One Day at a Time: Groundhog Day: Break the Cycle

Happy Groundhog Day!

February 2. The day made legendary by a Bill Murray movie, referenced often to indicate the repetitiveness of things that frustrate us in our lives. Cycles that we can't control or change.

A year ago, my sons (budding young thespians) became obsessed with the musical Newsies, and "Seize the Day" played over and over at full volume in my new and curtain-less (ie, echoey) house. Max, at three years old, mastered the dance moves on pieces of paper to mimic his favorite characters from the show.

Seize the day.

A phrase that began to nag at me.

At school, I jump off furniture, shouting at seventh graders to find their strengths and passions and follow them. Why would we be given talents and passion, I urged, if we are not meant to use them for some way to better the world?

And yet, I wasn't doing that myself. I was letting myself stay in a cycle that made me unhappy. Groundhog Day didn't work out for Bill Murray until he broke the cycle.

So that's exactly what I did.

One night last year during a particularly high-anxiety time for me, I lay awake. It was between two and four am, something that had become another regular (and unpleasant) pattern. My eyes were wide as my mind played the causes for my anxiety over and over again (typical of anxiety). And then, something happened.

I felt the pressure of strong, familiar arms pressing me into a huge hug. Just as when I was a little girl, a teenager, a bride, a new mom...I was instantly comforted.

Grandma.

"You can't be a writer unless you actually write, Lovey."

"I don't know how you do it with these crazy boys! You're a saint!"

I have to laugh at that one. We were in Florida and my boys, aged 3 and 6 at the time, kept knocking over our heavy suitcases while we waited for our ride to the airport. They'd run by in a whirlwind and the suitcases would crash down. Boom! And Grandma would dutifully stand them back up, growing more irritated each time.

"It's OK, Grandma, I got it," I kept saying. By the fifteenth or twentieth time, she threw her hands up. "You're going straight to heaven!" she'd proclaimed.

She was right about so many things. I don't know whether being a boy mom earns me a place in heaven, but I do know that she taught me that being there for my kids when they need me most is a priority at all costs.

And that your life won't be what you want unless you make it that way.

Just like I taught my seventh graders.

Just like I'm doing now.

I don't have it all figured out, but last October, for my thirty-eighth birthday, I invited my closest friends and family members to my house for a party. I made them participate in lip sync battles and dress up and dance around in my house. I stood on a ladder--in my wedding gown--and made a toast. To them. For being integral pieces of my life, of who I am, and of who I want to be.

The theme of the party was "Your life is an occasion. Rise to it." (Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium)

Every day my grandparents were together, they woke early in the morning. They ate healthy breakfasts and read the newspaper. They did the crossword together. And then they'd plan out their day. For them, every day was an opportunity. Grandma would say, "What are we gonna do today, San?" and he'd start listing. And worked into everything would be a workout at the gym, a good long run down Route 5 or at the Botanical Gardens. A visit with family. Connecting with friends. Dinner with great wine.

They made every day an occasion, and because of of everything they taught me, I am, too.

Now is the time to seize the day.

I took a leave of absence from work. My family needed me.

And not just my kids. I planned a trip to Italy for our whole family.

and you made sure we knew you were with us...

but we already knew...

I fight fiercely for family. I won't let them out of my life. To the point where I give them exactly what they need for birthdays and special occasions. A picture of me.