Inside Out

There was a time, not that long ago, when my outside---those external things that the world recognized me for---my marriage, my residence, and my job, looked pretty impressive indeed. Successful, handsome, entrepreneurial husband. An award-winning, historically-restored homestead with a center chimney for Santa to slide down every December. A circular drive with a new luxury vehicle parked in it every year. Exotic vacations to faraway lands. Boxes of designer clothing that would arrive weekly on the backs of rumbling UPS trucks. Shoes. Lots and lots of shoes. (Ironic, considering that I've been a barefoot/sandal kinda girl all along.) A freeform, in-ground pool. Professionally landscaped and manicured acres. A potting shed with a wood stove hook-up. A second home in the mountains. Horses, barns, pastures, and a riding ring to rival any Olympic arena. All the trappings of an upper middle class, successful married life. To any outsider looking in on the charmed world I actively built and inhabited, it looked like a modern-day fairy tale. But like the alcohol I used daily to self-medicate, self will had run riot, and in reality, the stuff just created a bigger wall between me and God. My inside suffered mightily. My family imploded. My marriage failed. No amount of home improvement, world travel, and fancy parties were ever going to fill that God-shaped hole deep within my heart. 

For me, recovery didn't come because of the things I lost. Recovery came because I could no longer deny the fact that my inside and my outside worlds simply did not match. Today, I bring my imperfect, spiritually evolving and authentic self to every part of my life. What you see is what you get. That smile on my face? The way I am willing to look you in the eye? My eagerness to engage with you, grab a coffee, listen deeply, share heart-to-heart?  Yup. It's the same honesty and openness I extend to all--trusted friends, family members, clients, and here on the page. If you are willing to bring your authentic self to the table, I promise to bring mine. And if you can't, or won't, don't be surprised if I see through your outside to the inside waiting to be released and recognized. 

The Urbex Bug

I'm not sure when the urbex bug bit me, but I do know that I am absolutely obsessed with discovering and exploring all things abandoned. If you're not familiar with the term urbex, it's shorthand for urban exploration. According to Wikipedia: 

"Urban exploration is the exploration of manmade structures, usually abandoned ruins or hidden components of the manmade environment. Photography and historical interest/documentation are heavily featured in the hobby and it sometimes involves trespassing onto private property." 

Nothing in my childhood, college or childrearing years---no distant-long-lost-memories---provide any clues as to why I am so deeply moved by these explorations. As a young girl growing up in Bristol, Connecticut, I wasn't enamored by my weekly history class, nor did any field trips hold my interest. 

A few years ago, I happened upon a Facebook post by a regional pair of photographers who were offering a photography workshop at the vintage Victory Theater in Holyoke, Massachusetts. That Saturday morning outing became the first of many more explorations. Since that time, I have journeyed with them to old abandoned mill buildings, schools, a state hospital, nightclub, boys' detention center and one homestead (contents still in place). And it's not just abandoned buildings that steal my heart; I love photographing vintage automobiles like the ones I discovered at Old Car City USA in White, Georgia in 2015 on my cross country book tour. Old Car City USA just happens to be the world's largest old car junkyard on 34 acres with more than 4,000 old cars. (Special thanks to fellow photographers and explorers, Hazel and Dave Meredith, who tipped me off.)

I go out, not just to explore, but to document my discoveries digitally. And while not the norm, I confess, I have on a few occasions trespassed onto private property (state property in the case of the Norwich Hospital in Connecticut). But generally, my outings are with other urban explorers and photographers, and while not all locations are urban, we are there legally, with the permission of the owners, and in the age of a worldwide pandemic---Covid-compliant. 

As a writer, as an avid reader, perhaps my fascination lies in the stories abandoned properties and relics hint at. After all, every picture tells a story.  

Going Out Onto the Limb

 

Going Out Onto the Limb

There seems to be much talk these days of courage, specifically the kind of courage that it takes for me, a 66-year-old woman from New England, to embark on solo day, weekend and longer trips around this great country of ours, taking pictures, meeting new people, designing and embracing my single-by-choice life. I wish I had a coin for every time I hear the incredulous query, "You're going alone?" What does courage mean to me, and how do I manage courage, because certainly the flip side of courage, for me, is fear. How do I practice fearlessness in the world?

