Mary DeTurris Poust's Blog, page 56

Solitude and small-town friendliness in Manhattan

When I visited Manhattan a few weeks ago, I emerged from Penn Station, stepped out onto the street, took a big, deep breath of bus fumes mixed with subway steam mixed with street-cart hot dogs, and immediately texted Dennis this message: “I love New York.” And I do. Whenever I go back, I remember why and just how much, so much that Dennis and I have said more than once that if we had the money — and the ability to retire ever, which isn’t going to happen — Manhattan would be our retirement destination of choice.

As I walked along the streets of midtown, heading toward my book signing location, I considered grabbing coffee at Starbuck’s, but passed it by, hoping for something better than giant chainstore coffee. I found it just a few doors down from Pauline Books & Media on West 38th Street at a little shop called Culture Espresso Bar. With my decaf non-fat latte in front of me, sporting a perfect foamy heart, and a strawberry-zuchinni-chocolate chip muffin as a very late lunch, I sat on a stool in the midst of the crowded cafe and watched the world go by outside the window. I was shoulder to shoulder with strangers on both sides, and at least twice  people sat down directly across from me at the one-foot wide table, and yet I felt like I was on spiritual retreat. The beauty of Manhattan. Solitude in the midst of absolute chaos, if you can allow yourself to detach a bit. No one cares that you’re alone. No one cares that you’re eye-to-eye sipping coffee with someone you’ve never met and will never see again. No one cares that you’re staring blankly out a window. It’s all perfectly normal and perfectly peaceful. I smile just thinking about it.

And at the same time, if you’re willing, you can intersperse your moments of solitude with moments of small-town friendliness right there on the streets of New York. As I sat in the lobby of SiriusXM, waiting for my slot on the Busted Halo Show at 9 p.m., I chatted with the guy at the front desk, talking about Austin,  about SXSW, and about Albany. When I hailed a cab to hightail it over to the East Side at the end of a long day, I chatted with my cabby about New York and where I was visiting from and various general things. As I wandered around the halls of the New York Public Library for the first time despite having worked in New York City for years in my previous life, I asked a guy in the elevator if he knew where the Rose Reading Room was. He didn’t. His first time as well despite working in New York. We joked and briefly banded together and found our way to the right floor, where we parted ways and wished each other well.

And just like that Manhattan seemed no different than my little upstate New York town where everyone seems to know everyone else. Proving, once again, that you can find whatever you want and need in Manhattan, whether it’s a sliver of silence and solitude captured in stolen moments amid busy streets and shops, or a little friendly conversation with a counterperson, a cabby, or a random stranger who happens to be in the right place at the right time. If you need to disappear for a while, but can’t go on retreat, I’d dare say you could find what you’re looking for on a visit to Manhattan. Don’t go to be a tourist. Don’t go to shop or see a show. Just go to walk and sit and soak in your surroundings, and don’t forget to inhale all those crazy smells that shout, “New York, New York!” It’s a helluva town.

What are some of your favorite Manhattan haunts that take you away from the madness even while you’re in the midst of it?

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Finding joy in an unexpected gift of pastry

Have you ever felt the urge to do something totally spontaneous and generous for someone but then pulled back at the last minute for any number of “logical” reasons — too expensive, too complicated, too time-consuming, too something. I know I’ve been there. So many times I’ve had a great idea but never followed through, usually because I let the responsibilities of life overwhelm me and become my excuse.

I’ve been on the receiving end of such generosity in the past. I’ve been blessed with personal, hand-written notes of encouragement for no particular reason, handmade pottery when it’s not my birthday or Christmas, a care package of soup and tea and honey when I was under the weather. And always, always, always I have felt so grateful and so joyful to realize that someone somewhere thought of me and then actually did something about it when it would have been easier to come up with one of those logical excuses for not doing it.

