I went to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop

Never Done: I went to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop

Boy, did I want to stay in bed. But boy did I have to get up to get to work for the JCC's 10th anniversary open house. So I dragged myself up and out and to the Upper West Side where I served as the outdoor stage manager all morning until the early afternoon. It went really well, and was even pretty fun to work, but it became funner still (for me) when Karen and Andy showed up and we started hoofing it around town. We started out a few blocks away to Luke's for a lobster roll, and then into Central Park and all the way down to 59th Street, and then southwest to the High Line at 30th Street and 11th Avenue, and then down the High Line (god, I love the High Line) to 14th Street, and then east east east to the East Village, to 7th Street between 2nd and 1st, to the Big Gay Ice Cream Shop. You see, I gave Karen a Groupon to the BGIC truck well before they opened the shop, and she actually planned her trip, in part, with a trip to the BGIC truck in mind. So when we found out that the truck wasn't out this weekend because the shop was busy, and that the shop wasn't taking the Groupon, do you think we were daunted? Hell no. (You know we weren't, because I already told you we marathoned there from the Upper West Side for her first gay confection.) When we arrived, I told the incredibly friendly guys who were working there that my friends were in from Chicago, and that I'd given them a Groupon, and that the truck isn't out, and would hey consider honoring the Groupon. The guy at the register was on it. "How long are you in town?" "Until 6" I said, which was true. It was 5:15. He asked Karen for the Groupon. He wasted no time; just made it happen. At the same time, he let me know that they'd be accepting the Groupon at the store starting October 1. I liked how clear he was, and how completely he exhibiting Decisiveness: When you have made a decision, act without hesitation, and Patience: Do not aggravate a situation with wasted grief. Also, he exhibited great ice cream cones -- among us we had a Salty Pimp; vanilla with olive oil, sea salt, and fig sauce; and a new thing involving pretzels and chocolate whose name I can't remember. It was great. It tasted almost as good as the exact same thing tastes coming from the truck. The only thing missing was a Big Gay Bench to sit on (do you think if I make them one I'll get a choinkwich lifetime supply?) but we sat on the Butter Lane cupcake bench instead and thoroughly enjoyed the best soft serve in town. (What is in there? What makes it taste so good?) And then I walked with Karen and Andy back to their hotel, and then took two trains and a shuttle bus home, and then crashed my bones onto the couch and didn't move til the Emmy's were over. (And yes, I was thrilled that Kyle Chandler won for his role as Coach Taylor in Friday Night Lights.) Some days it is completely worth it to drag my bones out of bed. (But now do I have to do it again?)

I officiated a bar mitzve

Never Done: I officiated a bar mitzve

In 2005, I moved to Hoboken for one year that turned into four long years. There were very few bright spots for me in Hoboken; one was the Mile Square Theater, and the other was Josh's old friend Robin and her family. Josh and Robin have known each other for almost 50 years, from the Yiddish secular camp Boiberik. We got close to Robin and Cliff, and their son Jack over our years on the other side of the Hudson, and have stayed close since moving back to Brooklyn. So when they asked us if we would lay officiate Jack's bar mitzve, it didn't come out of the blue, but it was certainly the first time I've been asked. You see, Jack realized, over the course of time he has spent in Hebrew school, that he doesn't believe in God. But Judaism is important to him, and he still wanted a ritual entree into Jewish life. But for many months, he didn't have words for it, and he didn't have a connection to secular Judaism in a way that let him know there was a tradition of exactly this, that he was on a well-trodden path.

In conversations with me and Josh, we were able to give him this context, and it's because of that -- and particularly because Josh himself had a secular bar mitzve, in a restaurant, half a century ago. I talked with Jack about growing up as (and still being) an atheist Jew, and having a rich Jewish life, mostly connected to progressive politics, yiddishkeit, and music and theater. Josh reminded Jack that his own mother came from a rich secular Jewish background. Together, we connected him with a rabbi (Alissa Wise) who deeply respects secularism and helped him craft a ceremony -- and a speech -- that pushed him to identify his ethical and cultural responsibilities and influences. It was because of all this that they asked us to lead the ceremony.

