on tea time

between the hours of three and five pm, i have a tea time.

when taken at home, i typically brew green or herbal tea leaves in a glass teapot that showcases the extraction of their color and flavor. it is guaranteed to be accompanied by a treat of some sort, most often chocolate, and always something sweet. weather permitting, i sit outside in our patio and begin to unwind. reset. ground myself in that moment.

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i don’t consider tea time a luxury – this time to stop and sip and nibble away, wherever i may be. rather, it is an essential piece of my self-care toolkit. a ritual, if you will.

i’ve learned over the many years of practicing this ritual that its value in my physical, mental, and emotional wellbeing is worth every effort to incorporate into my day. that means if i am traveling, i will include it in my itinerary. if i’m at work, i will dedicate the latter portion of my break to it. i could be going a million miles a minute and, still, take the time to stop and just be.

when i started allowing myself to be in this space – this tea time – i soon realized how too often we deny ourselves the very things that strengthen us, that cultivate our spirits and center us amidst the spinning world in which we live. there are agendas and to-do lists, deadlines and errands. but what about the self? what about finding the ritual that puts everything on hold for the sole purpose of nourishing our innermost being? to have something to look forward to, even if the day feels like it’s going to shit?

well, come on over. i have a pot of tea brewing.

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mama

if you know me well, then you know my mother. mama. she is a piece of me, sometimes more than i think. we have the kind of relationship that spans well beyond parent vs. child, mentor vs. mentee. it’s a friendship, a union.

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i’ve never known anything more or less than what we have, and frankly, i can’t say i’d want to. it’s an uninhibited, transparent relationship that naturally weaves itself into the threads of our everyday. not a day goes by that doesn’t include multiple forms of phone exchange: some conversations heavy, others light. some with a purpose, others merely as inquiry.

i trust mama so much so that she knows the inner workings of my heart – the things that make it beat, or otherwise, tremor; the things that set its pace, its daily rhythm. my whole self is revealed to her and she to me.

and i think this is what scares me most about any prospect of becoming a mother – the idea that i could never replicate the magic that is our bond. what i share with mama – the intimacy we’ve created – is so uniquely exquisite that i would never even know where to begin. sure, you create a new life and build something special “because this child is your own,” but still, it will never be us. 

i don’t know where i go from here, which path gino and i will (or will not) eventually take. all i am certain of is that i want to spend more time with mama. i want to memorize the lines on her face, the wrinkles on her hands. i want to walk with her, talk with her, see the world with her and through her eyes. i want to tell her my fears and listen to hers, contemplate life or just sit in silence. ultimately, i want to lounge in more patios and eat more treats and drink more wine, laughing wholeheartedly because we can, living because it’s all we have in this precious time.

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the Y

gino and i have been members of the YMCA since january. it felt like the perfect option for us because of its wealth of variety – the lap pool, gym, yoga classes, and spin classes (only reserved for when i feel particularly amped). not to mention, a state-of-the-art facility that opened blocks from our home.

since joining, i’ve developed a great love for all the Y provides, all it represents. in a city that prides itself on individual success and consequently fosters an environment of undue competition, the Y breaks down barriers. it’s an anomaly in a world of self-centeredness.

so, in honor of this gem of a place, the following:

at the Y, your workout is your own (and not influenced by the person next to you).

at the Y, your community is mixed – of ages and religions, gender and race. i am your neighbor and you are mine.

at the Y, conversations are had…in the sauna and showers, in the hot tub and steam room.

at the Y, we ALL have beautiful, strong bodies – ones that allow us to move, to strengthen, ones that grant us the ability to engage with one another.

at the Y, you leave your ego aside and connect.

at the Y, we are given the opportunity to be a part of something bigger than ourselves – that by practicing “you doing you,” you become an essential piece to the collective whole.

 

on friendship

i always considered the month of may the harbinger of gatherings. the month when the temperature warms, the light lingers, and time with friends becomes more routine.

so in the spirit of this communal season, here are some words on the beauty of female friendships:

“we have to continue acknowledging how necessary these relationships are, whether it’s making friends our emergency contacts at the doctor, our yearly thanksgiving companions or the people we reach first whenever anything good, awful, or irritating happens. the conversation about how important other women can be in our lives has just begun.”      

— kayleen schaefer, author of Text Me When You Get Home

here’s to friends, here’s to an abundance of shared moments with them.

