It Feels So Wrong

But it's so, so right...

The first time I went to a funeral, I was 22 years old.

I was so lucky to have made it that long. And so naively misinformed. I only knew of funerals from television and movies, with women draped in black, veils even, wailing over coffins.

Imagine my confusion to find myself laughing and even enjoying myself as my family shared stories of my beloved Grandpa Meyer.

Whose death rocked me to my core.

And whose funeral weekend was one of the best of my life.

My desk view. Their pic, upper right. Also a lovely memory jar of my mama that my friend Suz made for me. And a watercolor my daughter-in-law gave me when I moved here. Oh and my son made that “hope” sculpture as a kid in school and even though he rolls his eyes at it, I love it.

I’ve been thinking about that weekend quite a lot lately.

One, a picture of my grandparents faces my desk and I glance at it constantly while I work. It’s an old-school 1980s studio photo and my grandparents are backlit in a very angelic way. I suspect it was for the Clara City Bethenny Reformed Church directory and I love love love that they ordered copies and distributed them to the family. I miss that tradition.

Two, 22-year-old Stephanie learned a couple of really important things that weekend.

1. Joy is amplified by grief and that’s OK. I felt enormous guilt at first, being so happy to see my family and laughing extra hard at stories I’d known by heart since I was 5 years old. My family is so funny, and rich with raconteurs, and I remember just finally giving myself over to the fun and realizing I had absolutely no idea what a funeral was even supposed to be.

2. Taking action despite grief helps you heal. When I got back to school - I was a senior at UW-Madison and graduating just one month after the funeral - the grief hit me hard and I had to force myself back to class and studying and finals because I knew it was what my grandpa would expect of me. He didn’t get to graduate from college himself, but education was important to him and I was the oldest of his grandchildren. I knew nothing of woo back then, but I pictured him being very glad that I pushed through and finished my last semester with a 4.0 and making the Dean’s List. Fuck yeah. (He didn’t swear in front of me, but I swear all the time and that thought helped me move onward and upward.)'

I’m full of grief right now. I hate where our country is headed. It’s irreparably harming me and people that I love. Trying to figure out how to react and exist and change course is exhausting and infuriating.

I’m also full of amplified joy. This struggle has brought new and lovely friends into my life. The conversations I have with my clients are about health and healing on very deep levels, much deeper than nutrition alone.

I’ll be a grandmother by the end of the month. How full circle is that?

When the news overwhelms, I conjure some of the fight-back energy from that last month of college.

You can do that too. Steal my ideas, share yours. For me it looks like thinking of myself as a resistor. That’s a simple paradigm shift that changes literally everything.

And these little joys, little actions, repeated:

• Listening to so much music. Loud shouty grunge music. Love songs. Classical music. Jazz. My favorite slutty dance songs (while dancing). I’m remembering songs, jotting them down in weird places, free-form listening to whatever pops into my head in the dark. Some make me smile. Some make me sob. I want all of it. Rip my heart out, I beg of you.

• Getting involved with neighborhood groups. Wow smart people. Wow. This is how I’ve settled on meeting people in Denver and it’s delightful.

• Reading novels about badass women resistors. Currently loving The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah. Share yours in the comments, please.

• Heated Rivalry. I’m (almost) mortified to say I’ve encouraged clients to watch it so we can discuss it. I feel like every woman has watched it at this point and had a very personal experience with it, in the way that art is meant to change how we see and think. Love that so much. It’s super raunchy in a necessary way - I have a theory that the lustiness of it is an energy that women just have not been feeling much of lately, rightly so. But that shakti/primal/sacral/sacred/eros energy is FIRE and so powerful and actually so needed right now. So, like, wake that shit up and pair it with rage and yeah. Let it heal you, journal it out (I’ve journaled PAGES in the best way), and get your inner witch/goddess to work saving the world. No big deal. (Said in a hot Russian accent.)

• Cooking. Like it’s a privilege, like it’s beautiful and sensual, like your life and vitality depend on it. Fragrant stews and soups. Crunchy-creamy salads. Spicy, citrus-y fish and vegetables. Curries and pan sauces you lick off spoons. Color color color. This is it. This is not the time to starve yourself into a frail waif. This is a time for nourishment and getting strong and building muscle and making new friends at the gym. LFG.

• Caucuses and volunteering for the midterms and for candidates you love. Get in there.

• A ladies game night. Every time in my life I need a boost I host a ladies game night. Amazing snacks, lovely sips, raunchy board games. Honestly this might be the only time I say: get drunk (if you drink). Be so obscene. Laugh until you almost die.

I’ll stop there. More later. I just wanted to remind myself, and you, to stay connected and to get strong and nourished AF and to appreciate how much harder we laugh when it’s in the face of fear and despair and grief.

It feels wrong but it’s actually so, so right.

Love you.

xoxo Stephanie

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