Elissa Stein's Blog, page 3

missing

I’m on my way to my mom’s house. Only it’s not really my mom’s house anymore. She died just about a year and a half ago and this is the first time I’ll be there since her funeral. 
Whew. 
I can’t think of how many times I’ve been on a plane to visit her. Before I had kids and she and my stepdad would be waiting to pick us up at the airport. That first time when she saw me at the baggage carousel when I was pregnant with my first one. Bringing both kids with me and she’d come out and watch us by the pool. When she wasn’t up to car trips anymore and I’d run into the house to say hi and she’d be waiting in her wheelchair. Or I’d take an Uber to the hospital thinking maybe it was going to be the last time I saw her and it wasn’t. Until it was. 
She cried every time I left, saying she already missed me even though I was sitting right next to her. And I’d call from the airport to let her know where I was. 
Oh my goodness, I am tearful. Her things are gone. We had to clean out her closet the day of the funeral. My brother was there and now he’s gone too. Lots of loss and memories to grapple with today. But the pool will still be there and dinner will still be at 5 or so and palm trees will still be waving in tbe breeze. 
Mummy I miss you and am heartbroken I won’t be hugging you again soon. 

roses

I’ve been taking photographs of flowers on NYC streets for years. There’s something about the juxtaposition of color and softness, fluidity and evolution against concrete and brick, amongst taxis and traffic cones that speaks to me. 
When my mom was struggling last year, I would text her pictures I’d taken, to brighten her day a bit. She told me her favorites were pansies and roses so I had subject matter to look out for. After she died, looking for those photo opportunities helped ground me in my overwhelming grief. Every day from then until they were gone I took photos of purple pansies for my mom. 
And roses. There is a rosebush across the street from where I live that I still stop at every single day to take a photo. From the smallest buds, to petals ravaged by rain, to crispy withering blooms barely hanging on stems, I capture moments in time. There was something powerful about life blooming and slipping away that helped me then, and has stuck with me ever since.
Last year gardeners came and cut back all the rosebushes at a certain point, taking away the remaining blooms, the weathered petals, the brush that had accumulated - I was in tears as this inspiration and destination disappeared. Life. But it all came back. So very different from last season which is fascinating. Still very present, even though it is December, intrepid buds still popping up, spots of vibrant color on cold and cloudy days. Still a place for me to bring my poor pup early every morning as we venture out into the world. And every morning I think of my mom and how she’d love to see the beauty. Maybe not all the ravishing and changes but that’s all part of the cycle too. 

filler

IIt’s been a day of giving advice, mitigating stress, collective deep breathing, reassuring, and listening to at times frustrated, nervous, overwhelmed, pissed off, anxious, overwrought parents going through the public high school process in NYC. Not everyone was all those things but I remember how intense and nerve wracking it was when I went through this with my kids. You only want the best for them and it’s mostly out of your control. 

So much of being a parent is that. Honestly so much of life is that. I’m grappling with finding some deeper meaning here and I know there is one but I have 3 more families to meet with and am conserving brain power at the moment. I’m feeling like red jello with whipped cream would help all around right about now. 

content

Today someone suggested I write about something other than me: perhaps a book or a movie or a situation. Valid suggestion. But as I slowly ease myself back into writing, me seems like the most appropriate subject matter. I’d like to say it’s the one I know best only I’m still learning so much about myself that that wouldn’t be true. 
I started therapy the summer before this past one, 2 weeks before my mom died, when she and brother and stepfather seemed to be taking turns in the hospital with scary and drastic things going on. My blood pressure got high, then higher, then so high it was almost ER levels and I knew I needed help. 
Asking for help is never easy for me. I trend towards internal suffering, gritting my teeth and struggling through things. I was anorexic for well over a decade - I’m quite good at that. And those tendencies are still buried deep inside. I don’t know that they ever go away. Maybe it’s more I’m aware of them and that takes away their overwhelming and devastating power. We’ll see. But as I talk my way through the minefields of my growing up, putting words to feelings and acknowledging the pain and hurt I gingerly tread through every day when I was young I’m cautiously hopeful all this digging and discovery will bring ease and empathy for myself. 
Fashion: Temu hat that is cooler than I imagined it would be although hard to see beyond the faux fur. Jacket, gift from a neighbor who couldn’t imagine wearing something so bright. 

filler

It’s late. I’m talked out. I’m thought out. It’s been a busy stretch of work and advising, discussing, educating, helping and I’m burnt. In a good way but whew. Not much of me left. Thinking about next steps, next projects, hearing a massive to do list back up. It’ll be good to be on top of my game again after this bit of feeling like I’ve been fighting forces being than me. More on that later. But for now, flower photography and drag race. 

change

At 59 and almost one half I would have thought things in my life would be pretty well established, a well oiled machine chugging along with someone concrete expectations about what’s next. Actually, maybe I thought that conceptually but that’s never how my life has actually worked. It’s more I fell into things along the way. Retail. Art school. Graphic design. Writing books. Starting a business. I had no grand plans in advance for any of those - they showed up. Some rather randomly, others because I had ideas or motivation and the manifesting was because I’d put in time and energy in some way. 
It’s feeling like gears are shifting again. It’s time for an overhaul, or at least a tune up. It never gets easier or more comfortable. I struggle each time I stare the inevitability down. But there is more that I’m hoping will become a thing, whatever that thing may be. All I can say is we’ll see as I sow seeds, thoughts and possibilities flickering at the edges. 