Last night was one of those joyful moments taken to the next level. We were in the middle of a delicious dinner of eggplant parmesan and pasta when the doorbell rang. Standing on my front porch with a big pastry box in hand was a Facebook friend who had earlier posted about getting some St. Joseph’s pastry while in Utica. I teasingly commented, “Bring me some!” on her status update. Never did I expect those pastries to materialize that day, and just in time for dessert.

When Dennis answered the door and said something that indicated pastry had arrived, I jumped out of my seat and ran to hug Gina Marie. It wasn’t just because I have been trying to get this particular type of Italian pastry for the 12 years I have lived in upstate New York and for the six years of living in Texas before that, but because someone who is more casual acquaintance than close friend would do something so generous, so unexpected, so thoughtful without worrying about the cost or the effort. A random act of kindness, to be sure.

It was as if those familiar puffs of dough were stuffed not only with rich cream but with abundant love, all of it topped with a cherry. It was a communion of sorts, sisterhood shared through food. As I ate my pastry with a cup of espresso, I couldn’t help smiling. After being in a kind of dark place in recent weeks, this unexpected gift gave me hope and filled me with a bubbling kind of joy I haven’t felt in a long while.

So thank you, friend, not only for the delicious pastry but for the much-need burst of light in my otherwise weary soul.

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Chase away ‘monsters’ of anxiety with light of Christ

My current Life Lines column from Catholic New York:

What is it about the darkness that makes normal things seem a little scarier and scary things seem downright unbearable? Maybe it has something to do with childhood memories of things that go bump in the night, of partially open closet doors that hide all sorts of imaginary monsters just waiting to catch us unaware. Maybe it has to do with the deep connection we make between darkness and evil in our faith and in our world. Whatever it is, I found myself lying awake one night recently, the creaks of our older house drowned out by the much louder and demanding “monsters” in my head.

Just hours earlier all the worries flooding my brain had been just the opposite—exciting opportunities just waiting to be embraced, adventure, newness, a chance to pen a new chapter. But there in the quiet darkness, opportunity quickly turned to dread, adventure to fear, and newness to outright insanity. And yet nothing but the lighting had changed.

I thought about how Chiara, only 7, still likes a nightlight on in her room and her door cracked a bit so she can fall asleep with the hallway clearly in view and the family ever so slightly within earshot. There’s something soothing about a little slant of light and the murmur of voices just down the stairs. Maybe we adults need to remember that when insomnia and anxiety get the best of us on a figuratively dark and stormy night.

The same things that comfort a child can comfort us, but in grown-up form. Maybe a nightlight won’t wipe away the fears of a new job or a cross-country move or a health scare, but by shining an interior light on the matter through prayer, we take away some of fear’s power. By listening for the murmur of the Spirit amid the din of those worried voices in our head, we push out dread and welcome in joy in all things, even slightly scary things.

As I turned all these thoughts over in my mind in the bright and comforting light of morning, my eyes fell on my new camera and I thought about how I can completely change a scene by changing a setting. If I turn off the flash and try to take a photo inside, the dimness makes all the edges blur and the shadows become more prominent than faces or objects. If I leave the flash on and try to take a photo of a flower in bright sunlight, everything washes out and all the beauty is lost. Too little or too much and everything is thrown off, but with just the right balance the camera can focus.

So it is in our lives. We need balance. There will always be darkness, whether it comes in the form of illness or unemployment or family fights or personal demons. And often we seek comfort in the too-bright habits of mindless television, constant social media, too much food or drink, and all sorts of busyness that distracts us from our worries until darkness falls and we’re forced to confront them all over again.

Meanwhile the light of truth and faith is always on, always available, if only we’d just put away all the emotional and spiritual clutter and clear a space for God. When we sit down in silence to pray, to listen for the still small voice of the Spirit, God shines a light into the heart of our darkness and everything begins to come into focus. It might not happen in a day or a week or even a month, but little by little when we return to prayer again and again the slant of light in the hallway of our mind grows bigger and brighter until there’s no place left for fear and anxiety to hide.