It wasn't always easy. It wasn't always so obvious to people what I had to contribute compared to what Josh had to contribute, and yet I had been invited -- and wanted. I found myself having to practice the mide (middah) of decisiveness. Deciding to be confident. Deciding to know I was wanted. Deciding to speak up and make suggestions. Deciding to dig into my history to articulate to myself and others precisely what I had to offer. Deciding to let go of needing credit for my ideas. Deciding to take responsibility for making Jack's bar mitzve as meaningful as it could possibly be.

In the end I did a lot of behind the scenes work, and also took a front-of-the-room position. I started the ceremony off by welcoming everyone, and talking about how growing up as an atheist Jew who only knew Jews in my own family, I deduced that Jews don't believe in God. In went on to talk about my path to a Jewish secularism that is rooted deeply in community, and inviting Jack to take that same journey. The rest of my job was mostly, with Josh, to weave together the rest of the speakers -- to MC if you will -- until it came to the l'chaim at the end. I think this might be a lot of what it's like to be a rabbi. Lots of behind-the-scenes work, some stage time, lots of setting aside of one's ego, and a lot of pride in and appreciation for everyone else. All in a bar in Hoboken.

I ran my first (sold-out) show at the JCC

Never Done: I ran my first (sold-out) show at the JCC

When I got to work in the afternoon to start prepping for Galeet Dardashti's Monajat concert, many of our computer systems were down, so nobody could get into the program where we write down what is happening in what room, and what the set-up needs are, and the people at the box office could not access the ticket sales records, and I could not print.

But everyone who was supposed to be there was there and was doing an fantastic job of working around our lack of information. In fact I think in some ways it was a good thing to happen on my first event, because people worked extra-collaboratively, and with such a giant flashing arrow pointing at systems error,  nobody was pointing fingers at other humans.

Well, there was some finger-pointing. We had some people who came 45 minutes late (for a one-hour show) and were upset that we had re-sold their seats. That one was my call. We had a lobby full of people who wanted to get in, and we had held the door for 15 minutes, and I made that call that ticket holders who hadn't arrived by the time the show was supposed to start would forfeit their tickets (and get refunded.) (Note to self: make new policy. Print new policy on ticket confirmations.) I didn't know what the policy is normally, and I wanted to represent the community center in the spirit of community, and I wanted to respect the people who were there, and I wanted to respect the people who had pre-purchased tickets, and in the end I decided to practice the mide (middah) of Decisiveness: Once you make a decision, act without hesitation, and make my best call and stick with it with confidence.

All this was happening on the back end of the show, and meanwhile the auditorium was buzzing with excitement and with people seeking out the last available single seats, and finally it was time for me to make my first curtain speech to a JCC audience, and I welcomed them to the JCC, to the first show of our fall season, and to my first show at the JCC, and please turn off your cell phones, and please welcome Galeet Dardashti ... and the rest was in her (extremely capable) hands.

Except it wasn't, actually. I had received a last-minute request from the artist, and had to take care of a few things so they would be ready for the post-show reception, so I slipped in and out of the performance. This posed another ethical dilemma for me. The mide (middah) of Order: All actions and possessions should have a set place and time would normally guide me to sit in the auditorium and be a fully-present audience member. My own desire to see the show would guide me in the same direction. My professional desire to know and be able to articulate the work -- also the same. Once I was in a master acting class with the incomparable actress Marian Seldes, and she spent most of the class teaching us 1) how to take care of our skin (stay out of the sun, and in the theater) and 2) how to be good audience members (sit in rapt attention, giving the actors as much attention as they give you.) I have been in audiences with Ms. Seldes, and she does in fact live true to her word. As a presenter, I would like to model excellence in audiencing (can I make a gerund out of a noun that I am pretending is a verb?) but at the same time, I have an obligation to make the entire night run smoothly, and not just the concert.

And this is what I love most about the Mussar practice; it gives me the opportunity to rethink these small (and larger) decisions, to examine my conflicting ethical obligations, and to come up with new, fresh approaches based on my reflection. Maybe I'll be sitting next to you during my next show.

I did a brick (it's a triathlon thing)

Never Done: I did a brick

A brick is when you try practicing two sports, one right after the other. I missed Saturday morning biking practice because my neck hurt like crazy and I was just plumb tired, so I slept in -- all the way til 8:30 (woohoo!) Then I decided that was a good opportunity to try biking and then running on Sunday. I wasn't sure how it was going to go, but I knew that it would hinge on Decisiveness: One you make a decision, act without hesitation. It was the first time I was going to do a real bike training session on a real bike. [Thousands of blessings to Mich for lending me hers til the one I am borrowing from Kara (thousands of blessings to Kara for shipping her bike across the country.)] I made a promise to myself that I would ride at least two times around the park, and at most three. I didn't want to quit after one time up the hard hill, but I also didn't want to overdo it on my first time. Later I found out that the team did SIX loops around the park on Saturday, but I guess I have time to build up to that.

