Do you ever feel invisible? That whatever you do, you’re not being heard or you’re being left behind? That nobody cares anymore and you feel like giving up? Seems very juvenile to have these feelings, but I am having all of these feelings this week. I know it’s all cycles and everything. Some unexpected concerns have cropped up. Feels like new territory. I’m just waiting for it to pass.

I think one of the great pastimes of being a New Yorker is debating on whether or not to stay in the city or move. You can pretty much overhear or give your 2 cents on this conversation anywhere you are – at a dinner party, a playdate, the playground, online. I think the answer is clear cut for people who make the decision early on that they don’t want to raise their kids in this city, but for the rest of us, the debate can be endless. Usually the argument for moving out is more space, better schools, not having to navigate the ridiculous NYC school system, cheaper housing stock, the desire for a backyard, a quieter life, or not putting up with some of the more tiresome crap of city living.

The pros are generally what you’d expect, but the cons are little more slippery and subjective: less diversity, less culture, possible feelings of isolation, starting over, a big lifestyle change, no takeout options (we rarely takeout, but seriously, this is a huge loss for some people). Even if you were to make the decision to move, the question of WHERE is a big enough deterrent that might make you stay put for years.

But for us? There’s never really been a debate. We’re staying (unless we win the lottery. Then we’d be bi-coastal in Seattle, the only other US city that truly has my heart, with a vacation house in Hawaii). I’ve never been lured by the suburbs and while I sometimes fantasize about small town living (something like what you’d see on the Gilmore Girls), I’m not confident that I’d be very happy living somewhere so quiet. I’m also one of the few people I know who doesn’t pine for a house and yard (is that weird?). It’s not because I grew up in this city. I did, in fact, grow up in the latter part of my childhood in a house with a yard in a relatively suburban-like setting in Queens (you will see later this week!) and I’ve lived in plenty of houses during my time in the Northwest. It’s just that I think I prefer the lower maintenance and “security”, false or not, of living in a higher floor apartment. Aside from wanting maybe another room or a bigger closet, I don’t crave more space. I’d like to think that we have all the space that we need, and the coziness of a one floor layout, apartment living is just fine for us. Besides, the thought of having that much more house to clean makes my head spin.
 
Just out of curiosity, however, I did punch in some numbers one day to see how a life in the NYC suburbs would stack up against our life in the city, and surprisingly it didn’t come out cheaper because of property taxes. We’d get more room for sure, and a driveway to park our car (if you’re not familiar with the rather ridiculous urban ritual of alternate side of the street parking for street cleaning, then you might not understand how huge a perk a driveway is), but that’s about it. For whatever reason, we lucked out with the universe and made some right decisions in the mid 2000s when we bought our apartment with a long term tax abatement in a good public school district. There is now an awesome park and playground right across the street that has been fully renovated since we first moved in, and we have a network of close-knit neighbors who have each other’s back. I realize that all these things are huge and have made our decision to stay much easier. It may not even sound fair to those who are still on the fence and struggling with their decisions as sometimes luck and timing is everything in NY, but the reasons for staying is more than all this stuff. It’s recognizing that I need the energy of the city to motivate me. That the diversity here is important to our family. It’s a commitment to raising our kids in the city and making it work, realizing that there will be some sacrifices, but knowing that we are giving them certain experiences that they may not get anywhere else. Plus, I hate to drive.
 
I sometimes bristle at comments from people who say (to my face, even) that they would never raise their kids in the city. As if the rest of us who are, are torturing our kids and neglecting their needs just so that we can indulge in some fantasy idea of city living. But in the end, it’s whatever you’re comfortable with. City, suburb, small town, country…we make the choice to live where we live. I don’t buy into the notion that our kids are missing out on somebody’s picture of an ideal childhood just because they aren’t digging in dirt and making mud pies in the backyard. They’re making their own memories playing in the sidewalk sprinklers with our neighbors, going on field trips to museums and making friends at any of the half dozen playgrounds in the neighborhood. But most of all, they’re just being kids, like any other kids living anywhere else in this country.

I’m finding myself with a rare week where the timing is such that I have nothing on my agenda yet (update: hahaaa. free week derailed by work!). This kind of no work leisure time is much different than the just-finished-my-big-project-now-what panic attack because I’m just in a waiting pattern for client feedback, so there is a lot more work on the horizon. Which is to say that this kind of leisure time is the best kind of free time because you’re spared the self inflicted anxiety of having to worry about the next gig. So I slept about 11 hours last night because I’m now sick (figures). This week is supposed to be a lot cooler and rainier than it’s been in awhile and that is good because we need the rain and I can cocoon myself inside without any guilt.

