Author Archives: Sandi LoConti

The Perfect Elevator Pitch

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elevator pitch4

The art to a perfect elevator pitch is making an impression in thirty seconds or less.  Hopefully it’s a good, no a curious, impression in thirty seconds or less.  Your ultimate goal is for the person you’re pitching to say……………..tell me more.  Mission accomplished.

The question posed is usually; what do you do?

I write about all things ordinary because I believe that’s where real legacy comes from.  No one likes to talk about it but everyone will leave a legacy whether they intend to or not. Why not embrace the ordinary where memories become legend and you become immortal.

Wait for it…

Tell me more….perfect.

I bet everyone can think of at least three ordinary things, smells, moments, sounds that are directly associated with someone they no longer have in their life.  They don’t always have to be positive; no one said everyone would leave behind goodness and light.  Not everyone made their way in the world nobly.

But everyone is making their way in the world.  This week proved to me that legacies of all kinds are being forged with and without awareness.  My neighbor is fighting for her life in rehab, her family is forming her legacy as we speak but it’s yet to be decided, it’s an ongoing process, one I truly hope is life affirming with an outcome of strength and resilience.

My mother is rallying in another kind of rehab with literal strength and resilience toward being home for Easter.  Her release date is the 25th.  She has taken the rehab center by storm with her charming personality; and while they want to see her well, they would love to keep her among them.

Spending time with friends and colleagues this week has been essential for me.  I had to dig deep into the past to help someone; I had to go somewhere I hadn’t been in quite some time.  Truth be told I was sure I’d never have to go there again but your history sometimes bears repeating for the sake of another poor soul.  My problem is the balance of helping and hurting.  I learned much about myself this time around and was able to invest only what was necessary to start a process, not so much that I became overwhelmed.  I began to go too far but stopped; quite a valuable lesson in boundaries.

I’m learning to stop more and more.  Through my writing I find release and cleansing. I hope others will too.  I’m so fortunate to have finally found my creative outlet, one that lends itself to some measure of integrity.  But I’ve got to be careful to check my motivation.  I’m writing for the love of it, for the love of legacy and for the love of life.  Not for the “likes” on Facebook or the site stats that I so often find myself checking.  If people read, when people read I will be grateful.

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Speaking of grateful, my friend Paul shared the pictures from the annual Father/Daughter dance today.  They are just beautiful and his face truly tells a wonderful story.  He is creating the best legacy of all, one year, and dance and picture at a time for his “father’s daughters”.   Although my father and I never danced I am reminded each year, around this time of his death, just how many wonderful moments he left behind.  It is a blessing to me to watch another father do the same.

 

Truly, what is ordinary to one may be extraordinary to another, I know like I know.

 

Where I Used to Live

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Addiction is a vacuum.  It sucks everyone and everything into its grasp.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

When you listen for the breathing, when you listen for movement, when you believe, when you are disappointed.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

When you see the potential in someone, when you know their circumstances, when they continue to fall and picking them up is only empowering to you not them. When you dare to think you can save them you only destroy yourself.   Your fundamental goodness is counterintuitive to what an addict needs.  It then becomes a race to see who will hit bottom first.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

It’s where I used to live.  Now I’ve moved.  To calm, to peace, to the enchanted forest.  I live here now, among all the things that tell my story of escape and joy and very little of what once was. I’ve put the hard life in its place but perhaps there are some boxes that I’ve yet to open.

My home has no attic in which to keep secrets and yet I hear noises coming from above.  Sadly they are familiar noises that sound exactly like a vacuum running. I find myself listening hoping they will stop like when you go too far and the plug pulls from the wall.  I didn’t think I could volunteer to do the cleaning upstairs, I didn’t think I was capable.  I struggled with the helping/hurting of yet another addict.  I know all too well the road to hell is paved with my good intentions.  I can’t go to hell again.

It’s a hard life, it’s a heartache.

But the noises get louder, and then they stop.  Like when you go too far and the plug pulls from the wall.  I can’t ignore the silence, silence could indeed be deadly.  Rally my resources, don’t do this alone, seek counsel of the authorities, seek your younger strength and let’s act.  I can’t bear the silence, I can’t live with the dichotomy of such a good person in free fall not having a soft place to land.

