What I've Learned

Esquire magazine runs a feature in every issue--"What I've Learned." Considering I try to learn something new every day, I periodically do a new "What I've Learned" on this blog. I think a Sunday is a good day to do one, since that's usually a day for coffee and the NY Times . . . and maybe Esquire. So here we go . . .


That I really am a wine snob. When I was 20, what the heck did I know? And I try not to let on that I care about how a wine "finishes" and all that. But I do.

That you are never too old to have a "schoolgirl" crush on someone. My grandmother was well into her seventies and eighties and still completely gaga over Keith Hernandez of the NY Mets. I think if I am 80 and still want to do Clive Owen, it will mean I am aging well and keeping young at heart.

That you love each of your kids the same amount but uniquely. Each of them you love for different reasons, but the amount of love can't even be quantified.

That my parents can NEVER take a cruise again. I forbid it. I sat them both down and forbid it. FORBID it. Why? When they get to a certain point out at sea, I can't call them. This made me feel like an orphan for an entire week. The fact that I am in my forties and felt this way is completely immaterial. And yes, it's all about ME when it comes to this. I don't need to feel like an orphan until it's really that time, and even then . . . I hate thinking about it. FORBID THEM!

That as a writer I seem to find myself caring less about market and more about just fooling around with something fun in my free time. And maybe art is supposed to be like that.

That some things age well. Like the Clash.

That some things don't. Like . . . well . . . all hair bands.

That some things I loved as a child I STILL adore beyond the realms of normalcy. In random order, ladybugs, the stars, and lilies of the valley, for example.

That grief has absolutely no respect for time. Occasionally, though she has been dead for 15 years, I can crumble to the floor and grieve my grandmother for an afternoon. Same goes for my dog Honi.

That in the end, kindness is my religion. I stole that from His Holiness, The Dalai Lama. But really? Can you argue with it?

That I really dig walking into any room and having a pretty good hunch I am the smartest person in there. When I was in 7th grade, my friends told me to never let on that I was smarter than all the boys or no one would ever ask me out. I didn't take their advice then. I don't now. I still got asked out.

That said, I can learn something from every single solitary person I meet from infancy to aged and infirm. And that philosophy has a clear correlation, one to the other.

That I like reading about science. Physics in particular. And that's kind of weird. But . . . look at this list. So am I.

That some things you do define you. I am a writer. It's not only my career, it's who I am. It's how I process the world.

That when I light my St. Jude's candle, which I pick up in the Hispanic section of the grocery store, the fact that I am not Catholic might render the candle null and void. But I feel comforted when it's lit. Which is a pretty good indication of how stressed out my life is since he's the patron saint of HOPELESS causes.

That I brew a whole pot of coffee each day and drink half of one cup. Why do I go through the exercise only to have a half-drunk cup of cold coffee on my desk? I think it has to do with that guy Pavlov and his dog.

That when you are so stupid as to believe you have "that motherhood thing" down, God will send you a Demon Baby. Sure as I'm standing.

That is proof that the universe has a sense of humor. It's all in how you look at it.

And finally . . . that SOME MEN will be too afraid to play me in Scrabble.

All right . . . your turn. Writers, non-writers. Doesn't matter. What have you learned?