A year of change.
Birthday reflections
Today is my birthday. This time last year, I thought I’d stay in Los Angeles. By November, I had decided New York would just be my summer city—the best of both worlds. It was a freeing choice. I was ready to put down roots, to keep investing in my home and community.
And then, life turned. After the fires in January, I knew I had to leave. During the evacuation, I felt a fear that lodged in my body, the kind that lingers deep in my cells. And no matter where I went, I had to rebuild my life. So I chose to be closer to family. I made a split-second decision: move to Brooklyn. I bought plane tickets, found my son a school, packed our two suitcases, and got on a plane. We went from one hotel to the next and finally into our longer-term rental.
There were a lot of emotions swirling. The daunting task of starting over, rebuilding, affording a new life, and ensuring stability for my son. I expected most of that. It didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was a sense of relief. I could let go of everything that wasn’t serving me. Even returning my car—and not having to pay for gas or insurance—lifted a weight. Though on a long freezing walk to school, my son loudly cried out,
“I miss our car!”
“Me too, bud, me too.”
I get to redesign my life. It’s as much an opportunity as it is a stressor. I can focus on joy and family. From across the country, it’s easier to deal with home insurance and remediation at arm’s length, rather than living inside it every day.
Those first months are a blur, but what I remember is the kindness of strangers, of Miles’s half-siblings’ families, of my friends and family—all of whom kept us from hitting the pavement, giving us what we needed to find our footing.
I wish I could thank all of you specifically for how you helped us. I’m so touched by all of you; each of you made such a difference. What I do know is my heart grew from the love you showed me. Despite the hardships and chaos of the world, there is goodness out there. I’ve felt it. I’ll always be better for it.
Another surprise: I’m enjoying single motherhood in New York far more than I expected—more on that in another note (because who doesn’t love a good NY vs. LA comparison?).
This year has held both tragedy and triumph. My son is thriving. I’ve made new mom friends I adore. I’ve stayed in touch with mom friends I miss terribly. I wrote a book called Mom Friends that I’m currently querying. I’ve reconnected with old friends, made new friends, and I’ve had great sex with one of said friends, which may be the inspiration for my second book. ;-)
My screenwriting partner and I are still churning out rom coms and have projects circulating. I started a walking book club that’s grown to nearly 50 members. I’m reading two books a week. I’ve rediscovered dormant parts of myself.
I know every playground in Park Slope (I think), two in Fort Greene, and Brooklyn Bridge Park. I found my people, who include a great hairstylist, colorist, hard gel nail manicurist, and perimenopause specialist. I even found a new long-term apartment.
It’s a strange thing to both struggle and thrive at once. But maybe that’s what middle age is—holding fear and relief, loss and joy, struggle and triumph—all at the same time