To read previous columns, click the Life Lines tab above.

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Foodie Friday: Mary’s quick and easy lentil soup

Looking for a meatless meal for tonight’s Lenten supper? Tired of pizza and fish fry? Here’s a hearty and satisfying lentil soup recipe that’a a favorite at our house, especially on a snowy winter day like today. 

Ingredients

1 pound lentils, rinsed and picked over
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, chopped
2 large carrots, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 bay leafs
½ teaspoon thyme
8 cups water (or vegetable broth, in which case you can drop bouillon cube)
1 vegetable boullion cube
salt, to taste
fresh ground pepper, to taste
dash soy sauce
splash of red wine (optional)
1 cup acini pepe pasta (or other small pasta — orzo, ditalini — or cooked rice)

Preparation

1. Saute onions, garlic, celery, carrots in olive oil until soft.

2. Add lentils, water, bay leaves, thyme, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to simmer and cook for about 15 minutes so lentils start to soften.

3. Add boullion, salt and pepper, soy sauce, and wine, if using.

4. Simmer for 90 minutes. Add uncooked small pasta (or cooked rice) eight minutes before serving. (If I want a slightly smoother soup, I will zap this with a handheld immersion blender for a few seconds before I add the pasta or rice. Be careful not to burn yourself!)

5. Serve with bread and salad.

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Life in My 50s: Reclaim your joy, your truth, your life

I find this whole midlife, midcentury thing to be more interesting than I originally expected when I hit the big 5-0 last fall. What I’m finding is that it’s not so much a rebirth but a birth, plain and simple. I’m being born into the second half of my life, or what I hope will be the second half of my life if I have genes even remotely like my paternal grandmother, who is 100. This birth is difficult and exciting and painful, as any birth might be. At every turn I find myself up against an “old” or current version of myself. Is this where I want to be? Where should I go next, and how do I get there? I find myself wanting to redirect the path and reclaim various parts of my life — my time, my style, my joy,  my truth. But, in the words of Pilate, what is truth?

Every time I think I’ve  finally emerged from the dark tunnel of introspection, doubt, and fear, I realize it’s only a momentary reprieve. There’s another tunnel ahead, maybe even a little narrower than the one before. That’s where I’ve been on and off for the past six months or maybe even a little longer. In tunnels. Dark tunnels with no windows. Think Lincoln Tunnel during Friday afternoon rush hour.

And while that may sound overly dramatic, I really don’t mind being in these tunnels, the birth canals of midlife. It seems like a necessary path to take at this point, if I want to step out of my own shadow and become who I was always meant to be but who has gotten lost amid all the stresses and responsibilities of daily life.

Here’s what I’ve discovered and dug up while on my tunnel journey:

Ask anyone who knows me if I am an optimist or a pessimist and they would most likely choose the latter. But they’re wrong because only an optimist would pack up and move to a strange city (Austin) with no job and no prospects but with the firm belief that it would all work out. Because only an optimist would walk out of a failed marriage and a failed job with the belief that life was meant to be more than unhappiness day after day. Because only an optimist would decide to get pregnant at 42 years old, knowing full well all the risks but choosing to focus on the benefits. Because only an optimist would sign book contract after book contract, sometimes two at once, with the belief that the books will get written, they will sell, they will matter to someone. So guess what? Turns out I’m an optimist after all.

I’ve always been teased over the fact that I talk too much, so much so that I am very much aware of how much people don’t like my talking, even as the words are coming out of my mouth and I am mentally scolding myself. Ask anyone who knows me if I can’t shut up, and they would answer with a resounding, Yes! But the truth is, I love silence, more and more as I get older. I want quiet, solitude, peace. I could easily go away for a weeklong silent retreat and not bat an eye. Two days of silence is not nearly enough. Silence lets your heart speak. Silence lets your heart listen. Silence could probably cure a whole lot of this world’s ills if people would just take the time to retreat for a few minutes and listen for the whisper of the Spirit around them.

