It’s been a tough year for New York sports fans.  The teams we follow have had abysmal seasons.  The Yankees have struggled in recent years, first having to deal with ARod, then bidding farewell to Mariano and The Captain.  I attended one Yankee game last summer, mainly to say goodbye to Jeter, whom I (along with the rest of NY) will miss terribly.  The Yankees actually won that game, but their victories were few and far between.  Next up- the Giants, a team who has missed the playoffs for three consecutive years.  Their leading scorer, Victor Cruz, tore up his knee and missed the second half of the season. The one bright star was Odell Beckham Jr, but even he couldn’t fully take the sting out of the Giants’ lousy season.

And then there is the Knicks.  My husband and I both attended Knicks games as children, and we remember the team’s ’70 and ’73 championships, as well as their solid 90’s teams.  My husband has been a season ticket holder his entire adult life.  He holds onto those tickets for one reason only- so our children can experience the joy of a rooting for a truly great Knicks team.  When Phil Jackson joined the Knicks organization last spring, we were cautiously optimistic.  Now the Knicks have traded or shelved all their best players.  Melo is out for the season with knee surgery.  JR Smith and Iman Shumpert have teamed with Lebron in Cleveland and are top contenders in the East.  Meanwhile, though I remain a huge Knicks fan, I cannot bear to attend games and watch a “no-name” starting five take the court.  We have sold all of our season tickets on Stub Hub.  I cannot imagine who is buying them…

Fortunately, I have discovered an antidote to New York Sports Fan Depression: it’s called “Mico Madness.”  (A nod to my childhood nickname, “Mico.”)  For the past few years, I have entered a March Madness pool through my husband’s office.  I listen to a few of the pundits, make my picks and follow some of the action, mostly focusing during the Elite Eight, Final Four and championship games. But now, with basically no NY teams to root for (note: not to disparage the NY Rangers, but I am not a hockey fan,) March Madness has captured my full sports attention.  And, without personal affiliations to any of the teams playing this year, I could look to my picks with an unbiased eye and unemotional strategic plan for winning the pool (or at least avoiding the bottom.)

So, beginning last weekend when the teams were announced, I began my research.  I obsessively read sports articles and watched ESPN and other sports channels, listened to assessments of each team and absorbed all the advice offered by the so-called “experts.”  I checked out the brackets of some of my favorite sports announcers and analysts, and even looked at President Obama’s bracket.  I didn’t think much of Obama’s bracket- I felt he played it too safe.  And, unfortunately for Obama, he picked Villanova in his final four- sorry Mr. President.  I filled out my first bracket last Tuesday, then changed it again… and again… and yet again.  By 11 a.m. last Thursday, an hour before the bracket deadline, I was still changing my picks.  I wasn’t sure which upsets to choose.  (I have since realized that no one, not even the “experts,” knows which upsets to pick- because anything can happen!)  12 noon, deadline time, arrived, and my picks were locked in.  Time to watch and wait for the madness to set in.

The biggest change in my strategy this year is that I have taken more risks.  In the past, I have gone mostly with the favorites, choosing just one or two upsets.  It is tough to compile a lot of points that way.  And, to win (or just to do well) in our small office pool of 32 people in which the majority selected Kentucky to win it all, the only way to differentiate yourself is to pick some upsets that actually win!  I think I may have gone a little too far, picking too many upsets… and, unfortunately, most of them haven’t panned out.  But, I must confess that choosing upsets makes watching the tournament a lot more fun!  Every tournament day there are multiple games to watch, and I flip from channel to channel, following each one, cheering for whichever team I need for my bracket.  Currently, I am in 13^th place, solidly in the thick of things, and closer to the top than the bottom.  I admit it feels good to see some who know far more than I do about basketball languishing at the bottom of the pool.  My big break may come if I can ride Northern Iowa to the final four, then to the championship game versus Kentucky.  I know this is a long shot and a major risk- but it’s fun, and it is certainly not a life-threatening gamble.  It’s all worth it for the joy I am experiencing.

