Writing, like life, must always go forward

...and so it goes.

Maybe so.

flicker

there is no greater injury than that which takes something away which was already missing.

or, perhaps there is... taking it away when, although not full, it was still partially there and the dim light it shone into the dusk was so bright the dusk ceased to exist for a time. 

dimming a light that is already on three quarters off, is like slamming the door in the face of a toddler, taking the wine soaked paper towel from the tiny wailing baby boy at his bris, rescinding the grandest promise only a few minutes after making it, indian giving the longest desired toy, easing a muscle ache then giving it back, scratching an itch followed by wisping the itchiest wispiest feather right on it with the lightest possible stroke. dimming someone else's already minimally perceptible light without asking if the light is needed is the meanest human act that can be taken. 

tell me i'm frustrating, implore me to do or say, ask me to go or beg me to stay. whatever you do, don't dim my light when i walk out of the room. i can't see the way back with it on so low -- the walls are in my way now.

cc bloom and hillary the ill, call me a cliche, i am, but they say it well and they say it true -- you took away our friendship without even discussing it with me... i trusted it, i believed in it, but you didn't, and now it's gone. 

a light switch is a friendship is a family tree, is a doctor patient bond is a mother a daughter, a pair over here and a pair over there, a blonde and a brunette is a sweetheart, a honey, a bunny. is a circle, a square, hearts and limbs in despair. but most of all, a light switch is that which brings us out of slumber to awakenness, and turn it off without asking, my day is now over.

flick

turning off that flicker which was already dimmed... flick that.

"you took away our 'relationship' without even discussing it with me.

that 'relationship' meant more to me...

i trusted it, i believed in it.

but you didn't, and now it's gone.

thank you very very much for forgiving me.

but i. don't. forgive you."

New Hearted Items of Late

• Chai tea almond milk lattes ~ Almond milk, pssh, no but really, it's like, really good. You're, like, really pretty! Oh Mean Girls how relevant you are in all ways to all things all the time!

• Cinnamon fragranced candles ~ Can anyone say generic white girl? If the shoe fits, right? Ha, if only I was a basic bitch, a girl can wish though right?

• Kiehl's Grapefruit Hair products ~ No I am not afraid of the scent and yes, I joined the mecca spa/gym/club/spoiled life temple Eeeeequinox. Sorry not sorry. 

• Yoga ~ Yes, like, seriously, for real. All my former snarkmaster Namaste instas, pinstas and such have morphed into actual restorative / free flow / vinyassa studio class checks ins. Namastay snarky no more. Just call me the Yogi Bunny. Wait, no don't. But I say yes to yoga!

• Carbs ~ Enough said. I love carbs. All of them. Carbs. Are. Friend.

• Juices ~ Legit. Give me some bananas, almond milk and dates all smushed up into highly swallowable goo... yes please. Juice me all day baby.

Who am I? Who knows! Got to keep it moving, that's all I know and that I know for sure (thanks Ms. Winfrey for that ever-epic line).

Namastay great~

RBuns

asap bashap shmashap...give it a rest

"i need."

"asap."

"right now, in 10 minutes, an hour ago, yesterday."

"urgent."

"red flag."

"I NEED NOW."

Seemingly small phrases. Little words composed of letters in the alphabet. That is all they are right? These tiny phrases, when compiled into an aggregate heaping fucking pile of obnoxious bold emails with pesky little red flags stuck through their fleshy middle sides, are much more than tiny phrases. No, people, these demanding, rude, condescending statements of business need, want, must-have-ness, are much more than that. These phrases are unnecessary parts of the corporate monster of "classy" white collar business in this "great country" of ours.

I implore you, all of you who may or may not ever stumble across this tiny little blog of mine, but if you are here reading this, then yes, I IMPLORE you. colleagues, business people, ad executives, clients, directors, lawyers, auditors...yes i implore each and every single one of you to take a moment to just PAUSE, stop your fingers in their hasty obnoxious paths, before typing out these pesky nasty phrases to those people on whom you depend to provide you that oh-so-very-important information you need. Just stop. Seriously. Stop the track from your brain to your keys and think, don't drop or roll but do stop. These rude urgent phrases just might make you less apt to get what you need; yes, you might very well just be stabbing your own bottom line in the bottom of its proverbial P&L foot by hastily typing out unneededly and unnicedly (fake news, fake word I know but forgive me in my own mid-work day hasty blogging moment) rude little sayings.

