I accused him of murder.

I accused him of murdering the chair.

Menopause can take you to some strange places.

I was telling this story to a friend, recounting the day I found my
daughter’s balloon chair collapsed and flattened on the floor. I had just seen
the chair, puffed up and happy, a moment before my husband had entered her room
to drop something off.

I confronted him with the evidence and he looked at me strangely: “I didn’t
touch the chair.”

“You must have. You must have stabbed it with something accidentally.”

“I wasn’t near the chair.”

“You had to have done something. It was fine a minute before.”

“Sunny, honestly, I didn’t do anything to the chair.”

“You’re lying! You murdered the chair! You don’t love Lauren!”

Oh, if this had been the only time I reacted with such sudden, overblown,
out-of-body rage. But no, it happened again a month later. This time I was
entering Wal-Mart. I grabbed a cart and started pushing it down the center
aisle. As I neared the pleasantly nodding greeter, I was consumed by an urge to
run her over.

I managed to restrain myself, but this was my blinking neon message that
something was WRONG with me.

My journey from peri-menopause into menopause lasted over 10 years. I would
have appreciated a road map before I started out so that I could have navigated
a little more successfully. At least the emotional part. For while I was able to
deal pretty well with the tiredness, hot flashes, night sweats and insomnia, I
simply wasn’t prepared for my descent into periods of inexplicable lunacy.

I think my first clue about what was happening to me came when I started to
recognize the look on my husband’s face — his sudden expression of wide-eyed
horror — as he watched my body being snatched from my control. I, the epitome of
sensitive, reasonable, compassionate response, would begin to snarl. I could
feel it happening but I was powerless to do anything about it.

On one level, it actually felt good; I was experiencing the glorious freedom
of no-holds-barred honesty. But then there was the matter, at the same time, of
standing to the side and watching myself screech. That felt awful.

What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I moderate my reactions? I wanted my
life back.

Hormone replacement therapy has been a controversial topic for years. It is
not my intent to discuss the variables here, but just to make clear that the
decision of whether to use it or not is a very individual one. Only you can know
what feels right for you.

For me, the answer has definitely been replacement hormones. It’s a quality
of life issue. I had been willing to deal as best I could with the other
factors, but when it comes to hurting the ones I love (and innocent store
employees) that’s where I draw the line.

My friend and I talked about the fact that while there are numerous articles
and books on the “symptoms” of menopause, there is very little written on the
lifestyle alterations that come at this time. Traditionally, menopause has been
seen as the entrance to the crone stage of life – a time of coming to terms with
the aging process; a time of embracing the realities of a changing focus in
life.

I believe that the wisdom that comes with the acceptance of one’s age is
totally worth the trade-offs of youth. I don’t have to give up who I am. If
anything, my life has become richer and more fulfilling than it was 10 years ago
when I still judged myself according to the precepts of those around me.

I really like being 60. There are, of course, adjustments to be made to
physical changes, but I have a feeling that I’ll like being 70, too. After all,
what’s the alternative?

I do wish that I’d had more guidance about this period when I was younger. We
all need role models and mentors to show us that there’s so much more to living
life well than we know about. But now that I’m here, I can be that person for
the women who follow me. I want to share my experiences so that the journey
becomes easier for others.

I want to tell my friends that they’re not (necessarily) going crazy during
these pivotal years. I want to let them know that they’re not alone. I want to
encourage them to speak out and share what’s happening with those who can lend
support.

And I want to reassure them if they’re ever in Wal-Mart and they feel the
urge to flatten that smiling senior citizen, that there’s light and hope for
them at the other end of the aisle.

Last week I received an invitation I would have killed for five years ago.
And I turned it down.

I casually mentioned the invitation on Facebook, and my decision not to
accept it, and the response floored me. I’d expected some people to go, “Nice to
have had the offer!” and that would be it. But many of my friends were incensed
that I’d walked away. “ARE YOU CRAZY?” one email demanded to know.

Well, the answer depends on where you are in your life.

