Category Archives: Kristin

All I Really Need is a Good F*ck & Someone to Pick Me Up at the Airport.

I’m single for the first time in 25 years.

I now see that most of the things I wanted from my relationships are actually things I can do for myself. After my divorce two years ago, I panicked at the idea of setting up my own Wi-fi system, cleaning the gutters, and finding help moving furniture.

The truth is that doing these things, or getting help doing them, has been easy.

Read the full article at Elephant Journal.

Little Beacons

My 12-year old daughter has decided to be a professional actress. Seriously. Nimaya has joined a theater academy and dedicates herself to learning lines, connecting with her character, taking direction, being scrupulously on time and collaborating with her actor counterparts. Two months ago she applied to the prestigious and highly competitive Denver School of the Arts (think “Fame”) and is about to audition for her first call-back. She is working harder than I have ever seen her. She is working harder than I have ever seen me work, actually. Continue reading

The Scary Thing of the Day

My and my daughter’s birthdays are only a few weeks apart. When she turned twelve last month I took her to lunch and we asked each other what we wanted for our next year. Nimaya said immediately that she wanted to do something every day that scared her, and we agreed to do just that for the next year.

Every day since, she asks me when I pick her up from school, “So, Mom, what scary thing did you do today?” and then she shares hers. One day she went up a high ladder onto the roof at school, and one day she told the truth to a friend even though she feared it might hurt her feelings. This morning she had acupuncture for the first time and smiled broadly because she was doing her “scary thing” before 9:30 AM. “This is going to be a great day!” she beamed. Continue reading

Cutting Softly to the Heart

I have had well over a dozen surgeries on my face in the last decade, but today I wept as my doctor took a small biopsy from between my eye and my nose. I didn’t weep because of the pain, and I didn’t weep because I feared disfigurement. I wept because I was alone. It is not the first time I have been alone during surgery either, but now, softened up by loss and meditation, I cried like a four-year-old, wanting comfort, wanting a shoulder to lean on and a loving eye upon me as I endured another shot and incision in my face. Continue reading