My husband can hardly believe his good fortune.  His wife is watching more college basketball than he is… and, he is continually asking me for updates on the games.  I report in regularly on the status of his brackets.  He loves hearing me passionately shout out and scream at the TV.  Today is action-packed with multiple games.  I’ll be rooting for Wichita State, Wisconsin, Michigan State, Duke and, of course, Northern Iowa.  Go teams!

I love Mico Madness!

Cheering for the Knicks & Giants in happier times!

Like many people on the East coast, I always dreamed of living in California. The Golden State promised warmth and sunshine, beautiful beaches and a healthy, active, outdoor lifestyle. We visited several times during my childhood, and I was always enamored with California. My parents never fully understood that deep seeded desire to move west. When I was applying to college, I desperately wanted to visit Pomona College, a small, liberal arts school in southern California. Instead, my college search was restricted to schools within driving distance of home, which included tours of New England and Pennsylvania colleges. I chose a small college in Massachusetts, managed to endure the long, cold winters, and had an excellent, college experience. Still, I fantasized about one day moving to California.

In my early twenties, I finally had that opportunity. I was offered a job in San Francisco and relocated from New York. At last, I would have the chance to live out my dream. Each morning, for five years, I literally pinched myself to ensure I was not dreaming… I really did live in this beautiful, soul-warming place. And, after pinching myself, I began my day with a four-mile run through Crissy Field, along the bay, towards the Golden Gate Bridge. This daily run filled me with a huge sense of pride and purpose. Afterwards, I treated myself to a steaming hot coffee and freshly baked raisin bran muffin from Babycakes in the Marina. Life was good.

Ultimately, I moved back to the East coast, married and raised my family there. But I remain a California girl at heart. So, when it was time for my own children to look at colleges, and both were considering California schools, I was fully prepared for them to head west. Fortunately, my husband and I agreed that four years of college provided an opportunity for our children to experience life in a different part of the country. We did not geographically restrict their search, and instead encouraged them to select the college that felt right. My daughter selected a university in the South, my son chose a school in Northern California.

Like me, my son clearly has the “California gene.” Not everyone has it. Some of my East coast friends have this special gift (it’s kind of like having dimples- which I do!), and feel California in their souls.  Others are surprised that we would allow our son to go to college so far from home.  They smile politely when I explain my relationship with California, but these friends don’t really understand. And that’s fine with me.

My son definitely gets it.  We just visited him for parents weekend, and could see that he is thriving in the healthy outdoors and sports/fitness-oriented lifestyle.  I, too, have recently had a “second chance” to live in California, this time for a month… and, fortunately, during one of the worst winters on record in New York.  But, just to be clear, the promise of California goes far beyond the weather.

To love California is to embrace a lifestyle of openness and friendliness.  To achieve an ideal balance between seriousness and fun. To naturally smile and greet those you pass on the street… and to strike up conversations with strangers everywhere you go.  To delight in the natural beauty surrounding you, from nightly beachside sunsets to mountainside hiking trails, just minutes from home. To feel healthy, fit, relaxed and stress-free. Every day. To marvel at the selection of fine wines available in the supermarket!  To be able to watch the entire Oscars broadcast on TV without falling asleep, because it ends by 9 p.m.! (Okay, I’m exaggerating… I still fell asleep before the broadcast ended…)

I may be dreaming… but, if so, promise not to wake me!

Fitness and exercise are a major priority for me. They are part of my daily routine, like brushing my teeth.  But, like most routines, this one had grown stale… and predictable.  Since I have been challenging myself to take chances and embark on new adventures, thereby stepping decisively outside my comfort zone, I figured this philosophy should apply to my workouts.

Enter Jenny Schatzle, a fitness guru and life motivator, whose motto is: “don’t just change your body, change your life.”