Here’s the story: Last spring I got a call from the Discovery Channel, asking
me if I’d like to be in the data base as a professional organizer for their new
series on hoarders. I said sure, as long as the episode would be shot fairly
close to where I live. The invitation last week was from the show’s producers,
saying they’d found a client in Phoenix and although they knew Phoenix was a
four-hour round trip from my house, I was at the top of their list.

It was certainly an honor to have been asked. I was flattered and
appreciative. But much had transpired since the first contact last May; much in
my head, anyway.

When I had the first conversation, I hadn’t really watched either of the
hoarder shows. Having spent much of my career working in those difficult
environments with very troubled clients, I never thought of the programs as
“entertaining.” But I decided to watch, so I could evaluate what I’d be getting
myself into if I were selected. And it was mighty grim watching.

Hoarders have an illness, and as interesting as it might be to watch their
homes get cleared out, you don’t get to see the whole story. The program is
carefully edited and presented to hold your attention but the actual process is
longer and much more demanding. Serious therapeutic assistance is required for
the client to deal with hoarding obsessions.

So, I’ve been there and done that, and know that I could do it again. But the
question for me was, “Do I WANT to do this again?”

When I was actively building my business and career, the notion of being on
national TV was the carrot that made many sticks tolerable.Everyone dreamed (and
still dreams) about being on Oprah. I made it as far as the Regis show after my
first book on organizing came out, when they were still letting “non-celebrities” on the program. Appearing live with
Regis was a hoot, but the work behind the scenes was murder. I did a
before-and-after reorganization of the producers’ office and because I’m me, I
tried to make the organizational systems match eachindividual. The producers didn’t really care though if the make-over was
genuine. They just wanted “good TV” with nice shots that would make the viewers
go “Ahhhh…”

I gave them exactly what they wanted, and because one of the guests didn’t
show on the day of taping, they gave me two segments instead of one – one
segment was of the already taped office make-over and one was live with Regis
and his wife, Joy. Regis told me later that it went very well and that I was
“big” (whatever that means).

It took me a week to recover, but the publicity was great and I’m sure it
helped book sales. So fast-forward to last week. Given my past TV success, why
wouldn’t I go for a repeat performance? Because between last spring and last
week, I decided to teach a class on my passion, “Creating Your Personal Legacy”
that combines several of my interests. My class research is cutting-edge, fun
and very consuming. I’m also editing a friend’s epic fantasy novel, and doing
mentoring/coaching and on-line writing.

Bottom-line, my cup is full and happy.

Granted, I could have agreed to do the show for several other reasons – to
help someone who really needs it, to show viewers across the country how I
assist people, and to create publicity for my existing books and any new
projects that I undertake in the future. But honestly, is it worth the huge
exchange of time and energy? (By the way, this isn’t a paid gig.)

For me, now, the answer is a definitive “no”. It’s tempting for sure, but not
at the top of my priority list. And that’s what’s most important. Sometimes we
get to make big choices that demonstrate to us if we’re really ready to walk our
talk — to give up something good for something even better.

Thanks to all my friends who wanted me to keep going for the gold, but I’ve
already found it, right here in my own backyard.

It’s so easy to take people for granted when they live around the corner. But since we’ve been out in Sedona, Arizona, our nearest family members are over 2000 miles away – a little too far for a casual cup of coffee or a sushi lunch.

I’ve been missing that coffee and sushi so this past weekend we traveled to Chapel Hill, North Carolina and points east and south to visit with kids, in-laws, a nephew, and brother and sister-in-law. It was a bit of a whirlwind but totally worth the trip.

I hadn’t spent time alone with my daughter, Lauren, since before her wedding last October (when we were mostly crazed) but somehow we managed to carve out a few hours together on Saturday. It was overcast and drizzly, and it reminded me of some of the moments of quiet connection we were able to share when we both lived in New Jersey.

 Those moments were significant because the rest of the time we were down in the trenches, doing battle in the War of the Teenage Years. You may remember those days. They were not easy and respite, when it came, was usually in the form of a sudden realization that the other person was not an alien being but rather someone a bit like you. For a few moments, or a half hour if you were lucky, you’d get to enjoy the peaceful, warm feelings that come with that spontaneous recognition.