What is important to say? The first time up the big hill was hard. My breath was labored. I felt crummy. But I got through it, and kept going, and recovered quite quickly, and by the time I came to the start point and had to decide if I was going around a second time, it was easy to stick to my decision that I would do at least 2 loops. The second time around, I played with the gears more, and got to know how they worked more efficiently than the first time around. And when I came to the big hill, it was still hard, but my lungs worked a little less hard, and I got to the top feeling better than I did the first time. When I swung around the loop a third time (these are 5K loops, by the way, and they each took me 15 minutes) I was tempted to knock it off and switch to running, but I remembered the mide (middah) of Decisiveness, realized I was fine for another loop, and immediately went for it.

There was a point when I was actually pedaling along quickly and passing people and feeling smug about it, when out of the blue, a guy zipped past me -- on the same bike I usually ride -- the little Swift Folder with small wheels that I have been so slow on. Zipped past me, I tell you. Now, he might have had more gears on there than I do, but basically, he was nonetheless making a mockery of my weeks of complaints about riding the little bike. I became a little obsessed with him, and tried to catch him, but he was either so fast that he disappeared out of sight, or he got out of the park at Ocean Parkway. (I choose to believe the latter.) So OK, Decisiveness with a little Humility thrown in. I can deal with that.

Third time up the hill was easier still, and I was tempted to go for another loop, but again remembered my earlier decision not to push it, so as I came around to my starting point, I dashed home to stash the bike and start the run.

Oh, the wobbly legs! From the start, I felt like stopping. But I had told myself that if I could run one loop (5K) around the park, I would know that I am ready to do the Pancake Sprint triathlon on June 5. (It's called the Pancake because it's flat as a pancake, and they serve you pancakes afterwards.) But after about 10 minutes, my right calf and foot just cramped right up and hurt too much to run. It had nothing to do with riding first -- it's what I've been trying to get help with for weeks. I stopped to stretch, and then kept going, and within a minute it hurt too much to run again. I tried to run through it, but then I realized that decisiveness cuts both ways, and if I knew in my soul that I had to stop, I should just stop.

I stopped. I felt defeated. I tried not to feel defeated. I started to walk. I decided to look to see if the elderflowers are blooming so I can make elderflower pressé again (made it for the first time last year and it was amazing) when I ran into my Team in Training mentor, who told me, among other things, that the first time you do a bike-run brick, you are just supposed to run for 10 minutes. So look at that -- I inadvertently did my first brick exactly right. And the elderflowers are blooming.

I forgot to be decisive

Never Done: I let an entire week go by without realizing I was supposed to be practicing the mide (middah) of Decisiveness: When you have made a decision, act without hesitation

I know this is a little bit outside the practice of DOING something new every day, and it's more a recognition that I didn't do something I had set out to do, but I find that one of the things lacking in my Never Done practice is personal accountability for the things I don't do, because I'm always writing about all the things I do do. And to be honest, there are many things I should/could be doing that I am not, because of all the things I am.

In particular, training for the triathlon has been a game changer. It takes a good two hours a day, between the swimming, the running, the biking, the stretching, the showers, the getting of the bike, the laundry, the commute (to the pools) and more of the stretching. I love how much stronger I am getting, and I love that I am training with such diligence, but I do not love that it is now much harder to find time to do something new every day, to see friends, to apply for jobs, to be spontaneously unscheduled, and apparently, to remember that I was supposed to be working on decisiveness.

The thing I love about the way that Mussar frames decisiveness is that it doesn't kick your ass for having a hard time making a decision; it just kicks your ass for dragging your heels and implementing the decisions you worked hard to make. I find this to be profound, and think it honors the different kinds of decision making models -- recognizing that some decisions take a long time time, and some are made in a flash, but if not implemented, all of them lose their meaning.

So as we move on to this coming week's mide of Cleanliness: Let no stain or ugliness on our self/space, I will also practice decisiveness, and work toward the swift implementation of my hard-earned decisions.