When I showed up for the first class, I was apprehensive and more than a bit intimidated.  I waited outside the large warehouse style studio and watched a packed room of young, extremely fit people jump, run, lunge and lift to the beat of loud, motivating music. The atmosphere was electric!  At the end of class, the sweat-drenched participants high-fived each other in celebration. Jenny closed with a stirring, motivational talk, and the crowd dispersed to begin the day in a state of near euphoria.

After a quick tour of the facility and a brief demonstration of the day’s circuit exercises, I was ready. Then, I quickly realized that I was the oldest one in the class– by at least 15 years. I also soon learned that the class was in week six of a six-week program.  Everyone else had begun in week one. Nonetheless, I had committed to try this class, and remained undaunted.  I resolved to get a great workout, make new friends, and, most importantly, have fun.

I started out on the treadmill at a brisk walking pace, then progressed to a slow jog. By the final “sprint,” I was full-out running like I was in my 20’s again, when I did weekend races for fun. Next up was a circuit of bench presses, side lunges, kettle ball squats and push-ups, interspersed with planks and crunches. During each set, I tried to focus on my own body, instead of on the young, tight bodies that surrounded me.

Jenny’s class was one of the most intense hours I have ever experienced.  It challenged each and every one of my muscles.  I was dripping in sweat; I looked like I had just stepped out of the shower. And, I sported an enormous grin.  As class ended I high-fived my neighbors, as we congratulated each other on surviving the class.  Then, Jenny addressed the group, challenging us to “live life in the driver’s seat.”

Her message resonated with me, especially because of where I am in my life.  Yes, I am– and will always be– someone’s daughter, wife, sister, friend and mother.   But now it is time for me to be the driver, and not the passenger, in my life.  This entails letting go of all the pictures and expectations that I have been trying to live up to.  It means living in the moment, and not worrying about what others might think or say, or what might happen if I make a certain choice or decision.

And, ultimately, it means letting go of my self-image as a fifty-something mom who is older and less fit than everyone else in an exercise class.  It means recognizing that I am smart enough and capable enough of re-entering the work force and pursuing a new career that I am passionate about. It means I am free to discover my real purpose in life and to be the person I choose to be.

Thank goodness I am in the driver’s seat, because after Jenny’s class I am too sore to walk!

Jenny’s motto

There’s something about beach glass that harkens back to the simple happiness of childhood… fond memories of sun drenched hours playing on the beach… running back and forth to the water to cool off… building sand castles… collecting seashells and continually searching for the perfect piece of beach class… without any cares in the world.

Each piece of beach glass is unique… the surface rubbed silky smooth, from years spent churning in the wild seas… how fortunate we are that these beautiful bits of history have washed up on our shores… the color palate is soft and subdued… dark green, brown, clear, and occasionally, a rare piece of turquoise.

Now, years later, I still relish walking barefoot down the beach, my toes taking comfort in the soft, white sand, the sun fading in the sky.  I am filled with peace and gratitude…

Something catches my eye in the sand below. I look down at my feet and smile with childlike euphoria… it is a piece of the elusive turquoise blue beach glass. I am instantly transported back to my childhood.  I pick up this rare treasure and celebrate.  Pure, unadulterated joy.

Beach glass from Butterfly Beach, Santa Barbara, CA

I grew up in a household ruled by my Dad’s philosophy that sleep was overrated and, essentially, a waste of time.  We were always encouraged to be active, not lazy, and never to put off until tomorrow things we could do today.  I have consistently lived my life in this fully engaged, procrastination-free zone, and it has been fun, though, admittedly, sometimes exhausting.