Many of these moments were shared when Lauren and I went out for sushi together. From the time she was a five or six, we used to head to our local sushi place when we needed space for some private conversation. We’d split our order of California and rainbow rolls, pour green tea into tiny white cups and know that we were in a safe zone for sharing our feelings. It was an intimate ritual.

So this day we drove to her favorite Japanese restaurant and for the first time in several years were able to share those rolls again – just the two of us. We looked at each other across the table and marveled at how something we once accepted as just a normal part of life had become, over time and great distances, a major event.

Sushi Moments = special connections.

Now that she’s an adult, Lauren has evolved into a person much more like me, and I love to share the things that bring us together. Unbelievably, one of those things is organizing. (I never would have suspected this from the condition of her bedroom when she was growing up.) When we returned from lunch we sat down on her living room floor and went through some folders and notebooks from her college classes.

Connecting with this aspect of her life was riveting. I watched her face while I listened to her reminiscences of her great professors and the not-so-great; her aha! experiences while researching a paper; her wistful recollections of student bonds forged in foreign countries. I’ve found that a big part of connecting is simply bearing witness to the life experiences of another.

And connecting, for me, is the juice of life.

It’s way too easy to become complacent about sushi moments; to assume that people and places will be there forever and to behave accordingly. It’s shockingly simple and sad to let life become a series of weddings and funerals – to let events dictate how you’ll see family and when.

The fact is that sushi moments come about most often because you plan for them. If you desire connection, you need to create the circumstances that allow it to occur.  Lauren and I had some terrific sushi moments last weekend because we wanted them and arranged our lives so they could take place. Maybe you have to fly across the country to do that. Or maybe you just have to pick up the phone and invite a certain person to lunch.

 Sushi moments can take place on the phone or computer, but in-person is much more satisfying. You can use all of your senses while connecting and see things that you might otherwise miss, especially with older people who might not be as comfortable as you are in a digital world. When you really connect, you’re not multi-tasking. You’re totally present in the moment which is where you should be.

If you can manage it, do it; go out for coffee, eat sushi or organize files, but spend some more time with the folks you’d miss if they were no longer around. It’s one of life’s few indulgences that you’ll never regret.

Do you ever have them? (Do bears poop in the woods?)

Dumb arguments are about little things that in the grand scheme of things should never matter. That’s why they’re dumb. But they do matter when at least one person is tired or annoyed and doesn’t feel like taking the high road and ignoring the dumb issue.

Take my husband Roy’s cheese for example – the cheese he sprinkles on his western omelets. I don’t care for western omelets, but I do like cheese (even though it’s mostly off-limits in my new dietary lifestyle). The other morning he asked me if I had opened up his cheese. I automatically said no because I didn’t remember doing that. So he takes the cheese out of the refrigerator and shows me the plastic clip on it. “You must have opened this because I wouldn’t have put a clip on it.”

“Why wouldn’t you have put a clip on it?” I demanded. “If it’s open, it needs a clip to stay fresh.”   “That’s not the point,” he shot back. “The point is whether you opened my cheese.” I don’t remember opening it,” I countered. “But there’s a clip on it!”

You get the picture. Unfortunately I have way too many examples of this.

Every day I watch him eat his meals and leave just a bit on his plate. Always. It’s not like he leaves enough to show that he’s full. He just automatically leaves a little bit and it makes me crazy. I try to ignore it because after all, it’s his plate. But inside I’m screaming, “Don’t you know that there are children starving in Africa?!” Why can’t you just clean the freakin’ plate if you’re that close to finishing?” Obviously he had the less damaged childhood.

But I do realize that these are dumb arguments. They’re minor, and for that I’m grateful, because I remember my first marriage when they weren’t. My ex and I spent years arguing the basics – money, sex, family. We had fundamentally different ways of looking at things and unfortunately punished each other for that. I’d do it differently now if I was able to go back, but I also realize that the outcome would have been the same.

(Dumb arguments are dumb, except when they’re not. Sometimes dumb arguments mask a much deeper frustration that gets played out at a surface level. But those aren’t the kind of dumb arguments that I’m talking about.)

