Small Bites and Little Victories

A week or so ago I got a photo from a woman who I hadn't seen since college (but who I followed like whoa on social media - her life is bonkers beautiful!) it was a picture of a woman on the subway reading my memoir! My book. In the hands of a stranger. On a New York City subway. I let out an audible gasp of joy! I'm not sure if this is true for every author in New York, or for any author anywhere, but a small part of my dream has always been to see a stranger holding my book on subway. It felt like a huge compliment that they would take me with them as they went about their commute. That my little voice was taking them into my life: they were with me at the hospital at Elmhurst, into the physical therapy room at  Glen Cove, to the family room in the house I grew up in, to that same subway where I covered my tears with think tortoise shell sunglasses.  It was incredible! I stared at that picture and another thought creeped into my head - holy shit. This stranger knows

I have been working pretty hard on my hustle lately. Like yesterday, I woke up at 5 am, wrote for an hour, sent some sales ideas and edits for a friend, wrote an article about what you should and shouldn’t say to someone who has been through a trauma, drafted emails to a bunch of different physical therapy schools to see if they might want someone who has been a patient to talk about their experience to give a different perspective to students, I followed up on all of my personal emails. After I closed my computer, I strapped on my sneakers and power walked 4 miles as I watched the sun rise over my sleeping Brooklyn neighborhood. I got home and showered, made myself some coffee and then sat down at my computer to start my work day, and the first thought that came into my mind as I opened my laptop for the second time that morning was Jesus Christ Katie. You are so la z y Let me repeat myself for clarity: Jesus Christ Katie. You are so lazy.     Soooooo, that was awkward.

I got up this morning at  5 am  to workout. As I dressed in the gray morning light, it reminded me of the years that I would force myself to get up  at 5 am and  drag myself to my computer to bang out bits and pieces of my memoir for the 2 hours I had before commuting into work. I t was the quietest that my Brooklyn neighborhood was all day. It felt like I was the only person awake in the world. It was lonely, but it felt right. I struggled to put my feelings into words. I wanted to be honest with myself about who I was, how I felt and who I was trying to be. I did my best not to flinch about my ugly feelings, to stare deeply into my own mortality, fragility and also to dive in deeper past the negativity, to the beautiful hidden places where joy lived.   I spent my lunch hours tucked out of sight in unused cubicles in the back of the open trading desk where I worked - editing, crying, laughing. My evenings would bring me back to the same spot at the little desk in my bedroom, ea

I got invited out for drinks the other night with a few of my friends from college.  During the course of the night we met up with some of my friend Chris’ colleagues.    Chris is an incredible person who is more excited about your victories than you are, and he so sweetly introduced me as his friend the author who is having a book published in a few weeks.   The question that comes next is one that I am delighted by and dread in equal measure.   "What kind of a book is it?" I try to fight my embarrassment while saying that I wrote a memoir, because what is douchier than a person writing 300 pages about themselves after they haven’t even been on the earth for 40 years?   Nothing, you guys, there is nothing douchier than that. Then they ask what the title is, and I tell them How to Get Run Over by a Truck – and as I look into their confused and interested faces, I usually follow up with, “because I was run over by an 18 wheel truck a few years ago,”   and then I w

During the course of my short little life, I've forced myself to do a lot things that have scared the crap out of me.  I have done stand up comedy even when I was pretty sure I was going to bomb. I started a job in finance even though I could barely do basic math, and didn't reallllly understand what the stock market was (up good? down bad?)  I put all of my innermost thoughts and feelings about the worst experience of my life into a book for errrrrybody to read (My former boss bought a copy...*meep*).  I try to face my fears with the aggressiveness of a 7 year old running after the ice cream man with two dollars in her fist and a serious jonesing for a Choco Taco. C'mon we've all been there...if I'm going to be honest, I'm there right now!  I'd run an obstacle course for a SnoCone every.damn.day. This way of living usually works for me: I see a fear and I fight to overcome it. I use the weapons at my disposal: positive attitude, a good worth ethic and a c

My body and I have been in a little fight of late.  Nothing huge mind you, we're still on speaking terms.  I'm just a little colder to the ol' bod than I usually am. I've found I'm quicker to anger and not as patient with it as I'd like to be. It may be because its creeping up on spring (even though it doesn't feel like it in Brooklyn today - brr you guys, BRRRR!), and my body is still holding fast to my sweater bod (Rude! Doesn't it know that its almost sundress time?!)  Or, it could be because I've been having some additional health challenges of late that have made me feel like my body has turned on me. Like we're just not on the same page.  Which feels sad, and kind of confusing. When I woke up this morning to go work out, I was still feeling my feelings about my body and I made a decision that something needed to change.  I needed to do something to feel like my body was my own, that it was strong and capable and that I loved the shit out

It has been a long while since I've written on this blog, and for that I absolutely apologize! To make up for being MIA - I wrote an incredibly long post.  If you need to get a snack, or maybe go to the bathroom before you read - go for it.  I'll wait. The reason why I haven't been writing on this blog as much as I'd like, is actually because of writing this blog (full circle you guys! Full. Circle)  Let me begin at the beginning: While I was in the hospital after my accident I started writing as form of catharsis. It was a way for me to take all of the memories that kept rushing around my head and put them in one place.  As I wrote, I found that not only did I feel better, but I also felt like I had a better understanding of myself and my situation. I continued to write about my recovery and my life post accident after I got out of the hospital.  When I was well enough to go back to work, I made writing my second job.  I would wake up early in the morning to writ