I’m looking forward to a week of crossing things off my list, taking care of business stuff and planning things before the year gets away from us. I was thinking today while resting in bed (I was actually bored) that we really do need to live a little more. Being so responsible and so careful with our money really is so boring all the time. Instead of automatically thinking, no we can’t afford that, I’d like to think instead, how can we make that work?

It used to be that I would hang out in Williamsburg, Brooklyn a lot 12, 14 years ago when it was easy to hop on the L train from my East Village apartment. It was 2 trains stops and 10 minutes away. Of course, the neighborhood was a lot different then and the undeveloped waterfront which just consisted of dirt, gravel, driftwood and random concrete blocks back then was probably my favorite NYC spot.

It takes a bit more effort, more train transfers and more time to get to Williamsburg these days since we moved to our current neighborhood 12 years ago so sadly, I’ve only been to that neighborhood a handful of times. It’s crazy how crowded it is, how much more stuff there is, how many shiny new buildings there are. I had to chuckle when I saw Andrew McCarthy’s tweet (you know, Blaine from Pretty in Pink for those whose memory I have to jog) on my twitter timeline Sunday when he marveled at how “jumping the joint was” as he surmised that he was probably the last person to know this. Williamsburg has been this way for a while now. Incidentally, we were in Williamsburg on Sunday too. Mark is in this neighborhood a lot more often than I am, making deliveries to stores and being a vendor at the food centric Brooklyn Flea on some Saturdays, but we went to the Sunday Flea as shoppers, not vendors. It was crowded, as the Brooklyn Flea usually is on a nice day. The waterfront is different now, but it’s still nice to sit on a bench at look at Manhattan and watch the ferries come in.
 
And don’t forget that we always post our Flea dates on the left column under “Market Dates”. Mark’s at the Flea (our 5th season!) 3 Saturdays a month, splitting time between Smorgasburg and the original Fort Greene Flea. See you there.

Despite all the mild angst surrounding this birthday from a few posts back, I had a really good day. I had a good design review with a client in the morning and decided to push work aside for the rest of the day. The weather was perfect. I had a long 2 hour lunch sitting outside at a restaurant with my dear friends Nichole and Anna (a woman asked to be moved because apparently we were being too loud. Really?) and a really great sushi dinner with Mark and the girls. I walked around the city a bit by myself (ok, I actually left the house without keys and was locked out, but the weather was too good to head home anyway). Phone calls from mom and dad and an old friend that sort of made me feel like a kid again, flowers from the family and kind birthday wishes from all over Facebook and Twitter. Thank you for a truly great day! I love my friends and my family!

And look…cake! Will you come and help me eat the rest?

The cherry blossoms are at near peak. We love standing under the big cherry trees in the neighborhood surrounded by pink fluffiness. The flowers are outrageous.

86 degrees today. Also kind of outrageous. I don’t even know with this weather. But at least the trees are catching up and starting to bloom and green because it was so weird to have such warm weather with the starkness of bare winter branches. Just didn’t match up.
 
And look, happy people all around enjoying the sunshine and spring (faux summer). Sometimes the beauty of our neighborhood catches me off guard. I do often just roll my eyes in amusement whenever the neighborhood gets parodied or ridiculed, mostly because of the left wing liberal shenanigans of some, or you know, this (a lot of it is deserved – hey, I can laugh at this. I mean it’s not really funny, but it’s sort of funny. People who actually know us…god, do we come across this way? Punch me if we do), but then I think, oh, they’re just jealous they don’t live here. Yeah, that must be it (haha).

It’s spring break. Which means that we weren’t prepared for childcare for the week while the kids are home, of course. We always figure we can wing it and then when things start unexpectedly snowballing even though it looked like a relatively manageable week in terms of work, we start tearing our hairs out. Nothing new. I’m sure all parents relate.

The other thing that is boggling me is that there are only 2 and a half months left before school’s out for summer. I mean, we’re talking summer vacation. How is this happening already?
 
I’m starting to think about plants. Not for outdoors yet, but for inside. Maybe start a little collection of succulents on the windowsill. We couldn’t have many plants in the house when our cat was alive because he would eat them all, but now that we are petless, I’m starting to collect a few houseplants. It’s those little things that still remind us that he’s no longer with us.

I’m going to be 42 in a week, you know. 42 (!!) Forty two. Forty + twooooooo. Basically your average middle aged mom.