Dumb arguments are funny in retrospect. I remember the day when my father and I debated the best way to open a coconut. I watched in disbelief as he put it on a plate and hit it with a hammer; of course the plate cracked in half. Then he went after it with a hand-drill and the drill bit broke off in the shell. Finally we agreed to just bounce it down the concrete steps outside, and watched it smash open and the milk dribble down the sidewalk… And the afternoon my mother and I raged at each other across the stove over how many cans of water should go into the spaghetti sauce. I miss those times.

Dumb arguments can tell you how comfortable you are with someone. My husband and I started cooking together last year and at first we were both paranoid about chicken – I was afraid that he would overcook it, and he was terrified that it would be under-done. So we agreed where to set the oven timer and watched each other closely to make sure that neither one of us cheated by bumping the timer up or down. Fortunately we’re past that stage and now just argue about how thick to cut the eggplant.

The silliest dumb argument we ever had started out to be major.

It was back in our earlier days when we both “read into” each other’s positions. The argument was about an iguana, and whether my son, AJ, could buy one. For some reason I assumed that an iguana was a smallish-size lizard and would therefore fit nicely into AJ’s room. Roy wisely decided to check out iguanas and went to PetSmart to talk with someone knowledgeable. There he was warned that iguanas grow to be large and can be very dangerous if you get in the way of a whipping tail.

He came home and told me in no uncertain terms that we would not be getting an iguana. Picturing in my mind just a little pet for AJ, I concluded that Roy really didn’t love my son. And when I continued to argue, he threw up his hands and told me that I was being totally unreasonable and walked out of the room. I’m not sure what would have happened next if Roy hadn’t called me to come downstairs to the computer. There, on the screen, was a photo of a full-size iguana. “Oh my God!” I screamed. “We can’t get that!”

So tell me, what dumb arguments are you having these days?

I’ve never been a girly girl. (Except for that brief time during my teens when I joined my peers in the “uniforms” of the day – blouse with Peter Pan collar accented with circle pin, buttoned-down cardigan, skirt with matching knee-high socks and Bass weejuns, or a  Danskin top, mini-skirt with patterned stockings and elastic headband, white lipstick and blue eye shadow. Oy.)

So when my friend invited me to “high tea” at a local tea shop featuring live jazz I wasn’t sure. I just couldn’t picture myself holding a delicate teacup with my pinky raised.

Surprisingly, the food was good. Not watercress and crackers as I had feared, but rather a full menu ranging from a variety of delightful tea sandwiches to mini-quiches, scones with clotted cream and truffles. It was deliciously decadent.

The local musicians were excellent. And the tea! I had never tasted White Ambrosia and the experience opened me up to an amazing variety of tea drinks that I hadn’t known about.

But the best part was the pure fun of it all. Here we were in the middle of the afternoon, being served superb little treats and listening to the soulful songs of Billie Holliday and Norah Jones. Now this was something worth sharing!

The next High Tea and Jazz was scheduled for the following month and was advertised as a Mad Hatter Tea to celebrate the opening of the film “Alice in Wonderland” that day. We asked three friends who didn’t know each other to join us and were met with Mad Hatter hats at our table and the services of a face painter. We donned the hats and paint and the fun quotient ratcheted right up. We found ourselves knocking back cups of tea like they were shots of Jack Daniels. There was most definitely a buzz.

The month after that we invited two more friends and had the best afternoon yet. We were laughing so hard that we were afraid the management would ask us to leave. Our conversation was especially engrossing because we each had our tea leaves read by a very good psychic who was there for the Tea.

High Tea was becoming much more than a monthly tea party. (And how annoying that the name of our gathering has been usurped politically!)

But a tea party it is and not your grandmother’s tea party either. Have you ever been with a group of people when the energy going around is off the charts? Where the connections are intense and compassionate and non-judgmental?

