this guy was meant for me.....

I’m going to tell you a story so personal, only a handful of people know it. A story about me that reveals more than most people know a story I was trying to spit out over dinner yesterday with a friend... but couldn’t... because I’m better at divulging myself more eloquently on "paper" than with my mouth...

If you could see a younger version of me... the one that was twenty nine, you would meet a woman who commanded a certain power and leadership. Independent, smart and rising in the ranks of the NYC agency scene, I was racing to the zenith of something with a wake of broken hearts behind me. My vigilance spread across every aspect of my life, gym 7x a week, yoga 5x a week, work 24/7, sleep optional and a pair of leather pants for every occasion. My trajectory consisted of one thing... get to Executive Vice President by 30 (this did happen along with partnership). Consequences of how I got there were irrelevant, my effect on others inconsequential. I cared about one thing... winning.


I was never one of those girls who played "house" as a kid or imagined a wedding or a baby. In fact if I saw a pregnant woman on the street it would send me running, because I was afraid that somehow she might be contagious. While my other girlfriends and sister may have been on that mission, I had my eye on one prize, increasing my success and trampling anything that got between me and my ambitious goals.

When I met my now very ex husband, I did what I always used to do in those days... walk into the room, point at the guy with whom I'd be with and 'win' him too. I will forgo the "love" story and get on with what hopefully will be the point of this missive.

When Randouche Mastelbate proposed to me... I laughed. Yes, I looked the love struck man in the face and laughed. Me? Married? Engaged? That convention for those other people sure, but me? F@#$CK no! It may sound cruel, but I really did laugh, I thought he was playing some kind of prank. But he wasn't, he was being totally serious.

Something came over me, I let go and I looked into his pained eyes. I did love him... and something happened... I surrendered... (one of many times I have surrendered in my life) and ... I got married. My wedding was one of the greatest events of all time, we exchanged vows under the BKLYN bridge, had a reception in a DUMBO loft with Superfine food and Organic Grooves.

... and I had a new mission, to make us 'the' coolest power couple ... I opened him an art gallery in DUMBO, my agency based in the back office was raking in real dollars and my staff did my bidding while I went right back to world domination, we became increasingly popular in the arts circles and scenes of choice, we moved into this gorgeous duplex loft, meals were sourced all over town, entertained fabulous parties, at art openings we would laugh at the whispers, "omg, are those the Mastels? yes, yes, it's really them" we ... we... had it all and...

then.. 9/11... I lost all of my business in 4 days and then... how this happened is a miracle... I GOT PREGNANT.

We didn't want kids. But remember I didn't want to be married either. I made being married "cool" somehow, that it would be different but now... aching, confused, plagued... I got pregnant. I never wanted children. For a million reasons and rants, I was not going to have kids. I didn't believe it, peed on multiple sticks that instantly reverted to plus signs, blue lines, pink dots (I peed on a lot of sticks).


I told my parents I was pregnant at dinner, they were floored. Their response felt like what I would have gotten if I were a teenager. Cowering in my seat, I knew... this wasn't really happy news. My sister seethed with jealousy, this was her plan to get married and have kids, not mine. I'm not "mom" material, this is going to be a wretched disaster.

Days later, I'm sitting in my father's car. He's not an affectionate guy, but he was holding my hand. "I don't know what to do dad, I'm so scared."


"If you want to get rid of it, I'll go with you," my father said, "we'll save your marriage, it's the right thing to do."


With that, I made an appointment.... I was going to terminate the baby. In my Elissa Jane style... I made the appointment for 2 days before my 12 weeks were up. This would not be an impulsive move. I'd read whatever I could read and research before making a "choice" I had fought for years to have the right to have. I believed that doing due diligence here would be important and that before I went ahead and made this drastic decision, I'd plan and give it proper thought.
The eve of my appointment, I choked.

I had a check up around 9 weeks and heard the baby's heart beat. I thought I didn't care...that my mind was made up. Something tweaked in me... I took 'responsibility' for the life inside me and chose to take this on. I cancelled the appointment... and well.... my son turns 11 this week.

My pregnancy was a total drag, nothing like the movies. My birth was also one of those crazy stories riddled with extra trips to the emergency room, some RN freaking out that I had placenta previa (I didn't), 11 hours with my legs up, all sorts of drugs to make the baby come out (he wouldn't).

I had a birth plan. Did I? Do you know me at all? Yes I did. My birth plan was close to 8 pages long with instructions on just about every detail. I brought 10 copies which I distributed to nurses, RNs, etc... and also put one in my chart and on the door. I had every detail mapped out. At the hospital, I had two bags full of "gear" to get me through from special pillows to a stack of CDs so I could DJ through my experience with the perfect tune for every stage of the opening of my cervix. None of this happened. My naturally planned childbirth was moved to an emergency special monitoring area where I was unhappily drugged up with labor inducing cocktails, monitors and an overall feeling of failure.