For a young girl growing up in Bristol, Connecticut in the 1960s, fear commanded my life. I had great difficulty even going into the market. This fear of walking into places followed me for some time into womanhood. (The early manifestations of agoraphobia, perhaps?) Today, I can walk into rooms full of strangers, buildings, new communities, and smile, introduce myself with confidence, and extend a hand. Is that courage?

Traveling up and down interstate 95, with speeds of 75 miles per hour, with tractor trailers all around me, and having to pass. Is that courage?

Signing into a virtual meeting of business people from around the globe who don't look, or talk, like me. Is that courage?

Embarking on a month-long trek cross-country with nothing but a map, a camera, a few changes of clothing. Is that courage?

The answer to all of those questions is yes. And the only way I learned to be courageous was to practice fearlessness in all aspects of my life daily. When I learned to lead with love, courage grew exponentially.

Wherever you are today, go out on a limb, onto the limb that is your life. You don't need to travel across the country to practice fearlessness. Practice it right where you are. Do one thing today that scares you, and then do it again tomorrow.

When you lead with love, fear vanishes.

Reflections on a Legacy of Love

My mom, Rose Mossa, turned 91 years old this past November. I turned 61 in December. We were born 30 years apart. Sometimes I forget how old I am, but I always remember her birthdate, and I just subtract 30 years to remember mine. I've been lucky to have a mother in my life all these years. Some of you may have already lost your moms. Rosie is a tough cookie. She's had an adversarial relationship with her life. She's known great joy, too. She's watched her two children bring children into the world. She's attended two grandchildren's weddings, and she's been in the joyful company of her first great grandchild, aptly named Grace. She's buried her husband, her one-and-only, her soulmate, her greatest heartache.

My mom may make a full and solid recovery from a fall in her home a few days ago. She may not. I'm not delusional. She's in ICU as I pen this. Providing she leaves this hospital in a day or two, she will spend weeks in a rehab facility learning to walk with the rod and pin in her left leg. She may return to her humble home here in Connecticut. She may not. I looked around her home last night and I recognized objects that, while meaningful to her, will hold no sway over me or the rest of her family. A window ledge lined with milk glass. Soaps, wall hangings, souvenirs, from many moons ago when I was lost in my own fantasy world. A bowl of beach glass. Dried flowers tied with faded ribbons. Photographs of my father that must have sustained her, preserved his memory since his passing in 2004, Objects that have followed her throughout her married life, childrearing, and widowhood. They say we see our lives pass before our eyes when we depart this world. I wonder if it's the same experience for the ones left behind.

Life is short. You hear it often. Occupy that idea fully, folks. Let the knowledge that your time on Earth is limited permeate your consciousness. Let it awaken, not frighten, you. Let it guide you, move you to pick up the phone, pen, brush, lens, whatever makes your heart sing. Please, do it today. Don't wait for tomorrow.

Smile. Rejoice. Love. Live your life with all the fervor, zest, and joy you have. Do it for your mother, for yourself, for the rest of us. Make sure your legacy is one of love.

Postscript: My dear mother passed away three short days after I wrote this blogpost, on Wednesday, January 6, 2016. I miss her terribly. 

It's Your Life

 It's Your Life

In 2014, it occurred to me, in a stunning and humbling moment of clarity, that I was waiting for someone else to show up with the key to my life.

As a single woman, I was seeking a partner with a big life. In my mind, big life was not necessarily synonymous with big money, big house, or big car. Big life meant that I wanted a partner whose life was filled with passion, purpose, meaning, and depth. I wanted to be transformed, and carried from my own so-so life, into someone else's purpose-driven life. What the Universe provided me with, however, was an opportunity to experience, and utilize, my own sense of lack as a vehicle for transformation. In short, so long as I sought, outside of myself, that for which I desired, I would continue to attract that missing piece in others. And while I never thought of myself as a woman seeking rescue, that moment of clarity was a game changer. I discovered that in order to find people who led deeply passionate and purposeful lives, I had to become a vibrational match! 