Mama said there'll be days like like this

Never Done: Saw a new counselor
Never Done: Saw an apartment being rented by someone who sells Nazi memorabilia
Never Done: Bowled 100

Some days you wake up singing the blues and you go to sleep singing the blues. Other days it's more a Shirelle's song -- when you start the day emailing with a guy who sells pristine sheets of Nazi stamps, and then meet with a new therapist, and end up bowling with friends at Chelsea Piers. Mama said there'll be days like like this. "There'll be days like this," my mama said. (My mama was sarcastic, and so am I.)

Yesterday I wrote about the mide (middah) of Separation -- well, mostly I shared what Alissa Wise has written about separation -- and today I want to write more personally, and try to be open about my Never Done and the Mussar process, but without over-sharing. Inspired by my Mussar Va'ad's initial conversation about Separation: Respect in sexual and intimate relationships, I sought out a new therapist, and met with her for the first time. We all have our Achilles heels, and mine, for better or for worse, is in this realm. What happened (and this does feel quite vulnerable to write about) is that I noticed I have been having a hard time controlling my eating. I've had one eating disorder or another (overeating and undereating) for as long as I can remember -- although I've done a really good job of managing the behavior for probably 20 years, and I've felt blissfully free from its pulls for about five years. But like most addictions, you can manage the behavior and still have difficulties, pulls, and unresolved issues that will pop up when things get tough. Or maybe they pop up, like an old friend, to help you notice that things are tough. That's what happened for me. I noticed (through my Mussar journaling practice) that I was struggling, in a way I hadn't needed to for years, to eat in a healthy way. Once I noticed that I hadn't conquered this as thoroughly as I'd thought, I was able to notice that I've never actually gotten help for this from anyone who has special training and expertise in the field. Instead, I've done it with an enormous amount of personal grit, determination, and decisiveness. And speaking of Decisiveness: When you have made a decision, act without hesitation, as soon as I figured this out, I went to my health insurance provider list, found someone who specializes in eating disorders, sexual assault, and sexual identity, and called her. I don't plan to write about the counseling process, but after some careful consideration, I want to be open about my decision to tackle this behemoth, for the first time, with specialized help.

OK, breathe. And moving on ... I found an apartment listing on Craigslist, which I've been mostly avoiding, but this one seemed to have potential, because it was both a three-bedroom apartment and also a mixed-use storefront, all for a reasonable price. When I set up a time to go see it, I Googled the name and email address of the landlord as a safety precaution, because I knew I was going alone. First hit: he runs a store called Collect-a-thon, which sells (among many other things) Nazi memorabilia. You'd think if I was running a Google check as a safety precaution, that would make me pass on the apartment, but I am fascinated with people who are fascinated with Nazis, so I kept the appointment. Keeping the appointment meant emailing with the guy several times throughout the day, because other of my appointments canceled; he was extremely responsive on email, but he never gave me a phone number. When I showed up at the apartment at 4, after agreeing on the time less than an hour earlier, he wasn't there. The building was open, so I went in, and up the filthy stairs, and knocked on the door to the apartment. A nice guy opened, told me he knew Robert was supposed to be showing me the apartment, but that he wasn't around, and didn't know when he would be. But he offered to show me the place anyway. Now, I have been watching Veronica Mars (TV show about a teenage detective) lately before bedtime, and I often wonder -- for all the times she's been beaten up, sexually assaulted, and almost killed, why does she still go into empty buildings, and worse yet, un-empty buildings, with no fear. And yet there I was, like Veronica, completely comfortable going into this skanky apartment, without the landlord, with a guy I don't know anything about. The fact is, the guy wasn't skanky at all -- just the apartment was. And when I got inside, there were six other people in there: his kids, a young woman, a young guy playing video games, and an old man napping. It didn't take me long to realize this was not my new home, so as much as I wanted to meet the Nazi collector, I didn't stick around.

I later got a message from him that said he had been at the health food store when I was there, and got back 20 minutes later, despite the fact that we had an appointment. And I thought Nazi's were punctual. (Josh points out that Hitler was a vegetarian.)