It all comes back, the whole script, all the steps, the surprise, the love required to take someone from the comfort of their addiction into the discomfort of detox and the twelve steps and the sponsor and the ninety meetings in ninety days and the and the and the.  There are times when I deeply resent knowing what I know and then there are times that I am keenly aware that they may save someone’s life…if they allow it.

That said, unpacking those boxes this weekend has been difficult for me, and while I know this shouldn’t be about me, I lived the hard life and I know the heartache.  My friend is safely tucked away in detox, her sisters are trying to fix her but I am giving them the three Cs in every phone call, they didn’t cause it, they can’t control it and they certainly can’t cure it.  I know like I know that I will only do this this one time, that people need to live their own consequence after being given all the tools they need to make it in the world of the clear minded, they are in charge, they too have their own three’s, serenity to accept the things they cannot change, courage to change the things they can and wisdom to know the difference.   God I just want my hour back.

International Women’s Day

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 intl womens day 2

A woman can say more in a sigh than a man can say in a sermon.  ~Arnold Haultain

I’ve done my share of sighing for some of the women around me.  They struggle with things most can’t imagine, yet they go to work each day.  They are giving birth and mourning parents.  They are holding their breath waiting for test results and jumping for joy when results come back negative.  Funny how that word negative can bend in both directions. 

Women are making their way in the world around and about and because of and in spite of any number of circumstances because they are made of something bigger than themselves.  I consider myself a woman of substance and circumstance and I know many like me.  We stand beside one another and tend, feed, nurse, educate, monitor, walk with, cry with, hold each other’s hands and hearts at a moment’s notice. 

There are also women and girls that lack substance not yet having acquired a laundry list of circumstances from which to draw.  How can we show them without preaching, disrespecting or belittling?  How can we keep watch over them yet not interfere in the circumstances that are so essential to growth and wisdom? How can we live our lives successfully so that we become contagious to those around us who will be left to carry on?  What will our/my legacy be to women yet to develop and thrive? 

The fact is I don’t know.  My gift to myself was to set my sights on crawling.  Many have watched me crawl and struggle toward walking, standing just to the side in case.  Then walking, more confidence, less anxiety, more happiness, less profound sadness, more quiet, less chaos.  More me, less everyone else but never abandon my love of others and lose focus on my authenticity.   

My gift to others will be to finally soar.  In the hopes that each one will take from me and my journey what might work for them.  To recognize my circumstances are mine but that they will indeed have theirs too.  To understand that substance comes in time but is based in genuine living and service to others.  All this without losing oneself.   

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My hope for the women in my life on this International Women’s Day is that their sighs are replaced with exhales and that their circumstances are manageable and that their substance comes fast and easy through a life of authenticity and joy.  That they know they are worthy just the way they are and that their voice is always heard.  These are lofty hopes but I know like I know my women deserve nothing less.  Celebrate yourselves today and all your women will learn from you too.

 

A Little Shakespeare Among Friends

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shakespeareOh to be among friends in the company of Shakespeare. Every once in a while my summer sister Kyle and I meet up for a “what do you think? shall we?” kind of weekend.   This time it was to see the closing show of BAMA Theater Company’s final performance of 12th Night in New Brunswick, NJ.  Our dear friend David has been part of the company for some time and was playing the role of Orsino and Antonio.  This is a small company sprung from the Alabama Shakespeare Festival doing wonderful work.  Their tag line for 12th Night;             bama

So each of the actors played multiple roles to an audience mixed with students, adults, parents, friends of actors and friends of the NJ State Theater Group in the lovely little Crossroads Theater.

Logistics can be tricky when it comes to Kyle and me meeting up.  Her friend Jan was supposed to join us but due to a wicked eye infection she had to stay back.  Back in Buffalo that is.   Of course the plane was delayed so lunch went into Plan B, no worries Kyle and I do Plan B better than most.  When I scoop her up (after going to the right terminal) I say what I always say to her after a long absence, “start talking”.  Catching up went from the car, to the hotel, to the bar, to dinner with David before his performance.