I don’t think I’ve really slept well– by that I mean more than six hours a night– in years.  And even if I’m in bed for six hours, I rarely sleep through the nights, during which I am typically battling a small bladder, menopause-related insomnia, and competing for mattress space with at least one 80-pound golden retriever.  (I am, however, an excellent car and airplane napper.)  I’ve always thought that sleep deprivation was a badge of honor, signifying to the world– and to myself– that I’m accomplishing so much that I couldn’t possibly sacrifice such heightened productivity for increased sleep.  Despite staying up very late occasionally (on New Year’s eve or for special occasions), I would still awake at dawn.  Even as a teenager and college student, I don’t remember sleeping until mid-afternoon the way today’s young people (and my own children) do.

When I became a parent, my sleeping habits declined precipitously.  By nature a worrier, I would find myself waking up during the night, rehashing my son’s baseball team’s defeat or thinking about my daughter’s upcoming soccer tournament.  I would worry about injuries and illnesses as my children endured them.  When they were in high school, I stressed over deadlines for big homework assignments, SAT preparation, and especially college applications, campus visits and then admissions decisions.  And I wasn’t even the one doing the work– I was worrying for my children and all the pressures placed on them by today’s world.  I knew these late night worries were unproductive, but I was powerless to stop them.  And I am certain that all this undue stress and worry cost me hundreds of hours of sleep.

Given this backdrop, I didn’t think I was physically capable of sleeping more than six restless hours.  Until now.  While I still think about my children and want them to be happy always, my worries about them are no longer front and center, primarily because they are no longer living under my roof.  I would probably not approve of everything they are doing in college, but what I don’t know about, I cannot worry about.

Fast forward to last night.  I was exhausted and kept dozing off during an episode of House of Cards (hint: if you’re dozing off during House of Cards, it is time to go to bed!)  So, very uncharacteristically, at 9 p.m. I turned off the light and went to sleep (my husband continued watching House of Cards without me.)  I slept uninterrupted until 5:30 a.m., then dozed another hour until 6:30.  This was a first for me: 8-1/2 hours of continuous sleep for the first time in years– probably since becoming a parent nearly 21 years ago.  How great it felt to awaken for once feeling rested and refreshed!

At 6:30 this morning, my brain was fully activated, already thinking about the day ahead, and filling quickly with plans and ideas.  My usual mug of coffee, a long, brisk dog walk, and I was ready to tackle the day.  Ah, to be a morning person AND to be fully rested.  This was a first for me, but hopefully not a last.  I look forward to many more restful nights ahead.  In this new stage of life, I have discovered that I quite enjoy sleep, and find its counterpart, sleep deprivation, to be completely overrated.  Bottom line, in the words of Fleetwood Mac, “I’m never going back again.”

Last week, my husband and I were fortunate enough to attend a Fleetwood Mac concert at Madison Square Garden.  Fleetwood Mac’s music had been one of the primary soundtracks to my college and young professional years, and I have always been a big fan.  When Christie McVie announced she was rejoining the band after a 16-year absence, we decided this was a must-see concert.

During our pre-concert dinner in a large restaurant next door to MSG, everyone in the restaurant appeared to be our age (or older), and we quickly discovered that all the patrons were attending the concert.  We were soon immersed in one large pre-concert party, with strangers sharing food and bottles of wine and everyone reminiscing about all the rock concerts we had attended “back in the day.”  It was comforting to be in a crowd of 50 and 60-somethings and to actually feel young!  We felt right at home, and there was great camaraderie among ‘our people.’

There was also incredible chemistry among the band members, as Fleetwood Mac seemed complete once again with their “songbird” back in the fold.  Friendship and camaraderie pervaded the evening, both on stage and in the audience.  These immensely talented musicians in their late 60’s and early 70’s, whose careers have spanned more than 40 years, played nonstop for two-and-a-half hours!  Their voices still resonated clearly and heartily, with energy and spirit to match, all highlighted by white-haired Mick Fleetwood’s insane 8-minute drum solo in the last half hour of the show.  It was great fun singing along to every song and losing our inhibitions as we stood among our peers and literally danced the night away.