 
And I laugh even when I write that because various friends and I have been debating on what middle aged actually is. What is that? 50? 45? 40? Are WE middle aged? What? But as a joke I’ve started calling myself “Middle Aged Mom” but more with this image of a super hero called Middle Aged Mom in mind, a character that is not really me. The joke, obviously, is that I may very well be a middle aged mom right now.
 
Turning 40 wasn’t a big deal. Every year after that has been a little bit harder. I can’t quite figure out exactly why, though I suppose some chronic health issues have something to do with it. Suddenly you just don’t feel as physically invincible anymore. Seems like everything that never made a difference before, counts. Stuff that you never cared about because you were young, matters. Sometimes I just can’t believe I’m already here, the 40s. It’s true about youth…all that stuff about feeling like you can conquer the world, mostly because you were cocky enough to believe it because you didn’t really think about the future and the consequences of your actions, and maybe you weren’t jaded about life just yet. At least I wasn’t. You just lived for the moment, whatever moment you found yourself in and nothing else mattered. Not a career, not saving up for retirement, not wondering if you’ll ever afford to remodel your kitchen one day. Nothing except what you were going to do that night with your friends or where you were going to sleep if you were traveling around the country in your car. I was thinking how glad I was to have had a few “irresponsible” years in my late teens and early 20s because right now, at age almost 42, so much of life is about being responsible.
 

So how do you know if you’re going through a mid life crises? I don’t think it’s entirely about running to get tattoos and flashy cars. It might be more subtle than that for most people. I’ve been getting super nostalgic which for me is nothing new, but thinking a lot about the past lately and watching tons of old and new concert videos on Youtube of bands and heroes from my youth who are still around and touring like The Cure, PJ Harvey, the Beastie Boys and especially watching the Pearl Jam 20 movie and thinking, wow…look…they’re all getting old now (except Chris Cornell, who pretty much looks the same), but then quickly coming to the realization that holy shit! That means I am too. Somehow you never think it’s you.
 
But it’s happening folks, it’s happening. Watching your parents grow old and in some instances, struggle with their health and even deteriorate physically is a reminder for us all. But before we get to all that, what a strange age to be right now. What was once considered old really isn’t anymore. What was once considered solidly middle aged is ambiguous. We seem to be constantly pushing the edges of those boundaries as my generation ages, delaying all that old people stuff because really, we’re not old. Am I RIGHT? It’s a bit more confusing these days, everything is blurred. There aren’t really any hard fast rules anymore on what we should or shouldn’t be doing at our age. With a little bit of common sense and some self editing, we can pretty much wear whatever we want regardless of how old we are, keep our hair long (and all my Asian friends out there know what I mean because I bet your mom’s been rocking the Kofro by the time they were in their 30s too), and generally keep doing what we’ve always been doing. But sometimes I do stop and look and think…what am I doing here? Do I look ridiculous? Am I wearing this outfit or these pants or styling my hair this way because I’m afraid of looking old? I’d be lying a little if I said no.
 
So what does it mean to age gracefully? I certainly have no regrets. I may be confused by all this, but I’m not fighting it, I’m not wanting to go back in time. When I think about my youth and the music and the people that are no longer in my life, I can look back fondly and say, damn…those were some of the best years of my life. I can’t deny that I miss those times; the 80s and 90s were the best. But then I look around at what I have now – my kids, my marriage (the relationship which did in fact start way back from my youth), the life we’ve built and the friends that we have and I think, well, this stuff is really good too. I can be all nostalgic about my 20s, but I don’t have to or need to relate to 20 years olds now. It has nothing to do with my life. I’m Middle Aged Mom. Yeah, maybe I need a t-shirt. I’d wear it with (no) irony.

Some traditions evolve naturally over time. We first started spending Easter with Mark’s Russian side of the family 3 years ago when we came up to visit his dad who was gravely ill in the hospital at the time. We’ve been driving upstate every Easter since then, staying at Mark’s uncle’s house which is full of old family photos, good food, and lots of stories. This is now what our Easters look like.

And I needed that. 68 degrees. Brilliant sunshine. Trees in a haze of tiny green buds. Lunch with Nichole in Bryant Park (and hundreds of other New Yorkers and tourists, apparently) and coffee with Anna. Not a lick of work except a phone call and a few emails. Coming home and hanging out on the stoop with neighbors instead of sticking my head in a laptop for the rest of the afternoon.

A day off.
 
Clearing my head. My head sure needs it. It’s been full of crap.