Happy Early Mothers Day

Since I wrote a post on my Father yesterday I thought it'd be nice to include a piece I wrote for our May issue on Mothers Day.

Mothers day, like other holidays ending in “day,” may be written off as Hallmark holidays, corporate propaganda guilting impressionable sons, daughters, lovers, friends and family into buying overpriced cards, candy and flowers.

Terrible, right? Celebrating someone you love. Everyday is Mothers day, why do I need to go out of my way on this particular day?

Why? Because everyday is not Mothers Day. It’s not human nature to celebrate those people who matter most every moment of every day – and if we did – it might be sort of weird?

Flowers are nice, candy is delicious and a thoughtful card is always worth a smile. But if we got them all the time? Well it’d be routine. A card would be as cumbersome as a bill, flowers as pleasant as a receipt and candy – well candy everyday would make you fat.

Once we take the politics and conspiracy theories out of this one-day, we can get back to what it is. Just a day, one specific day, where we can celebrate Mothers, whether it be your own, your children or yourself. How you celebrate is up to you not Hallmark. On this day, more than any other, it is simply the thought – the recognition – that counts.

Anyone who has been a daughter or a Mother of one can attest to the fact that these relationships are inevitably and uniquely complicated.

I still remember one day realizing that this Mommy of mine, she was just a human, an imperfect mortal person just like me. She made mistakes, said things she regretted and sometimes she was even wrong. It was a peculiar childhood revelation. Parents are human? Like, they have to do time out too?

When I became a teenager “Mommy” became “Mom!” and the above realization became the fuel I’d add to every fight. Coming home past curfew became an opportunity to remind her that she smoked cigarettes.

When I got a ticket for speeding I simply pointed how she got one 2 weeks prior. Getting caught ditching school was my chance to remind her that she cursed a lot.

And then there is the moment where you realize that you’re not perfect either. And you mess up big time and the one person who is there to hold you, love you and tell you it’s all OK is the same person whose imperfections you’ve been so caught up with.

So maybe Mothers are just imperfect humans and while I can’t speak for everyone I can speak for my own: unconditionally loving, whole-heartedly accepting, forever forgiving and without question supportive. As flawed a human as I, but as a Mother, my Mother, she is flawless.

And so the story ends...

Disclaimer: This might get sappy... proceed with caution.

A week ago I found myself standing directly across the street from the first apartment I stayed at when I moved to New York.

2 and half years ago I stood on that side of the street and said a teary eyed goodbye to my mother who was leaving me to finally make my big city dreams my own reality. When I called for her car the operator promised five minutes in his broken English and as I watched her pull away I cried and ached, wishing for another five or ten minutes to say goodbye.

Last Tuesday I stood on the other side of the street saying another teary goodbye to someone else whom I was not ready to part ways with. As I pulled away from him in this town car I felt the same pang, painfully wishing there had just been five or ten more minutes.

I came to New York with big dreams loosely tangled up in ambition yet without a real concrete plan. I had graduated college a week earlier and set off to New York to do something different, be someone different, see something different. While I had no plan and no real idea of how things would happen, I knew that somehow I would be OK. I was and I am.

It didnt start out easy...

The city confused, exhausted, cursed and more or less beat me down. A kind of rehab where they rip you to shred before you can be built back up. And while I cant say I was ripped to shreds... I was tested. But no matter how hard it got, leaving was never an option. And so I stayed... and waited out the storm.

The clouds cleared and I found a city that loved, challenged, adopted and embraced me. While it continued to test me, those tests allowed me to grow into a person whom I was content with being. Finally, I fit perfectly in my own skin. If I was a real douche bag, I might even say, I found myself.

(you like how I said something totally cheesy, without really saying it? yeah I also learned how to be awesome and kinda sneaky there)

The hectic, frantic, smelly, freezing, sweltering, polluted and beautiful New York. Thank you.

Thank you for an incredible journey.

Thank you for the Brooklyn Bridge.

Thank you for Prospect Park and that 3.4 mile loop.

Thank you for Mister Softie Trucks in the summer.

Thank you for Bodegas with loud Spanish music.

Thank you for tiny apartments with horrible landlords, noisy neighbors, floods, crazy roommates whose idea of reconnecting involves small claims court -- these all at least made for good stories. So yes, thank you.

Thank you for express trains.

Thank you for platform musicians and train car performances.

Thank you for the New York Times.

Thank you for that train ride home over the bridge at night with the city lit up.

Thank you for the new friends and relationships with old ones.

Those of you who touched my life there, you know who you are. Thank you.

So, as my facebook status once said.

So long New York, and in the words of Dan Slotnik, its been real.