Nothing about this was going as I planned. It was time for a C-section, there were no other options. As they rolled me into the table, my compassionate DR ordered Randouche to go get my boombox and put on my requested soundtrack. This would be Future Sounds Of London "LifeForms" and in less than 10 minutes ... they cut, oh wait, the baby's head is bigger than we thought, they cut again... ok... we can get him out now... Zoren was pulled from me and displayed to me in a grey and red messy ball of tiny human with thick black hair.

There was no turning back now, the baby was here.

In the years that have followed I've learned patience, letting go of expectations, acceptance and what unconditional love really is. I've done my best to make Motherhood 'cool' although there are times this has to be the most mundane uncool typical life on earth. Don't ask me how many times I've cooked "circle pasta with butter." We don't eat at a dining table or keep a schedule. I had to go to a counselor to learn how to 'discipline' my kid. I don't do well with PTA or school authority. At one point I took on the role of Den Mother, that lasted six months. I could care less if my son tests well, although he's in some 90-something percentile for awesomeness and tests well without much effort. He is smart, loves to read, gets great grades without trying, kills it at every sport he tries and has the insight of a very old soul.


I haven't told this to too many people for a myriad of reasons. Guess if I'm blogging it, it's no longer a private story is it?

Somehow, over the years, I've forgotten all about that era... because it feels like there is the life before I was a mom that is fading deeper and deeper into the annals of my memory banks... and the person you see now is a result of acceptance and the gifts I've gotten from the lessons being Zman's mom. Let me tell you … being his mom is the easy part, it is LIFE that is freakin hard!!!

You see, what I think I'm trying to say is... getting married, having a kid... that wasn't "me". But now I cannot imagine loving myself more than I do now... as the person who has learned and grown over the past 11 years.


If 29 year old me looked at 44 year old me... she'd spit, barf, chastise, berate and decimate me for what I've become. I'm everything I said I'd never be. Trust me, there's much I'm grateful for... my 20s were a selfish wonderful time, I saw the world, traveled with bands, had an apartment in Amsterdam, lived out of suitcases, made gobs of money and spent it unwisely, I lead my universe.... and had I not been through all of that, I may have resented my son.


Look... life doles out all kinds of stuff we can't control. Like... I was on the pill and I got pregnant. Life is full of surprises. What if I didn't say yes to Randouche? And we didn't have Z? And I didn't take that job? And I didn't get on that plane, or sign that deal or ....

There's no way to carve out or control the expectations of what we think life is supposed to look like. I am learning every day that all I have is what is in front of me.

When I look at the Zman, I see the world through his eyes, learn lessons about attachments, being reactive, the challenges of being different and carving out a self esteem, being socially awkward and that catching crayfish in the stream in front of our house can be really cool!

I get that loving me on my own is no longer an option, that if someone wants to be in my life they need to love 'us'... because we are this unit that can't be compartmentalized for very long. It's a blessing and a curse I suppose, to realize that I can't separate myself as an individual chick anymore, that I have this person tethered to me regardless of what I do.

It's really amazing that Zoren turns 11 tomorrow. That 11 years ago today I was strapped into a bed with all kinds of drugs and monitors I didn't want, in pain, in fear, in panic.... but he arrived, a perfect bundle of awesome ready to reinvent me in ways I could have never imagined.

Happy Birthday lil buddy...

Fear We Go Again

There we were, my dharma punx buddies and I sitting around the campfire a few years ago at a campground in the Berkshires.  We were laughing, joking and talking when our friend Pete asked, “do women find men who are spiritual attractive or do they see us as pussies?” or something like that.  A passionate conversation erupted between the group about relationships, love and spirituality.  Evenly distributed between men and women, the details of romantic relationship experiences were exposed over crackling flames of the campfire.  I don’t remember much more of what was being said… I had a different experience than my contemporaries under the star filled summer sky. 

Sinking deeper and deeper into my camping chair, literally clinging to myself for dear life a darker emotion was taking hold.  I couldn’t speak or move… because this debilitating emotion was paralyzing.  There were words and tones I could hear, snippets of discussion but my experience went somewhere else.  It was gripping. 

A moment of silence fell among the group and in that moment I took my opportunity to force out this sentence through a few small sobs, “I am afraid.” 

My friend Paul responded, “of course you are, you’re allowed to be, you’ve been through a lot.”

There it was.  Validated by a close friend who truly understood this layer of suffering that was enveloping me.  I was allowing myself to admit to this deep rooted fear, and the beginning of an exploratory journey in clarity where I allowed myself to dig deep into it and practice letting it go. 