The Universe wasted no time delivering direction. Almost instantly, I was given an opportunity to attend a class at the Rhode Island School of Design, aptly called, "Become the Art Director of Your Own Life." From the first class, I began a process that continues to this day, of creating my own big, rich, passionate, purposeful, meaningful life. And lo and behold, now that I have taken responsibility for that creation, now that I am an energetic match to all that I seek, I no longer have to look outside of myself for the key. 

Brazen Little Hussy (Not)

Brazen Little Hussy (Not)

My oldest daughter, Katie, texted me Monday morning to say my soon-to-be-six-year-old granddaughter, Grace Amelia, had asked for makeup. Having come of age in the 50s and 60s when the messaging was clear and emphatic, "Good girls don't wear makeup," my response would have been a soul-crushing, "Hell, no!" or "Over my dead body!" My prudish Italian mother never wore makeup, nor did she give me lessons on the proper and appropriate application of foundation, rouge, eyeshadow, or lipstick. Consequently, I grew up a pretty plain Jane, and was clueless when my own daughters came of age. Therefore, the whole idea of makeup as something innocent, lovely and welcome is complicated in my mind. Especially when, in the language of my youth, makeup, bleached blonde hair and short skirts earned you the title,"brazen little hussy." 

With those old tapes playing in my head, I was surprised to learn that my daughter cheerfully offered my already beautiful granddaughter a hint of blush, eyeshadow, and lipgloss. I admire my daughter for the balance she brings to parenting and the raising of her three awesome humans. Of course she found sensible solid ground to satisfy Grace's curiosity, without crushing her spirit. 

Only recently, at sixty-six, have I begun dabbling, playing around and experimenting with makeup and color palettes. For Christmas last year, Lindsey, my middle, gave me a gift certificate to Sephora, and she graciously accompanied me the day I decided to redeem it. So now, if you catch me on a Zoom call, or a live Facebook video, you're apt to see me sporting a hint of tinted moisturizer, a brush of blush, glitter eyeshadow and red lipstick. All of which just goes to show, we're never too old to record over the old tapes. 

 

No Regrets

(Rose Mossa and baby Grace)

No Regrets

 "talkin' 'bout sweet time." ~Tim McGraw, Live Like You Were Dying

 

I spent last weekend at a virtual 3-day business event. On Friday afternoon, our host invited us to take stock of our last decade, to rewind the reel 10 years to 2011, to journal about our wins, our struggles, to capture our lives in the rearview mirror, as we prepared to vision for our next 10 years. At 66 years old, it's a strange and surreal exercise to imagine the next 10 years, knowing that sweet time is indeed sweeping me towards that final act. 

Two thousand eleven into early 2021 was a BIG decade for this solopreneur and mother of three. I embraced a life of sobriety. I spread my wings as a newly divorced woman. My oldest daughter graduated early from UConn, while her younger siblings attended private school in Providence. I graduated from massage school in Worcester and began my private practice. My creative life began to evolve once I moved into a Soho-style condominium in the heart of downtown East Greenwich. In 2014, my 60-year-old gypsy soul caught fire, and I embarked on an epic, solo, 30-day cross country trip. Upon returning, I found a publisher for my third book, Linger Longer: Lessons from a Contemplative Life, and in 2015, hit the open road again for a whirlwind, 60-day cross country book tour. Once an agoraphobic child, scared of my own shadow, I returned with a fearless spirit and fierce determination to live my no-strings-attached-single-by-choice-debt-free-life with vigor, passion, and purpose. 

On top of all these musings, my 29-year-old middle, my daughter Lindsey, got engaged on Sunday. Her older sister, Katie, who is already a fabulous mother to three beautiful humans, chided, "Kids, kids! My babies need cousins." I was 33, 37 and 38 when I birthed my children--a late bloomer by most accounts. My mom was 30 when she had me. When she died in 2016 at 92 years old, she'd had the pleasure of watching me and my younger brother grow up, marry, and raise children of our own. Blessedly, she got to meet and hold her first great grandchild. 

With time on my mind lately, I began to wonder. How many more miracles and priceless moments await me? Will I see my grandchildren marry, have and raise children of their own? Will the baby of the family, my only son, marry and discover the joys of fatherhood? Will I achieve my dream of owning a private retreat center for all who wish to pursue their creative visions? I want to look back in 2031 and know that I lived and loved this decade to the fullest with no fear, no regrets. Full steam ahead, baby!