From there it was a quick jaunt to Crown Heights to pick up this week's soup swap soup (German winter cabbage caraway soup, with dumplings) from Benjy, and off to go bowling at Chelsea Piers. I had given Josh a Groupon for bowling a couple months ago, and he invited Serena and Graciana bowling. Normally this wouldn't have made it into my Never Done blog, except that I won for the first time in my life, and I also bowled (exactly) 100 for the first time. I don't know what it was, but I was bowling some serious strikes and spares and 7s, 8s, and 9s. (Mixed in with some gutter balls, for old times sake. Tshuve.) I think I was in a pretty zen space about bowling. When it was working well, it felt very controlled and mechanical. I would take a deep breath, tighten my abs to protect my back, focus on the center of the lane, take three steps and ..........................................$@#$%^&*@#!!!

Which felt like a perfect ending to an intense day.

I saw past the blemish to the beauty

Never Done: Saw a staged reading of a new opera of Enemies, A Love Story, by Isaac Bashevis Singer, with a new libretto by Nahma Sandrow

This is the second time in as many months that I have written that the thing I had never done before was to see a world premiere of a work that Nahma either translated or wrote, which has a lot more to say about what Nahma is out there accomplishing than what I am, except that I think that supporting and learning from our colleagues (Humility: Seek wisdom from everyone) is a vital part of the creative process. Really. I once took a master class in acting from Marian Seldes in which she spent as much time (literally) teaching about how to be a good audience member as she taught how to be a good actor. I will probably never forget her modeling how to sit in the audience, leaning slightly forward, in rapt attention -- her point being that the job of the audience member is to give as much attention and energy to the actor as the actor is giving to the audience. Her class reminded me that my friend Barbara teaches first graders how to listen, and they practice sitting across from each other making encouraging sounds like, "mhmm" and "oh." (I found this out because when I still lived in Portland I used to go help her take her class apart at the end of the year, and I found a piece of butcher paper with an illustrated three-step tutorial on how to be a good listener.)

This being New York, and the theater community being small, I later found myself in audiences with Marian, where I saw that she does, in fact, sit perfectly still -- fidgetless -- and completely attentive, with an interested look on her face. Unlike Edward Albee, who sat behind me recently during a Public Theater production that I thought was well above average, and also both politically and emotionally ambitious, and also had one of the best raised poor characters I've ever seen on stage, and he alternately slept and complained through the first act, and then didn't come back for the second. I myself usually fall somewhat in between. I aspire to be like Seldes, but I sometimes fight back the sleep, and sometimes I succumb.

I think I was a good (which as I think about it, means that I was an ethical) audience member at Enemies. I wasn't as still as Marian suggests, because I was still fighting off a sore throat, and needed to sip tea, and once to unwrap a vitamin C throat lozenge. But I paid close attention, and I gave the actors my energy and attention. And here's the thing: it wasn't necessarily so easy to do, because even though I was super interested in the libretto and the plotting, and even though a couple of the singers were wonderful, the guy who played the main character swallowed his words, making it really difficult to understand, and the music was ... well the music was ... well the music was ... I hated the music. There, I said it. I hated the music. It made me want to act out. It made me want to whisper judgmental things to the people I was with. But I didn't. (Unless I am right now. Which I am a little worried that I might be.) Instead, I sat and paid attention to the parts I was far more interested in, which took at least five mides (middot) to accomplish: patience, equanimity, humility, decisiveness, silence, and calmness. And diligence too. In the end, I think everyone was the better for it, but I know I was.

I live with someone who does this extremely well -- he sees right past the blemish to the beauty, whereas my mind tends to get stuck at the blemish. (There are some downsides to this -- cleanliness and order are not his strong suits, but they are mine.) I've been trying to get better at seeing the past the blemish to the beauty for years, and have started to see some real progress recently. I'll take my experience at Enemies as a success, and will keep building from there.

The Morgenbesser Principle

Never Done: Understood (what I am calling) the Morgenbesser Principle
Also: Saw Arrested Development

Here's a true story. A Columbia University philosophy professor named Sidney Morgenbesser went into the corner coffee shop for his morning coffee and bagel. When he asked what kind of bagels they had that morning, the guy told him they had sesame and poppy. Sidney thought about it a while and then said, "I'll take a sesame." The guy went in the back to get his bagel, and came back with the news that they also had plain. "In that case," said Sidney, after a thoughtful pause, "I'll take the poppy."