Some people are afraid of spiders, or heights, or fire, or the dark.  Me? I have a fear of love.  It’s not the loving part that is the issue, it’s the pain that befalls me when it ends in heartbreak.  One would think that age and time would have taught me to be able to get though these romantic failings more easily, but the blows I’ve endured to my precious heart have left irreparable scars.  In my years of practice, I’ve cleaned up much of the blackness, the scar tissue that I’ve let become a protective layer.  In my other kinds of relationships, I’ve learned to be vulnerable and open.  Yet with romantic love, I continue to suffer this feeling of tremendous trepidation.  My fear tells me, “of this… I am certain another heartbreak will kill you.”

It was a ‘mommy’ time weekend this week, I took the Zman and his buddy snowboarding at a little local mountain.  Bathing and makeup seemed optional, so I passed making the effort for comfy baggy snowpants and a tee shirt.  As usual, being done well before my gaggle of little boys were done with their riding, I went into the bar for one post-ride beer.  There I met… a guy.  It wasn’t much of an unusual entry to a conversation, amusement about my beer snobbery, chatting about the area, how neat this secret HV treasure is and such.  I could have been sitting there for hours or minutes… time in that moment seemed to not really take hold.  What did surprise me from this chance meeting were three things… one, that he actually asked for my phone number and two.. how unusually bummed I was that they left so soon and three… how incredibly aware I was of the magnetic sparks manifesting in our first meeting. 

There was no waiting time … he texted, I texted back and a hang plan was set.  Me, the jaded ice queen hermit was going to embark on a real life date in the real world with a real guy. 

And the date was… the best date I’ve been on since my divorce.  I won’t kiss and tell, but I can tell you, I still feel those unmentionable kisses in my toes.

… and now… the ‘game’ of dating begins and all that fear that arises with it.

The spiritual warrior me wants to be true to myself, to say what I want to say or do what I want to do.  No games, no illusions or delusions.

Unfortunately, the mature 40 something chick I am knows better… knows that I have to now play the game filled with rules, the sport where I’m supposed to be a surprise, mysterious, aloof.  What sucks is, I’m really none of those things.  I’m far from mysterious, jeesh I must be the least mysterious lady on the planet.  Pretend?  Follow protocol?  This rebellious feminist finds all this so very contradictory to my beliefs. 

One of the reasons I hate dating the most is the sport of it… the ‘rules’ that are going to shape how the relationship will be moving forward.  I’m supposed to suppress all the characteristics that make Elissa Jane… me? 

More perpetuators of this debilitating fear, having to be something else, someone else or I am going to blow it somehow. One of the greatest parts of my personality is my fearlessness.  I’m afraid of nothing… well almost nothing.  When people recoil at the site of a daddy long legs or the view from the edge of a tall mountain I unintentionally judge them, like really what’s the big deal?  In the presence of this gripping fear of heartbreak and inauthentic game playing that is all encompassing, I realize that I can relate.  If I hadn’t learned what I did in my Year to Live practice, I would do what feels safe and walk away.  That’s what people in fear do… run from the very thing that ignites the trigger. 

Trust me… all these little fabulous sparks are blowing up the powder keg and I am reminded that this thing will lead to that pain.  I can see the dots connecting.. the tape play out.. or can I?

The scariest part of all is… while the fear is still there… the delusion isn’t.  I can’t see the heartbreak or the end, I can’t even see past dinner time later tonight.  It is my enlightened and rational self that hears my friend Gary say, “right now, it’s like this.”

I really have no idea what is coming next or what will happen, if we’ll go out again (I hope we do) or if we don’t.  I don’t know what anyone else is thinking, and frankly it’s none of my business what other people are thinking about me.  The only thing I have control over is this aversion I’m feeling triggered by memories of a pain that I’ve endured from other dating scenarios in my past.  Am I going to give those relationships that didn’t work out my happiness?  No. 

For today, in this moment, I’m grateful for feeling this way again, romantic, hopeful, curious… and even vulnerable.  I’m ok with all that is arising because, well, I’m ok with me.

Human nature is filled with fear, and I guess just like people who are filled with phobias of other kinds, I need to be compassionate to myself and give myself the same understanding I’ve learned to give others. 

The Goats Ate My Mala Beads

I was in Los Angeles, just finishing my fourth weekend of Dharma Punx Facilitator Training. I was on a bit of a high, excited about everything that was to come. The weekend was spiritually fruitful and educationally productive. I learned a great deal from my peers and teacher, and had the connection and feeling that things were really gelling.

When I arrived at the beginning of the weekend, and my fellow trainees asked the proverbial opener, "how are you?" I honestly answered with... "I'm feeling an equanimity I've never quite felt before. Highs and lows, but I'm just rolling with it."