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Palm Springs 2018

 

the art of: dinner in bed

few things bring me more joy or make me feel more comforted than a proper dinner in bed. i say “proper” because this isn’t the kind of dinner ordered as takeout, eaten out of boxes. rather, the dinner to which i am referring is a home-cooked one, served on our ceramic dishes, eaten in our laps with cloth napkins and glasses of wine atop bedside tables. basically, all of the components destined for a dinner table, enjoyed in the comfort of bed.

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now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a daily occurrence. and for that, i am grateful. these meals are typically reserved as a reward for enduring an exhausting day at work, when all you want to do is jump into sweats/pajamas, turn on Netflix, and – for lack of a better term – stuff your face with something homemade (preferably pasta).

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it’s all things comforting, wrapped into a single moment and made all the more special by the mere fact that it deviates from our norm.

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it’s the light at the end of the tunnel in an otherwise defeating day, a little treat to remind you that finding joy can be as simple as that. a dinner in bed.

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jekyll, meet hyde (and the power of resetting)

i am no stranger to the shitty workday. those days when you feel like your energy is compromised and leave you questioning why you continue doing what you do. of course, i love what i do – it’s why i keep showing up. but there’s bound to be that one day that pushes me over the edge and negates all the positive experiences.

yesterday was one of those days.

it’s interesting because i find that there are two sides of me: the “work” me and the “me” me. when i step into labor and delivery, i turn survival mode on – unsure if i’ll get a break, if i’ll have to push HOURS with a patient, if i’ll have to guard my heart from strong personalities, overstimulation, or the inherent dynamism that is our unit. and then top off said uncertainties with a high census, and my empathetic, compassionate reserves are nearly depleted.

all of this to say, balance is key.

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i feel fortunate that over the years, i have discovered what self-care looks like for me. when the “jekyll” at work is trying her damnedest to be all the things for everyone, the “hyde” at home can focus on tuning inward, resetting, replenishing. it’s in this space, remote from feelings of physical and emotional exhaustion, that i am able to honor myself and be reminded of what truly lies within. at home, i can be me – not someone who has it all together, who has the answers or knows the resources. at home, i can feel what my heart feels, rest when i need to rest, engage when i want to engage.

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never have i felt more grateful for our patio and the source of life it brings me. tending to my plants – weeding, repotting, watering – restores my center, grounds me in a way that only nature can. when i invest time and care into sprouting life, i am investing into that of my own.

regardless of how good or bad a day at work is (or in life, in general), time with my urban garden generates a sense of peace that balances the waving energies i carry within. the garden reinforces the beauty of cycles as well as its need for thoughtful intention. it’s a meditation, if you will.

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creating this space has certainly taken time, but it’s the kind of time that fills me wholly, the kind of gift i’ve given myself to just be. it’s an ever-evolving source of life that shakes me out of my jekyll-like personage, and restores my innermost being. it’s more than just a garden. for me, it’s self.

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on markets

fact: i am a market enthusiast. i am that person who considers a trip to the farmer’s market a wholly grounding experience, a time to reset and get in touch with the senses. in fact, it was the single thing (aside from eating cake) that i wanted to do for my birthday this year. a way to set the tone, i suppose.

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living in los angeles, we are immune to weather changes that typically come with the seasons, but a quick jaunt through the market, and we are easily reminded of the time. blistered tomatoes – summer. persimmon – fall. citrus – OH CALIFORNIA CITRUS – winter. and here we are in spring (earth day to be exact), totes filled with asparagus and strawberries, radishes and snap peas. you can’t really have expectations when visiting the market. it’s either in season or not, available or already picked through. who knew a simple trip for goods could be a lesson on freedom and flexibility?

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today was no exception to the joys of engaging with the farmers, tasting their offerings, loading up on a week’s worth of produce. but something felt different. like my senses were incredibly heightened. walking the aisle, my eyes wandering from one lush stall to the next, i felt an overwhelming gratitude for what comes out of this earth of ours. how is it that we are able to ingest things that sprout from the ground, and in so doing, nourish every part of our living selves? how is it that cycles exist to deem some things edible during one month, essentially inaccessible the next? I thought about the grand markets in paris and those of peru, the similarities, the differences. how lucky are we to share the commonality of growing food and selling food and eating food with people unknown to us, near and far! when you feel like this world is going to shit, think about that. think about the markets.

i probably, most definitely, bought more butter lettuce than we’ll need for tonight’s salad. and i am certainly running out of vessels for my flowers. but truth be told, this body, this soul, needs every last bit of what the market has to offer. even if it’s just a walkthrough. even if it’s only to feel connected.

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