God is my center, but that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with God on a regular — almost daily — basis. Ask anyone who knows me, and they’d probably say I am a holy roller. After all, I’ve worked for the Church for almost 30 years. I write prayers and reflections, articles and books, all of it revolving around faith and prayer and spirituality. But no one knows the inner workings of the relationship I have with my Creator or what I believe in my heart of hearts, something that is constantly evolving, probably more edgy than what anyone assumes of me, and totally mine. I often say my books take me to where I need to go on my journey, and that is the truth. I write my books for me, because I find spiritual life and faith to be an ongoing series of questions, confusion, doubt, and movement, and writing about it helps me deal with all that. Lately those feelings have been swarming around my dark tunnel with a vengeance. And that’s okay. It’s okay to be in a dark spiritual place and to maybe come out of that place somewhere totally unexpected. No matter where I end up, I know one thing: God remains. God alone. And that is enough.

Although I’m starting to feel the first signs of the physical diminishment of midlife — achy joints, minor ailments that never go away — in every other way this time of life is a time of growing. I can look at twenty-somethings and envy what’s ahead of them, but then I remember that they don’t know what I know and so they don’t even know that where they are right now is something to treasure and embrace. Wisdom, the gift of midlife and old age. What’s that cliche? Youth is wasted on the young. In many ways, that’s so true. What would you have done in your 20s if you could have known then what you know now? Well, what’s stopping you? Do it now, no matter how old you are. Take up belly dancing (done it), go to a foreign country alone (done it), buy something totally outrageous but 100 percent you, even if no one else gets it (done it, done it, done it), sky dive (never happening). Whatever you wish you had done then, if it’s at all possible, try to do it — or some version of it — now. It’s never too late. Take chances.

Every day there’s another discovery. Sometimes I battle with these feelings and with this movement in new directions. I resist. I shake my head no. I scream. I worry. Sounds a lot like childbirth to me. But, you know what? When it’s over and I’m finally out of that last tunnel, I have a feeling I’ll forget all of these labor pains and see only the end result — joy, and my true self dancing in the light once and for all.

 

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Scenes from a Manhattan book signing

As you know, I had a book signing at Pauline Books & Media on West 38th Street in Manhattan this week. Here’s a glimpse of the goings on…

That’s the store window in the photo to the left — lots of copies of Cravings, Everyday Divine, and Walking Together on display. Inside they added Parenting a Grieving Child and The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Catholic Catechism to the mix. The only book missing was The Essential Guide to Catholic Prayer and the Mass, although my agent had a copy in hand when I mentioned it during my talk. It was like a State Farm commercial — Like a good agent, Marilyn is there.

Thanks to Pauline Books and Catholic New York for co-sponsoring this event, and thanks to all those people who came out to support me. I truly appreciate it.

Here I am waiting to go on. I’m being introduced by John Woods, editor of Catholic New York.

Doing my thing…

Signing for a new friend while my agent, Marilyn Allen, snaps a photo.

A trio of CNYers, from left: John Woods, editor; yours truly; Bob Varettoni, who was an editor when I was an intern back in 1984. And Tony Rossi of The Christophers shopping in the background.

Here I am with Father Dave Dwyer after my Busted Halo radio appearance at the SiriusXM studios, looking just a little worn out. Father Dave, on the other hand, looks refreshed and ready to go.

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Remembering Benedict XVI: A lesson in humility

Here’s my reflection on Pope Benedict XVI, running in the March 10 issue of OSV Newsweekly:

I have to admit, I took myself by surprise when I burst into tears upon learning that Pope Benedict XVI had resigned. I have loved and respected this pope from day one, but I guess I never realized how he had worked his way into my heart just as Blessed Pope John Paul II had done before him. Where Pope John Paul captured the enthusiasm of my youth, Pope Benedict shored up the faith of my middle age.