On Monday, June 21st, while sitting in an Internet Cafe in Venice, after being WiFi-less for so many days, I logged in and began my usual work routine, updating, writing, crafting, sending, doing, clearing... preparing for the workload I had on my plate.

But .... things weren't as they seemed moments before. Some bad news, a surprise lost client, some more bad news.... a dark cloud was growing on my computer screen. All this stuff was coming at once. My phone was blowing up, my texts screen bleeping, my emails parading in... all with different shades of bad I had no control over.

I sat there, far from home, very far from home, scrambling while sipping a $4 Organic Hibiscus Mango Ginger Iced Tea I suddenly couldn't afford. How the fuck was I going to get home? And would my EZ Pass go through when I try to get my car out of the JFK Lot. Will I have enough for gas to get home? And when I get home, can we eat?

FRACK!

I scrambled, updating my resume and posting ads on CL for jobs cleaning houses, painting houses, babysitting and spanking men for money. Anything I could think of that I could do, phone sex, laundry, admin assistant. Panicking in this state, trying to be mindful. Over and over I kept saying, "Just for today, you're in an Internet Cafe with an overpriced Iced Tea and you're alive and breathing."

I made it home. My car did start. My car got out of the lot. I got my son. I drove upstate. I didn't pass go or collect $200.

Zman went to school the next morning and I opened up Craigslist Help Wanted Ads... and then I found an ad that surprised me. It was an ad for an Admin Asst at Catskill Animal Sanctuary. I figured, if I did any kind of work for a nice non-profit, I would be blessed, and lucky. Right livelyhood. I looked at the ad, with a feeling like, this would be nice. This would be so much better than doing sales for Cumulus. So, I sent my resume, with a nice note and took a chance.

The next day ... I found out... they wanted me, and the day after that it was for a job they hadn't posted yet. They needed me, and I really really needed them.

I had this feeling, that this was where I needed to go, and where I need to be.

On my second day working on the Farm, I got to meet a herd of 21 newly rescued goats. I'd never met so many goats at once, in fact how many goats have I really met anyway? As we went in, treats in hand, it was fun to feed them and meet them. They were gentle loving and friendly.

One in particular stole my heart. His name is Atlas. He's 'broken', yes, crippled for life due to improper care and neglect. He laid in pain on the ground as two women gently held him and nurtured him. The Vet came to make an effort to relieve him of his pain, and his outlook seemed not very optimistic. The collaborative goal by all was to love him and give him the most comfortable life he can have.

I took photos and shot videos. I was nervous, and shy. Then, in an effort to keep the herd away from Atlas during his doctor visit, I lured the other goats away with some goat food. Now I don't know anything about goats. They have cute floppy ears, seem pretty docile and don't mind when you pet them. As they gathered around me, scarfing up food out of my hands, the biggest greediest fellow Arthur bit and ate the mala beads right off my wrist.

I giggled and laughed, "the Goats ate my Mala Beads!"

To wit, Abbie the Animal Care Director responded, "Yeah, that's Goats for you."

Silly city girl I am, in my skirt and adornments, what was I thinking? That's right, I don't know what I'm doing, and I certainly didn't know anything about what hungry little cuties the goats are.

I guess these newly rescued four-legged friends needed a little enlightenment. My service to them, Naaaaaaaahmaste Goats! (sheepish, I know** thank you Chris Bick for this one)

I visit Atlas in his stall in the barn pretty regularly. The other day, I actually saw Atlas standing, taking steps, and moving around his stall. He smiles when I see him, and nuzzles for love. Yeah, I'm falling for the goats. Who knew that this city chick could feel such affection for a creature who seemed so alien to her 10 days ago. But here I am, falling in love with goats. I'm learning what loving creatures they are, that they have emotions and feelings and like us... even when they are suffering, they can smile when they are loved.

Emotionally, I'm far from out of the woods. I still have a lot of stuff that came up last month to tend to, and fear about being able to tackle it all. I've been humbled by the humans and the animals in my life, big and small, two and four legged. I am experiencing a new growth spurt emotionally, and am afraid and excited to get to go through it at the farm.

The equanimity I was able to live in just a month ago, seems impossible to grasp at again. How was I able to maintain that Buddha like chillness for months and months, and lose it so quickly in an avalanche of new reasons to suffer. My spiritual journey is in its infancy. I must remind myself of this over and over.

Everything is impermanent. EVERYTHING. This knowledge is freeing and crippling. But like Atlas, I too can be open to love, and allow others to help me heal. This new adventure is going to teach me something new, and is demanding that I learn to soften in work in the same way I've learned to be gentle and compassionate in my life. If I am to extend the journey, I will need to be about Metta, and be in a place of love for all living beings and walk the spiritual walk at work. I may not end up perfect, but I can end up in a much better place than where I was before when I began the journey.