs are underrated. My conclusion: sometimes you have to quickly adjust to whomever or whatever is holding you up – literally and figuratively.

- Sometimes you can just be hanging with a friend, feel strongly about something together, have an idea and a year or so later find yourself on stage. That’s cool.

- Inspiration trumps nervous perspiration.

- Pre-spotlight nerves may, happily, lead to weight loss.

Reflections: Solitude

- In my opinion, you can only appreciate solitude if you don’t have it very often.

- Doing nothing is doing something.

- I don’t look up enough. I am not sure why, but I don’t. I guess I could blame my BlackBerry a bit. Looking at the sky is important. This weekend I saw sunsets, flocks of birds confused by the weather and a lot of stars. I don’t remember the last time I really looked up. Mother Nature trumps the spotlight.

- There is nothing like the freedom of not doing your hair for a few days.

- Beds are a big deal. A good mattress, books, magazine, movies, junk TV — American Idol, Judge Judy, Chopped… priceless.

- Post-spotlight solitude may, sadly, lead to weight gain.

Finally, a big thanks to my fellow panelists: Ree Drummond, Sarah Brokaw, Kathryn Finney and our moderator, BlogHer’s Elisa Camahort Page. You made our “first time” easy and memorable.

So my few days of “solitude” came to an end. It’s busy again this week. Time for another blow-out.

What Do You Plan on Doing This Year?--Karen Amster-Young

Karen Amster-Young — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 14:02:29 +0000

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

Yoga, In the Flesh--Karen Amster-Young

Karen Amster-Young — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 18:07:43 +0000

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.