My teenage son watched as I cried into my coffee that morning and asked why I was so upset. I wasn’t completely sure at first, but I think it came down to this: Pope Benedict has served as a visible reminder that God writes straight with crooked lines. He didn’t want the job, but the Spirit had other plans. Not only did Pope Benedict do what had to be done without complaint, he did it with a clear determination to put the mission of Christ before any personal mission. He did it by voluntarily relinquishing his position when it was time, demonstrating a kind of humility rarely seen in our power-hungry society. A beautiful study in contrasts.

Hanging beside my desk is the photo I snapped as Pope Benedict waved from the popemobile a few yards from where I stood in the press pen at St. Joseph’s Seminary, Dunwoodie, during his visit to New York in 2008. In my sacred space are the rosary beads blessed by Pope Benedict as I sat in the second row at a papal audience in 2010. On the bookshelf behind me are the powerful yet accessible encyclicals he wrote on love and hope. And while those tangible reminders will be nice to have around after he’s retreated to the cloister, the pope’s most lasting legacy may be the way he lived out the words of St. Paul: “When I am weak, then I am strong.”

Click HERE to read reflections by other Catholic bloggers and authors.

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Join me at my Manhattan book signing Feb. 27

Stop by Pauline Books & Media, 64 West 38th Street in Manhattan, on Wednesday, Feb. 27, at 6:30 p.m. for a book signing to celebrate the release of my two new books, Cravings: A Catholic Wrestles with Food, Self-Image, and God, and Everyday Divine: A Catholic Guide to Active Spirituality.

I’ll be giving  a brief talk (20 minutes) to start the event, followed by a signing,

conversation, and refreshments. Thank you to Catholic New York and the Daughters of St. Paul for co-sponsoring this event.

If you can’t catch me in person, tune into Busted Halo later that night. I’ll be in the studio live with Father Dave Dwyer at 9:20 p.m. on The Catholic Channel, SiriusXM Channel 129.

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Why is social media important for Catholics? Watch this new episode of Guided by Grace to find out.

Social media is the focus of this new episode of Guided by Grace, a 30-minute cable talk show co-hosted by yours truly and three other Catholic women on TelecareTV. Think of us as a Catholic version of The View but without the nasty or snarky comments. Every week we’re tackling issues that are important to Catholics in general and women specifically.

Here’s a description of the social media show, which is archived and available for viewing any time at the link below.

Technology and the communications media play a large role in modern society, but they can be easily abused or used as a substitution for face-to-face interaction. Join the the hosts of Guided by Grace as they discuss how social media can be used to benefit the church, and to better ourselves without creating extra static. SKYPE GUEST: Matt Palmer, USCCB

So click the play button below at your convenience and join the conversation. We’d love to hear your thoughts on this topic or your suggestions for other show topics we might want to cover in the future. If you leave your comments here, I’ll be sure to bring them to our next meeting. And thanks for watching!

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The Bridgemaker explores Cravings

Here’s what Alex Blackwell of The BridgeMaker had to say about Cravings:

“In revealing this personal journey, Mary creates a safe space where readers can begin to reflect on their own relationships with food, and with themselves.

“Cravings is a powerful way to look at body and spirit as two united parts and in doing so, gaining self-awareness and self-acceptance.

“Mary helps readers confront the fact that God truly does love us unconditionally. With this awareness, the need for external gratification diminishes, as does the urge to count calories.”

I’m am so honored to be included on The BridgeMaker website, which is filled with inspiring posts and helpful tips for taking control of your life in positive and powerful ways. Alex interviewed me for the post, so you can read my answers to his questions about why eating habits are driven by emotions, why women in particular have self-image issues, what makes the Catholic perspective on the food-spirituality connection different from similar connections in other faiths, and lots more.

Read the full interview and enter the book giveaway, by clicking HERE.

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