I implore you: see what happens if you just abandon these actions...Instead of "i need now", "send asap", "no options otherwise", how about "i appreciate if you...", "could you please", you know what forget the "could you", just add a simple "please". Yes, colleagues, comrades, clients and companions, please kindly take a moment to think before you speak, type, write, dictate, Alexa-ate, Siri-ize, engage in whatever form of e-communication you prefer to leverage, and ponder taking a potentially and alternately more tolerable approach to it. You just may make someone else's fucking day a little brighter...and have your urgent deliverable delivered with just a little bit more urgency on the other end.

Namaste and to all, a wonderful day.

Warm, kind, and all the best regards,
Rachel

namaste

sometimes the things we desire most are the simplest yet hardest to attain.

that's all.

Beats by...whatever

Yesterday, I went to my usual neighborhood starbucks in the mid to late afteroon to get my usual daily coffee (don't tell my gastro becuase I know Sbux coffee is probably much too acidic for my acid ridden GI tract. But I digress. The line was uncharacteristically long for a 3p Sunday caffeine fix ad I was feeling, as per usual status quo, crappy tired and irritable. A sad state of affairs I must concede but sadly a true one. in any case, there i stood, clad in my un-best-attempt at looking anything closely resembling equinox-chic but rather instead, in my laziest uncaring state of being -- zero make up, unwashed face, dirtyish leggings and a baggy t-shirt made baggier by its many years of wash cycles and fewer years/months/weeks of weight lost on the girl underneath it. the girl "wearing it." ok, so that is the scene -- Me, at Bux, waiting online for caffeination. Just to close the loop on teh scene, I have noticed as of late in my recent state of heightened anxiety, sickness, irriatabiltation, that donning the absolutely fucking largest noise-blocking obnoxious Beat by Dre headphones has legitimately reduced my anxiety. Yes, this is real truth and non snark. I am legitimatley serious. These godly enormous fucking headphones intended for the most inense of music-makers, rap-takers and beat shakers (Please forgive the abhorrent rhyming I an just too tired to try harder), while not intended as anxiety-blockers, I have found to be as such. I swear somehow my enormous silver larger-than-my-head-and-brain Beats by Dre on-hear headphones seem to be stronger than Xanax lately...the blocking out of sound of everything around AND ODDLY AND CONFUSINGLY IMPORTANTLY, WITHIN ME, has proven lately to be epically and profoundly fucking relaxing. I don these things in my apartment, on the street, at the gym, and apparently, at Starbucks waiitng for my coffee. Well, apparently it seems others also are privy to their uncanny noise blockagability (good fake word rach!), which brings me to the meat of writing this.

So, there's me...still on line and now you have the full picture, lame loose leggings, jacket, HUGE BEATS ON EARS, waiting in a what i'm certain was lividly irritated stance and look. While my music was awaiitng its next song, I found I was able to hear ab conversation somehoe through the beat blocability behind me. "That anorexic girl in line....' I didn't even hear the end of the setnence. I didn't move at first, didnt turn around to give a rude or "I heard that" stare...nope, none of that, iN fact I did not flinch. "That girl is so fucking anorexic it's disgusting, ew." still, i didn't budge, no, i only listened. The two people kept talking about me, as if I was not even there, invisible, deaf, A GHOST. "I bet someone loves her, I wonder who, that is so sad, look at her legs." 

Hey guys, i THOUGHT but did not SAY, I can FUCKING HEAR YOU. I'M STANDING HERE. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ME? I HEAR YOU.

Of course these words stayed in the walls between my ears, as per usual lately.

At this point, I was done with their thoughtless insensitivities. God, thank god for these Beats, PRESS. PLAY. NOW. Yes, my fingers pressed play on my ears. Ahh, drown out the fucking world and its truths again.

I hate writing lately, I hvaen't the patience for it. But I write all this to say...People, for the love of all that may or may not be God, or life, or anything real that you value. Think before you speak. Adjust the volume or tenure of your thoughts before they leave the palor of your lips. But more importantly, before you deign to AUDIBLY judge another human outloud, think again. Think just for a moment about maybe, just MAYBE what that other person might too be feeling, experiencing or doing. How sick he or she might be in his or her body or mind...likely both. Maybe take a goddamn second to say to yourself, gee, maybe that person feels awful already because she looks sad and maybe she does not want to hear this from a couple random strangers while she awaits her acidic blonde roast. Right, probably not.

The world is a place of aesthetics -- that is and always will be true. We as humans feel with our hearts but ultimatey first see with our eyes. We state what we see and say what we may...but all of that can be tempered with time and tolerance. Take the time to temper before making what could be injurious, audible. It just may save one hurt or annoyed feeling...and isn't that just worth a beat or two of your time?