I always thought this story was about Jewish neurosis, until Josh and I were eating bagels with my family, and he told that story, and before I knew it, we were talking about electoral politics. You see, I have always assumed (erroneously) that you can choose among many things (movies you want to see, photos of yourself, shirts you might want to wear) by comparing two, choosing the one you like better, setting aside the one you like less, and then comparing the one you like better to another one -- and so on and so on until you are left with one thing that you presumably like best. Not only have I assumed this, but I've practiced it, and it's brought me great comfort -- choice without anxiety. Until now. It turns out that Morgenbesser was sincerely choosing among the three bagel types. Had he been presented with poppy and plain at the beginning, he may well have chosen poppy. And Leigh pointed out that someone might like Democrat A over Republican B, but if Democrat C over Democrat A. I actually found it quite confusing, until I was on the airplane to Portland, with three DVDs from Netflix: The Maltese Falcon, Alien, and Inglorious Basterds.

I decided to choose which one to watch my old way first -- by randomly comparing two to see which one I prefer, taking the loser out of competition, and then comparing the remaining two. I chose Maltese Falcon and Alien -- and between the two, I wanted to watch Alien. Then I compared Alien and Inglorious Basterds, and between the two I still wanted to see Alien.

Then I tried it another way -- which was to compare Maltese Falcon and Inglorious Basterds -- and from that match-up I wanted to see Maltese Falcon, which had been the first movie eliminated the way I first did it. Just like Sidney and the poppy bagel! Now imagine I would choose among a dozen candidates, and I would throw out the first one based on this illogic. It would be much harder for me to see my way back to that candidate than it would be to see my way back to one of three. It turns out that there is no algorithm to help entire districts determine who is the most wanted candidate -- that's why some nations have systems of representative democracy -- like England's parliamentary system. I should be upfront here that I am not very fluent in civics -- and am mostly repeating what I Leigh, who is, said -- but I do finally understand that the way I have been making decisions for years is flawed. I don't so much worry that I've chosen the wrong headshot or appetizer, but more that in the future I'll agonize more over decisions. The mide (middah) Decisiveness: When you have made a decision, act without hesitation -- doesn't give much help with actually making the decision -- just putting it into action. I guess I'll have to develop new comparing and contrasting techniques. Meanwhile, I put on the Maltese Falcon, and got excited about seeing it, as the introduction scrolled by, and then ... the sound didn't work. So I put on Inglorious Basterds. Sometimes help comes in strange places. (Then I put in Inglorious, and watched until chapter three, when the Nazi is drinking milk in the French dairy farmer's house before the battery on the computer ran out. Not sure what that means, but maybe it's something about not having too much anxiety about the choices we make, because life can come along and intervene anyhow.

So I watched Arrested Development for the first time and felt so caught up with the early 2000s.

A whirlwind of terror and delight

Never Done: Story, Song, and Shimmy

I took Tabitha to the YMCA, where we took my first ever Baby and Me kind of class, Story, Song, and Shimmy, with a tumult of toddlers. Whenever I spend a couple hours with her, I remember that life for a little one is just so ... ongoing! She doesn't chill for an hour with the New York Times, and she doesn't fix her own lunch yet (although she can totally reach into her bag now and find the food she wants and make me understand that she wants it.) Usually when we hang out together, I'm the one coming up with ideas of things to engage her and help her develop language and fine motor skills. We only spend a couple hours together a week, so it's not like it's hard to think up fun things to do -- but I know that it's way more non-stop for her parents.

I took her to the class because I thought it would be fun for both of us, and educational for her, but what I didn't count on was that I would learn as much as she would. It seems so simple and potentially obvious, but the class is geared as much toward breaking the isolation of parenting (or nannying) solo as it is toward entertaining and engaging the children. You could see it happen: the adults in the room start to look out for children who aren't theirs, the kids start to tentatively interact with each other, and teacher keeps a steady stream of activities going that the kids can engage with at the same time, but at their own level.

Tabitha was on the younger end of the age spectrum, so she stuck pretty close to me the whole time. We sang I know a boy who had a dog and Bingo is his name-o and Itsy Bitsy Spider and Old McDonald and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (the American children's song canon hasn't changed much since I was Tabitha's age) -- all with hand movements to accompany the lyrics. She was totally into the songs -- not that she could do the hand movements without me moving her hands with her -- just transfixed. But when Chrissy the teacher pulled out the picture books and read them, Tabitha turned her interest to her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

And then the parachute came out. I think the experience of being under the multi-colored parachute while it billowed up and down must have been a lot like riding the roller coaster is for older kids: a whirlwind of terror and delight. She clung to me, and she smiled. She clung to me, and she gazed with wonder. She clung to me, and she laughed. All the other kids were under the parachute alone, but Tabitha was like a little marsupial, cleaved to safety, eyes wide open. I later found out that it was her first time playing under a parachute. I fully expect her to be skydiving by the time she is 16.