After years of enduring our children’s musical preferences in the house and car (beginning with pre-school sing-a-longs like Kidz-Bop, followed by the pre-teen “bubble gum pop” era, and more recently, the rap/hip-hop that my son prefers and the country tunes my daughter favors), it is pure joy to listen to our generation’s music wherever and whenever I like.  Long car rides with my husband are now blissful, as we sing along nonstop to our old favorites.  And, my Saturday 8:15 a.m. Spin class has become a haven, with the instructor, Karen, blasting classic rock tunes from our beloved bands like Leonard Skynard, The Rolling Stones, The Grateful Dead and The Who– musicians who get the blood flowing, even early on a Saturday morning. Yes, I do like that old time rock & roll… that kind of music still soothes my soul.

I’m looking out the window, watching sheets of icy rain fall, feeling soothed by the sounds of drops hitting the eaves.  I feel oddly at peace, and it is this sense of inner quiet that inspires me to write about my feelings.  I always knew this day would arrive– I just could never picture it or imagine how I would feel psychologically, emotionally and spiritually.  After devoting the past 20 years of my life to being the best mom I could be and raising my two children, both are now off to college, spreading their wings and forging their own unique journeys.  I guess this means I have done my job well.

My emotions are all over the place.  The feelings are bittersweet.  On one hand, I am thrilled for my children to explore the world and find their passions… yet, it is hard to fathom that the very core of my identity for the past two decades– motherhood– is no longer enough to sustain me.  I have had a part-time career as a marketing consultant since the kids were young, and I have put in hours of volunteer and community service work– much of which has been extremely gratifying and fulfilling– yet my main focus has been my children… guiding and shaping them, teaching them, leading by example, and instilling in them solid values and morals so they would be well equipped to go out into the world and make an impact.

Now I am learning to let go and allow these capable young adults, whom I have nurtured, taught and mentored, to follow their own paths.  This entails letting them make important decisions– even if I disagree with those decisions– allowing them to make mistakes and to hopefully learn and grow from those mistakes.  I am learning to talk less and listen more, so I can really hear what my kids are saying, without passing judgment.  Each day I am able to let go a little bit more.  And, interestingly, it seems that each day my kids grow up a little bit more.

The theme for this blog came from a most unexpected source.  When I first conceived of writing a blog, I googled “empty nest blogs” to help generate ideas.  One of the first links that popped up was from the American Association of Retired Persons (better known as “AARP.”)  I smiled to myself, partly amused and partly appalled.  After all, I hardly consider myself fitting the AARP profile of white haired Viagra customers. And, although I am in my 50’s, I certainly do not consider myself old by any stretch.  Nonetheless, my curiosity was piqued, so I clicked on the link to AARP’s web site.  The first words that caught my eye surprised and delighted me: LIFE RE-IMAGINED.  This phrase struck a chord deep within me.

The concept of an empty nest is very real and powerful indeed.  Yet, as children leave the nest and begin their lives away from home, this so-called nest remains an important touchstone for all of us.  However, using my new favorite buzzword from AARP, I prefer to think of it not as an “empty” nest, which connotes a void, but instead as a “re-imagined” nest, full of life and new possibilities.  For my kids, it is a place where they will always feel welcome and loved unconditionally, a place where they will always be comfortable just being themselves.  The re-imagined nest isn’t necessarily our physical house, but rather, our family unit, wherever we happen to live; it remains sacrosanct, continually overflowing with warmth and love.  For me and my husband, and our golden retriever, who remain “behind” as our kids venture forth, the concept of the nest is equally important, as it is the glue that binds us together as a family.  Our lives don’t stop because the kids have left, but rather, we continue on– just in a new and undefined way.  I realize it is now time for me to re-imagine life and explore new and exciting possibilities.  By writing this blog, I am taking the first step of my journey towards renovating and re-imagining my nest.

I hope you will join me as I step outside my comfort zone to redefine personal and professional goals, reexamine relationships from a new perspective, and revel in a newfound freedom to live in the moment.  It’s going to be an exhilarating ride.