-RB

"Own What You Did"

Recently, I was watching an old episode of one of my absolute favorite shows of all time. Naturally a show about the therapeutic process and functional and dysfunctional relationships alike: In Treatment. If you haven't seen the fabulous series, this was an HBO original series that spanned three marvelous seasons from 2008  to 2011. Really every element of this series hit all the nails on their heads...well most nails on most heads, I always have at least one partial bone to partially pick. But I digress. So int his recent viewing, I was on the episode wherein Paul (read: Irish calm-but-yet-very-troubled handsome Dr. Westin) finds himself finally in the house of one of his former patients with whom he was madly and passionately infatuated. Lauuuuura. If you've seen the show, you'll recall the rationale behind my prolonged spelling. Yes, beautiful troubled sex-loving innocent dove patient Laura. And yes, I say infatuated and not in love purposely. But again I digress. In this episode, Paul has just come from chez Laura to the doorstep of his brilliant therapist, the incomparable Gina, played by none other than divinely wonderful Dianne Wiest. Paul shares with her, through what is evident shame and humiliation, that when it came down to that moment in the bedroom with Laura, only half clothed in her beautiful body and aura, Paul "just couldn’t do it."  "What,  you mean you couldn't perform?" "I...I had a fucking panic attack, a “classic textbook panic attack.” With this information, Gina pauses, she ponders, .

When Paul was faced with the very situation in which he had imagined, the moment of his dreams, he did nothing but panic. Unconsciously yes. Unpurposely no. He shamefully recounts to Gina what occurred embarrassed and clearly horrified. In her calm as only an amazing therapist could have manner, she speaks to him softly and confidently, “Paul, you know, that panic attack was you. It was the best of you. You had that panic attack in order to save yourself from a situation you knew was wrong but which you wanted so badly you had to have a panic attack to save yourself from it. Take credit for what you did.”
I have seen this episode likely around 6 times total yet in watching it this time, this moment struck me acutely. The human essence is not always overtly understandable...even those amongst us who supposedly hone the keenest sense of human behavior and thought processes, motivators behind actions, Paul, the wonderful universal therapist, in a moment of personal plight, desire mixed together into one fatal potion, even Paul did not consciously recognize his action. I love Gina's take on the situation -- Paul's panic attack was the best of him and while not overtly recongized as being the key player in the moment, it saved him from himself and from a potentially dangerous and ill fitted scenario play out.

Now, why am I taking the time on this arbitrary episode of a show from nearly a decade ago? Well, after being struck by this just a couple days ago, then coming down with a virus nastier than the worst panic attack you could experience, I told a good friend this morning of my sickness. "How was your weekend, dear friend?" "Well," I retort, "I got somehow suddenly and violently ill Friday and have been sick ever since." My sweet wise friend is just that -- she is kind beyond comprension and other worldly wise. "My dear Rachel, you are right, your body had enough, it knew it had to shut down and to take you down with it in order to get some respite and rest. So, it did."

She said this to me factually and confidently this morning, no hesitation or ponderence included -- her words were fact and boy were they accurate.

The sequence of this beautiful deep episode, followed in cadence by violent illness on my part, to my dear friend's woefully wise words. I say all this to say--the mind body connection is real. While not always tangible, while sometimes easy to push aside, an exercise at which we are ALL scarily skilled in these interesting times, the connection is true and real and despite the ability we have honed to separate the two entities at times, it will not disconnect. Psychosomaticism is one thing, yes, and a topic for a whole other blog post entirely, but the mind body connection is another.

Paul's overwhelming desire for Laura was too much for him to handle, he went to her because he had to. In the end, his body saved him. Don't Paul, I know  you think you want this but in the true depths of yourself, we both know you don't, it coaxed him with its shortness of breath and sweaty palms. Oxymoronical yes, false no. The calming reassurance of a panic attack. But actually yes, just that. While Paul possessed not the ability to tear himself away, the real Paul did. And he came to the rescue -- Paul saved himself, an act both admirable and miraculous from psychological and personal perspectives (say that three times fast!).

Like Paul, my own personal overdrive toward the relentless pursuit of perfection, in work, in life, in the world... I seem to lack the ability to put it on pause. (Unpurposeful alliteration continues!). I go and go and run and run, work and write and speak and do...run some more, wash it all down with a swig or three... life times three, life on speed. On occasion, I see myself with the perspective of an outsider and have the momentary, slow down, honey, take it easy, "done is better than perfect"...yada yada bang bang and all that jazz. But just like Paul, when it comes down to those moments, my overt conscious self simply cannot seem to rest. I feel sick? Oh well, off to work and gym and plans we go. I am exhausted? Onto the next activity....and on and on and so forth.