None of this seems terribly connected to my mide this week: decisiveness, although I have found it incredibly helpful to embrace the direction that once I make a decision, act without hesitation. It has kept me at the computer for marathon stretches, and has helped me take breaks. It's helped me set limits, ask for help, get exercise, make tough phone calls, and even, just now, before I wrote this paragraph, take a nap instead of drink caffeine (which I stopped drinking a year ago because of ways it badly affects my body) even though I am slammed with work.

It's also helped me write this blog every day. Most days I have way more to do than I can accomplish, and yet I think it is a combination of decisiveness and public accountability that has kept me here every day. Same with making a new menore every night. Speaking of which, here's another whirlwind of terror and delight:

The most beautiful one yet

Never Done: Fist bumped a guy at the gym
Never Done: Saw Rimma morning, afternoon, and night
Never Done: Youth Pride Chorus
Never Done: Jell-Omenoyre

I re-learned something valuable today about decisiveness. It increases productivity. I was in spin class, and I was hating it. It was my fourth class and my fourth teacher, and I was just not engaging or participating at the level that I had with the other teachers. The resistance was too hard from the start, and the intervals were too long, and I found myself backing off, and we had only been at it for 10 minutes. After another 5 minutes, I started to think about leaving. I kept on, half-heartedly pedaling, thinking about how much better it would be if I would just leave and do my own workout, when I realized that if I just made the decision and acted, that I would be in a good workout much sooner. So I leaned over and told Rimma I was leaving, and I think she said, "really?" and I jumped off my bike and went and ran 2 miles on the treadmill.

Around 1.5 miles, I started thinking about quitting. I was getting tired, maybe I had done enough, it had been 20 minutes (I started with a warm-up) and I could go lift weights .... and then I realized that the decisiveness cuts both ways. If I would just make the decision to run for my full 30 minutes, I could stop spending my time wondering if I was going to quit, and I could spend my time thinking about more interesting things. So I decided to just do the rest of the run (which turned out to be easy) and set about to think about Something Interesting. Here's how it went.

Me: What do I want to think about?
Me: What do I want to think about?
Me: What do I want to think about?
Me: Maybe I should sing.

(I had left my locker key in Rimma's pocket, and so I couldn't get my iPod to listen to music or podcasts.)

Me: What should I sing?
Me: Maybe I'll sing the Hallelujah Chorus.
Me: For the lord God Omnipotent reigneth. Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

And before I knew it the workout was over. I hadn't quit, or even thought about quitting since making the decision.

When I was leaving the gym, one of the guys who works there was coming in. The people who work at the Y are really wonderful, and I've enjoyed getting to know them. As this guy came in, two younger guys were leaving, and he fist bumped them both on their way out. Then he saw me, gave me a "what the hell" look, and fist bumped me too.

I loved that he crossed the age, gender, and race barrier and fist bumped me. I took at an acknowledgement of my decisiveness. (But really, I just like being one of the guys.)

In the afternoon, I went to one hour of Queer Memoir because it was in the LGBT Center, where Adoption/Parenting class is held. I saved Rimma a seat there (she had gotten me a ticket for spin that morning) and stayed long enough to hear a wonderful spoken memoir about the horrible parenting of young girl who would later become a trans man. I left, tears in my eyes, and walked two flights down, to learn how to be a better parent than that. Or not. From class, on to Youth Pride Chorus, where the waterworks started as soon as the first girl started to sing. I don't cry all that easily, but there are a few things that will always make me cry. One is children's marching bands. Another, apparently, is teenage LGBT choirs. In fact, they made me want to cry so much that I ended up with a headache from pushing the tears back in. The thing that is so moving about them was that they do exhibit so much pride. Did they all have great voices? No. But they sing with incredible pride and commitment. (And some of them have great voices.) I want every single LGBTQ teenager in the world to have access to that sense of comfort with self, and place in community.