You’ve often heard me say that Kyle is the smartest woman I know, so add David, the self-proclaimed Shakespeare Nerd, and I very easily could have been left behind for the duration.  Not so my friends, not so fast.   I know enough about Shakespeare to be…not dangerous certainly…engaged.  I find him interesting but what I find more interesting is listening to impassioned people discuss the nuances, the back stories, the research they’ve done, the real Shakespeare.  That is riveting, no my head did not spin, no I didn’t make a fool of myself.  They would never let that happen such is their benevolence of the unenlightened woman that is me…

David’s opening speech includes one of the play’s most famous lines, as the unhappy, lovesick Orsino tells his servants and musicians, “If music be the food of love, play on.” In the speech that follows, Orsino asks for the musicians to give him so much musical love-food that he will overdose (“surfeit”) to rid himself of the need for love once and for all. I know this because I listened with intent to our dinner conversation, the introduction of the image of love as something unwanted, something that can’t be avoided.  Exploring concepts like imagination and reality.

I thoroughly enjoyed the performance and the after- show- continued- conversation- until- well- past- my- bedtime completed a perfect day.  I slept like the dead having appreciated, probably for the first time, Shakespeare’s genius, the passion of good friends for their lives and their work, and I learned so much.   I consider myself a lifelong learner and I relished being in good hands.

Breakfast brought more wonderful conversation.  Kyle and I have always loved good conversation, we banter and laugh and explore and probe and wonder and share better than most but there are moments, too, of quiet that have never been uncomfortable for either of us.  This friendship is blessed.

Coffee with David and we are headed back to the airport (yes I went to the right terminal this time) and off she went. ..neither of us really knowing when the next “what do you think? shall we?” moment might come again but confident in the knowledge that it will indeed turn up when we least expect it.

Poop Poopy Doop

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dog cleanup

Someone tell me how a doggy poop disposal bag that you got at the Vet’s office can puncture as you’re picking up the poop.  SOMEONE EXPLAIN THAT TO ME.  You would think that the Vet would buy a ply count that would prevent a finger from going through.  I know you’re groaning right now, but imagine me getting all screamy and ranty on my way back from the afternoon constitutional.  Just saying.

And while I’m at it the same goes for Petco.  Are you kidding me with the thinnest bags in the world?  You would think that a pet store would have the common decency to also provide bags that would be conducive to poop pickup.  Think of the free advertising they would get as people were carrying the puffy bags around the neighborhood on their way to the dumpster.  Come on.

I’m one of those people who buy doggy disposal bags by the roll.  They fit easily in my pocket and I don’t look like a lumpy ass mess as I’m doing the loop.  I get that the plastic bags from the grocery store are free and that you’re actually recycling as you use them for the dirty mess but the bulges it adds to my pockets and therefore my hips are just too much for me to tolerate.  Besides, I’ve gotten used to using the cloth bags for groceries so I’m doing my part to save the earth.

Speaking of saving the earth, did you know that they believe that dog poop takes up about 5% of the landfills?  Holy bursting bags Batman. What did you expect; there are 68 million dogs in this country mostly over 40 lbs each.   What the hell are you supposed to do then?  Flush?  Well, yeah.  Don’t ask how I had this epiphany it was one of those aren’t you the dumbest woman on earth moments.  They actually make flushable bags, I’m sure I’ve lost some of my readers at this point but it’s true.  Made by….wait for it….Flush Doggy.

Yeah I bought them.  And frankly, I only use them when I pop the girls out back in our “yard”.  It’s behind the building, they’re on extending leashes, they run back and forth, and they are enjoying the freedom of not having to be glued to my side. We have some fun.  So when they do what they do in the main walkway (if they trek into the enchanted forest you can be sure I am not trekking in behind them),  I let them continue to play until they’ve had enough.  I pop them back in the house and go get the results.  I grab a flush doggy, pick up, and bring in the bathroom and flush.  Done.  Oh stop rolling your eyes.  Al Gore loves the idea.

It’s one of the drawbacks of dog ownership, especially larger dog ownership.  I used to think the girls were medium dogs but somehow they got taller and wider and, well, better at eliminating the excess non-nutrients.   I once had a friend that swore by a certain dog food because his dog had the smallest packages when he ate that brand.  Claims there was minimal waste and that the dog had extremely well balanced nutrition.  Yeah ok, want to know what it cost….just sayin.

I didn’t really intend to do a rant on the intricacies of elimination frustration but I know like I know that there is NOTHING worse than thinking you’re going to get a few afternoon miles in just to have to turn around and run for the soap, and water, and disinfectant and hand sanitizer.  You know you’ve been there, so glad I could articulate on your behalf.

Done ranting…for now.