The recent weeks, however, have proven too much for me to go on like that. I have been down and out and up and down. So when on Friday my body seemed to instantly and suddenly shut down, it was a Paul-in-the-bedroom-panic-attack moment, er, many moments. My body just simply had to shut down in order to allow me a break. For had it not I would still be raging forward, up to here in acid, toxins, overspoken, overflowing and undone. It knew, though, it couldn't take that anymore. So, like dear CL mused, it shut it itself down and taped itself up, protested current status and silently protested until I had no choice. I gave in. I was violently ill for half a day, and when that passed, there was nothing left but up. I could not drink an ounce, eat a shroud of anything but clear clean fresh liquids...my body essentially created a new start for me without giving me a choice. Again. (But I won't get into that now). So now here I am, on day 3 of rest, of clean eating and drinking, clear minding and mending, and for once and perhaps only, grateful for sickness and for the  indescribable miracle of the human mind and body.

"That panic attack was yours Paul."

"That sickness is mine, Rachel."

Own what you did. "If everything were conscious, we therapists wouldn't have anything to do."

Sometimes we have to give ourselves credit for more than we actually understand. And right now, I'm just fine with that.

Thank you, body, for reacting and taking responsibility for me when I didn't and couldn't do it myself. I appreciate it and I appreciate you.

"Thanks for the save." <3 p="">

<3 p="">
<3 p="">I love you always, Grandma.

Motivational Media Moments

I remember when Programmatic Media was born. I remember I came to work that morning, still donning my "traditional not-yet-integrated-or-digitized" Associate Director hat, sat down at my desk like any other day, and all of a sudden "programmatic" was every other word out of the mouths of the media babes surrounding my big girl glass office. "Programmatic this" and "DSP that", "auction it" "white list it"... what in God's name were they all taking about? Where and when did this all that new digital-ish jargon-y gobbledy gook come from and so quickly? TV today, DSP tomorrow... not my catchiest original phrase but what can you do, it's Friday.

But I digress. As a thirty-something working at an agency in a then-still-traditional role in the early 2010 days. my insecurity at aging myself out of the industry had already commenced. But the mere thought of learning a whole new-ish realm of media planning at that particular moment seemed daunting to say the least. Not insurmountable, but steep. I was already established in my career, thought I knew my strengths and the incessant digital chatter that surrounded me at the time, instead of fueling me, scared the living shit out of me. Why the idea of a few new acronyms, optimizations and new ad formats would intimate me, the self-proclaimed tech lover (I would call myself iRachel or iBunny or something equally as cute but I would never dare to encroach on the fabulous iJustine's turf, love that chick), I could not tell you. Nope, I could not. But for some odd reason, it did. It just freaked me out. Digital ad planning and buying... maybe I will dress up as a CPM next Tuesday, after all, it is Halloween season. Alas I digress again. Back then, in the 2010s, print circs, GRPs, and OOH showings hugged my irrationally intimidated media soul, and CPEs, CPCs, and open exchanges were enough to drive me right off a cliff.

As I sit here now, my overworked laptop over-running itself with digital wrap up reports, programmatic spend reports and optimization recommendations beckoning my review, I can only chuckle at the narrower (ahem) media version of me of those days past. I cannot place my still-manicured finger on the moment in time when I morphed right into the very digitized version of Media Director that had intimidated me previously. I really cannot. Was it in those freelance-laden months of Women's Healthing for that moment there? Was it that first Twitter POV that appeared on my to do list that just had to get done? Perhaps the Instagram SWOT? I believe it was all of these, plus countless more of course... working in tandem with the personal growth I concurrently experienced during that time. Strip away the fear and replace it with action. The endeavor to cut down on the overthinking and replace it with action-oriented thinking. What we do in our personal selves ineveitably carries over to our work selves, and as I tend to write frequently, back and forth and around again.

Digital media planning is not scary, it does not have big black fangs, a black cloak or prickly spikes that bite you when you click your overworked keyboard. It isn't simple, but it isn't impossible. Yes, it necessitates trail sneakers to get up the learning curve instead of flat crosstrainers but, hey, I prefer a trail run to a walk any day. The endeavor to embrace and learn that which has the ability to intimidate us, is, for me at least, the most challenging aspect of the whole. Instead of allowing the unknown to knock us down in fear, I have found the key is to alternately, let it drive us up. At the risk of being much too cliche and cheesy in a media-based blog post, Michelle Obama certainly is a smart one. "When they go low, we go high." Sure, maybe the former first lady didn't say that with digital media buys in mind but hey, I'm all for universality and I'm sure she is too.

I say all this to say, as the essentially Digital Media Director I've evolved to be, and as per some wise folks along the way, the fear is ultimately what pushes us the farthest. In media, in motivation, and all around.

With digitized and optimized fondness,
Rachel