So by now it's 7 PM, in the West Village, and I have been invited to three khanike parties and a khanike concert. It was hard to choose which one to go to, but when I realized that Rimma would be at one of them, and I could then see her morning, afternoon, and night, which I have never done, I decided to go to Dara B's party. Which turned out to be super fun. So fun, in fact, that instead of just staying for 1/2 hour and getting some sleep, I was there til midnight, talking, among other things, about films, doctors' complicity in torture, heartbreak, a feminist approach to online dating, tattoos, and decisiveness. A really good crowd of people. And I got an invitation to do karaoke next weekend, which I have never done. (I'm sorry, Kathleen! If for some reason I don't go, I'll save it for you!)

When I got home, I had a Facebook message asking if I had a new menoyre for the fourth night. And in fact, I had prepped a bowl of red cherry Jell-O in a clear glass bowl, in hopes that I could stick candles in it, and make a Jell-Omenoyre. Success! It came out beautifully -- the blue candles glimmer through the red Jell-O and the glass bowl, and the flames reflect off the surface. It might be the most beautiful one yet:

When you have made a decision, act without hesitating

Never Done: Finished the first round of adoption paperwork
Never Done: Bananamenore
Tshuve: Brooklyn Soup Swap

It makes sense, but I find it harder to do something I've never done on work days than on the weekend. This coming weekend, for example, I have things lined up for both days (seeing the Youth Pride Chorus, and hosting a craft gathering at my apartment.) Technically, I do things every work day that I've never done, but I don't think they're always worthy of counting, or of writing about, so by the end of the day I often find myself torn between trying to justify writing about something mundane and getting the inspiration (and time) to do something worthy of the Never Done project.

Those are the days with the long lists.

Mich made gorgeous red and white lentil soup this week for Brooklyn Soup Swap. Full of vegetables -- a little rice, cumin, turmeric, lime. I came home and ate it for dinner, which is, technically, something I have never done. When we were hanging out at Mich's apartment, we realized we need to blog and brand the Soup Swap, along with the team T-shirts that we decided to make on the inaugural night. So we have some soup support projects to do.

As Josh and I were sitting down for dinner, I wanted to light a menore, and wanted it to be one I've never made before. I saw the bunch of bananas on the counter, and was inspired. It was the third night, and it was a banana bunch of four -- perfect for the three nights and the shamesh -- the attendant candle that lights the others. I loved the solidity and 3D depth of this menore -- the candles spread out in a semi-circle, but not in a straight line. But when they burned down, they didn't transform the banana bunch as wonderfully as the candles on a cheese menore do -- when they melt the top of the cheese and create oil -- the miracle of khanike! What I love about making these is the moment when I see new possibility in an object that I live with every day. (But I have to admit. I have an idea for a kitshy one made out of something I definitely do not have around the house.)

After dinner, Josh and I finished our first round of adoption paperwork -- the Application to Adopt and the FBI Criminal Background check, including 28 years' worth of street addresses. Mine get a little sketchy in the late 80s -- with approximate dates and locations. My life itself wasn't even sketchy any more in those days; I was out of college, and working in and around Waterville, Maine -- as a Family Planning counselor, the co-Director of a Rape Crisis center, at Railroad Square Cinema, and also at Railroad Square Cafe. (Remember the days when we got out of college and plenty of work?) But if you think I can remember my street addresses from back then....

This feels like or first milestone in the adoption process. We are going to submit this paperwork at MAPP class this weekend, and then we'll officially, bureaucratically be on our way. After they accept the paperwork we can ask people to write us references, and they can fingerprint us (woohoo!) and I think we can start meeting children.

This week's mide is decisiveness: when you have made a decision, act without hesitating. Thinking about the adoption process though the lens of decisiveness makes me realize that the main thing between not adopting a child and adopting a child is the decision to go ahead with it. It's been something I've thought about since I was a little girl, when my friend Claire and her three adopted siblings lived across the street from me. It's not, of course, that I would have adopted anyone at that age, but that I understood it was a real option for family-building. But I've been actively considering it for the past -- what? -- five years. And really, the difference between thinking about it and doing it was a decision to start the process -- and then, of course, ongoing decisions to continue the process. Handing in the paperwork today feels a little bit like jumping off an embankment into a cool beautiful lake: I know it will be amazing once I get in, but it's still scary and transgressive to take the leap.