Fashion: thrifted velvet coat and pants. Old Navy t shirt. Malabrigo vest I knit myself. Steve Madden subtle metallic boots. See Eyewear glasses. 

growth

This morning I discovered that yes, I can access my entire photo library through this blogging platform. Even after spending several days not being able to figure it out. 

Perseverance?

Experimentation? 

Focus?

Determination?

Who knows. I figured out how to do it and am relatively certain I’ll forget by tomorrow. But I will figure it out again. Repetition builds connection and comfort and ownership. That is, on the positive side. Repetition can also promote all sorts of negative and destructive behavior so using it for good is, well, good. I’m working on letting go of patterns that didn’t serve me well, no matter how comfortable they were. And that’s hard. Comfort in the discomfort had been an underlying theme for me and sometimes I’m not even aware that’s where I’ve been coasting. 

Sigh. 

It’s never too late to grow, to accept, to acknowledge, to sigh hard and sob it out and let go of things that shouldn’t be. Even if they were a scratchy security blanket. 

Fashion: Calvin Klein coat that I totally didn’t need but also apparently did need. Bought in honor of my bargain seeking brother on his birthday at a Macy’s Black Friday sale for half off. Thanks bro. 

Growing

This morning I discovered that yes, I can access my entire photo library through this blogging platform. Even after spending several days not being able to figure it out. 

Perseverance?

Experimentation? 

Focus?

Determination?

Who knows. I figured out how to do it and am relatively certain I’ll forget by tomorrow. But I will figure it out again. Repetition builds connection and comfort and ownership. That is, on the positive side. Repetition can also promote all sorts of negative and destructive behavior so using it for good is, well, good. I’m working on letting go of patterns that didn’t serve me well, no matter how comfortable they were. And that’s hard. Comfort in the discomfort had been an underlying theme for me and sometimes I’m not even aware that’s where I’ve been coasting. 

Sigh. 

It’s never too late to grow, to accept, to acknowledge, to sigh hard and sob it out and let go of things that shouldn’t be. Even if they were a scratchy security blanket. 

Fashion: Calvin Klein coat that I totally didn’t need but also apparently did need. Bought in honor of my bargain seeking brother on his birthday at a Macy’s Black Friday sale for half off. Thanks bro. 

excuses

 I set a goal of blogging every day to get back to getting words on paper, or at least words on a screen. And then I stopped. I had a plan. I did. Of adding a photo a day of outfits I was wearing. But I change a lot over the course of a day. And couldn’t figure out how to link my phone photos to a Google blog and instead of figuring it out, I gave up. Perhaps it’s not about the images, which is generally where I start things from. It really is about the thoughts and ideas and those are harder for me to pinpoint. But here I am. Grappling with concepts and what to say and how to effectively say it. 

Day 2, messily in the bag. 

Reconnecting

It's been a minute since I've written. Well, well over a minute. 

I started this blog in 2008, on the precipice of a book coming out and feeling like a fake since I didn't have a writing practice—I fell into being an author based good ideas and a driven work ethic but not a lot of substance or experience. And so I wrote. I wrote every day. At first I was angst ridden about content. I didn't remember feeling political back then but turns out I was. It gave me something to write about that wasn't writing about me. 

And then I began to write about me. As I glanced through my old posts the titles alone made me cringe - might be I never delve back in to read about who and where I was all those years ago. These days, I don't write. Maybe it's because I'm more grounded and don't need that outlet. Maybe it's because I've grown and don't need to be so introspective. Maybe posting on social media was quicker and easier than finding the words to fully express what I wanted to say. Maybe I just moved on. 

But maybe it's time to come back to a practice that was exploratory and healing, eye and heart opening. Since I started this blog my little-ish kids grew up and graduated from college. I've since rescued two dogs and lost one. I lost my mom and my brother - all three of those in the span of a year or so. I started a business. A podcast. I was a fierce activist until I burnt out and can't show up the way I used to. I organized like mad, directed videos, created events, started branching out to a fashion space that's unrecognizable from the all black all the time that defined me for much of my adult life. There's more on the horizon that I haven't been able to figure it out. Actually, my whole life has evolved without me figuring it out in advance. Things show up. At least I like to think that but it took and will take lots of hard work to get that to happen. 

So, change. Reluctantly ready for more. Perhaps writing it out or writing in general will be the energy I need to put into the universe right now to help figure out what's next. Stay tuned . . .

fashion: Wildfang jumpsuit, UGG fur sandals, buttons made by me, and too many necklaces