The following month the tea shop didn’t offer a High tea afternoon. So one member of our group opened her house to us and prepared a beautiful setting for sharing our own sandwiches, fruit, pastries, champagne and tea. When we admonished her for going to so much trouble, she replied that she loved doing it because we seldom take the time to make things special for ourselves and that we need MORE of this. She reminded us that we get so caught up in our routines and the demands of everyday living that we don’t set aside the space for what obviously gives us such joy.

It’s true and we all knew it.

High Tea gives us an excuse to pamper ourselves alongside the people we care about. It allows us to go deep in our discussions and yet still be able to laugh like we seldom do in a given day. We aren’t constrained by typical cocktail chit-chat, yet we still get to enjoy the finger foods and music. Most significantly, we’re actively supporting each other in wherever we happen to be each month.

It’s essential to hang out with positive people – people who are realistic optimists, have a healthy sense of humor and who enjoy being part of an uplifting group. I know that when I spend an afternoon with these ladies (whose ages range from 53 to 78) I feel terrific about myself and about life.

It can be tough to eliminate negative people from your surroundings but if you can avoid exposure to those who habitually bitch and moan, do so immediately. The difference in your energy level will be astounding. Choose to be with individuals who are able to enjoy who you really are and who bring out the best in you.

 High Tea is definitely a treat but it doesn’t really matter what activity you engage in. Whether it’s bowling or going out for karaoke, if the activity feels special and you’re with people you enjoy and respect, it can give you a shot in the arm and the laughs you need to get through the rest of the week.

Take one full moon. Add a piece of tagboard, one glue stick, a pair of scissors and a few favorite magazines. What do you have?

A remarkable recipe for fun and sixth sense creativity.

I participated in a dreamboard telecircle last weekend and experienced a wonderful return to the magic days of kindergarten. Do you remember the joy of cutting up paper and pictures and pasting them all together with that thick white paste that came in a jar? It usually turned out to be a lumpy mess but we didn’t know any better and loved the sight and smell of our “art”.

And it was art. It was art that came from our five-year old souls and was totally authentic.

When was the last time you created from the soul? And I don’t mean just playing together with your children or grandchildren, but rather doing it for yourself.

I’ve created visionboards before, but they’re much more intentional, i.e., knowing what it is you want to bring into your life and displaying that in a collage. Dreamboards draw from the energy of whatever moon it is you’re working with, and therefore rely more on the intuition of the moment.

All you need are the above named supplies and an hour or two to yourself. Leaf through the magazines and tear out any images or words that speak to you. You don’t even have to know why they speak to you – maybe you’re attracted, maybe you’re intrigued. Part of what’s fascinating about dreamboards is that their real power lies in what is revealed when the board is complete.

Glue the images down in whatever arrangement is pleasing to you. You can completely cover your board or leave white space in between the pictures. And, if you like, you can add embellishments in the form of stickers, glitter or crayons. Then sit back and contemplate your art.

I was surprised and actually delighted by what showed up on my dreamboard. My central image is a picture of a woman who appears to be flying. Underneath that picture are the words, “breaking the rules”. I think I cut those out because I would like to get out of my little boxes more often.

 I have numerous pictures of candles and light; I love them. There is a lot of yellow and orange and turquoise. Steamed crabs that remind me of Baltimore.  A picture of a bed with a colorful quilt and pillows under a window overlooking the ocean. Chairs by a creek. Images of summer.

My favorite item is a photo of a blue-footed booby in the Galapagos Islands. Next to him I glued the words, “feel the earth. touch the sky.”The bird makes me laugh and I like the idea of being grounded while I reach up.

I think what amazed me the most were the pictures I cut out of little girls. At first I assumed that they represented an unacknowledged yearning for my first grandchild, but after studying my board for awhile, I realized that the children were actually me – my own little girl inside. Creating the dreamboard had let her come out to play.

I seem to like mostly images of nature, but I’ve seen other boards full of fashion, food and home design. (I’m sure that’s at least partly due to the magazines each of us select). It’s interesting to note how boards change from one full moon to the next but perhaps the most fascinating exercise is to look back and see what you’ve manifested over time. Our telecircle leader told us that she put together a puzzling dreamboard back in January that depicted various aspects of travel. In the following months she was asked to participate in several distant workshops and conferences that had not been on her radar at the start of 2010.

Regardless of your interpretation, it’s simply good fun to indulge your creative side in this way. You may want to make it more of a social event and ask friends or family to join you. Children, especially, seem to love the idea of constructing a dreamboard and their choices of pictures can give you insight into what’s significant to them at this point in time.

When your dreamboard is complete, put it in a place where you can look at it frequently. It will probably make you smile each time you see it but more than that, it will remind you that these things matter to you and that your intuitive self can teach you something.

 Maybe it will also remind you that your “inner artist” needs tending.  Discover who’s in there these days and rediscover yourself.

Which kind of driver are you? The one who:

-           tops off the gas tank whenever you have the chance?

-           notices when the tank is half empty and gets gas then?

-           coasts to the station on fumes and prays that you make it?

How well do you take care of yourself?  Are you the person who:

-          notes when your energy is flagging and gives yourself a boost?

-          realizes that you’re beginning to drag and stops to take a rest?

-          allows your body to reach Empty on the gauge and collapses in a clueless heap?

Too many of us blindly coast and even crash on the fumes of dissipating energy.

When I was a single parent I tried to cram in whatever activities I could during the day, and then run the After School Marathon of sports, special classes and appointments. I saved one schedule from that period that included 3 drop-offs and 3 pick-ups at different places and times. It was no surprise that I felt either tense or exhausted on most days but I wasn’t conscious of how debilitated I was. When you’re a mom or dad you do what you have to do, right?

But one day the light came on. I was creating a new workshop, in the early 90’s, that I called The Happiness Seminar. (Don’t they say that you teach what you most need to learn?) I was reading about energy cycles and how everyone needs to replenish their energy stores regularly; that the pitcher empties and you have to refill it. And then I saw a question: “When you’re traveling on an airplane, and the flight attendant talks about what to do if the air pressure drops and the oxygen mask appears in front of you, whose face are you supposed to put the mask on first – the person who is traveling with you who may need assistance, or your own?”

I’d been so conditioned to think of others first, that I immediately answered, “Whoever needs help.” Wrong – if you don’t put yours on first, you won’t be able to breathe, and you won’t be able to help anyone else.

I began to realize that it wasn’t just *helpful* to take care of myself – it was essential. If I didn’t take care of me, I couldn’t care for the significant others in my life.

What is self-care? I believe that it’s listening to yourself and remembering the activities and people who bring you back to who you really are; an integration of the things that soothe your soul.

This requires awareness. If you don’t notice that you’re running low on gas, you can’t do anything about it. Therefore, it’s helpful to me to ask these questions several times every day: How do I feel right now? What do I need to give myself so that I can best do what’s asked of me?

The answer might be as simple as a cup of coffee, but I suggest that you have a written list of “Things That Make Me Smile (Relax or Lift My Spirits)” within easy reach when you’re starting to feel run down. But first you have to create one. I find it fascinating that in my workshops, when I ask people what makes them smile, they inevitably go blank and look around at each other. I tell them that they’re not allowed to copy off of anyone’s paper – this is a personal exercise. I propose that they list 100 items, which of course makes everyone gasp. But if you take 20 minutes to do this, you’ll find that you keep coming up with more and more things to list. And anything and everything counts – from great sex to a picnic in the park to watching your child sleep at night.

Once you have a list, you can estimate how long each activity takes. Scratching your dog behind the ears might take half a minute, whereas a trip to Hawaii will require a longer execution time. The idea is to have a range of activities in which you can engage, no matter how little time you have available. Then select a few to schedule into your week. Use a yellow highlighter to spotlight these items so that the time you’ve scheduled for yourself is impossible to miss. If you need to reschedule, OK, but be aware that you’re taking time away from yourself – valuable personal time.

Soothing your soul is your responsibility; no one is going to do it for you. Reserving a half hour or an hour for a bath, reading, meditating, walking, listening to your favorite music or lunching with a friend may sometimes seem selfish, but paradoxically, it can be the greatest gift to not only yourself, but to all of your loved ones.

Make soothing your soul a non-negotiable priority so you’ll never run out of gas.