Aetna recently declined my application for an only-if-you-get-hit-by-an-18-wheeler-as-long-as-you-weren't-standing-in-the-street health insurance plan.

I have been deemed "high-risk" because I have a history of mild depression.  Never mind the plan states clearly that it does not cover any treatment related to depression, birth control, prenatal care, or child birth, even if they are not pre-existing conditions.

My husband says Aetna did us a favor, saving us the $5000 per year premium.  Maybe.

I'm thinking it's an opportunity to invest in a new approach to health care in this country, i.e., the exchanges that are due to appear in October.  It is an honor in some ways to put my money where my mouth is.

I believe in a nationalized health care system and I am not ashamed to say so.  It is simply barbaric that for Americans health care is a consumer industry rather than a service.

The part that angers me most is that when I tell people I've been deemed high risk, I find I am greeted with a shrug of the shoulders.  It seems like too many of us have given up.  I get that health reform needs to happen in gradual stages because people fear change.  But that more of us aren't more pissed off absolutely baffles me.

By the way, my resting heart rate at the time that I am writing this blog entry is 60 beats per minute.  I'm eating a whole grain raisin english muffin.  When I'm done writing, I'll send the kids off to school and go for my daily 5K run.

Perhaps I should rethink my diet and exercise routine given some pencil-pusher at Aetna is concerned that I'm in a high risk category for getting sick.

I hate Mother's Day!  I don't know how else to say it, so I'll start from the beginning...the eve of Mother's Day.

It's Saturday night.  We're all snuggled in for a movie.  11:30ish rolls around.  Movie's over.  I'm tired.  Mark says he feels awake.  So I say, hmmm...  And while I'm pondering whether or not to stay up with him to watch Saturday Night Live (and contemplate the muffin sketch a bit), he says to me, "Could I just have some time alone.  Tomorrow is Mother's Day, and I..."

I left before he finished his sentence.  Crushed.  Hurt.  Astonished, but not, given neither one of us are particularly good with holidays codified by Hallmark.  He did arrange for flowers to be delivered to his mother two weeks ago.  I wrote Mark a sarcastic note on a thank you card.  "Thank you for preparing for Mother's Day in a manner that makes me feel especially unimportant."  I went to bed.

Needless to say, when Mark came to bed and found the note he felt embarrassed, a little guilty, and angry at my stifled stab at him.

To tell the truth, my husband tells me everyday that I am beautiful, that I am smart, that he is grateful that I am his best friend.  He truly makes me feel special every ordinary day.  We work out together, we work together, and we spend most of every 24 hours together, much of it engaged in parallel activities or tasks.

I feel so grateful to be married to Mark.  He's my best friend.  He's incredibly loving and nurturing.  He's fun and playful.  He's my creative colleague.  He completes me...

How is it that Hallmark and American Greetings and even Sandra Boynton (whose cards I have loved for 15 years!) can make us, two people in a truly loving marriage, both feel so justifiably pissed off at the other?

I hate these holidays...Mother's Day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day...

We should love each other in the manner the flower and greeting card industry want us to love each other unexpectedly, here and there in the month or week, when we feel moved to make an extra gesture to the one we love.

I hereby declare EVERYDAY the day we should tell the moms and dads in our lives that we love them and appreciate what they've given us over a lifetime;  EVERYDAY the day we should make love with our partners in life like the first time we got it right (first times are a little too awkward);  EVERYDAY the day we should hug our children and look into their eyes like we did they day they were born;  EVERYDAY we should thank our administrative assistants and support staffs for making us look good...

Everyday we should love our neighbors, as ourselves....

I find I have a hot and cold relationship with discipline.

During the past several years I’ve started several blogs.  I find it very difficult to blog consistently.  It seems like there is always something more important to do.  After a few weeks go by, I feel guilty and lazy about not blogging.  And the remorse takes its toll over time.  I begin to feel bad about myself.  Do I have discipline issues?

But then I take note of the fact that this June I’ll be married 20 years.  Marriage is a disciplined practice.

A year after my youngest daughter was born I went on a Weight Watchers regimen.  I wrote lists of every morsel of food that passed my lips.  I exercised.  Actually I became both obsessive and compulsive recording what I ate, counting points and taking extra runs so I could consume more points.  I lost 40 pounds of baby making fat in three months.  Diet is a disciplined practice.

Discipline is a choice we make.   Why is it sometimes so easy and other times so hard?

My new pal, Robin, has challenged me to transform my blogging from once in a long while to a disciplined practice.  Thanks for the cuppa and the English muffin, Girlfriend!

...Speaking of Tina Fey and Steve Carrell's Date Night which I can't wait to go see...

Mark and I had a date night last weekend.  Mark treated me to a G. Love and Special Sauce concert at Antone's Nightclub, here in Austin.  Those three guys rock!  Great jams.  Fun lyrics.  Their music and performance explores our most base human behaviors with a genuinely loving and playful approach.  They are really, really great!

Why not enjoy being human and just have fun sometimes?  Are bouts of pleasure so awful we have to justify wanting them or feel the need to be discreet about having them?

Or are they awe-ful??  Perhaps bouts of pleasure revitalize us;  rebuild the trust we lose in humanity as result of daily wear and tear in our relationships at home and at work; and, reinvigorate our capacity to love one another?


...Just like Tina and Steve, our date night just had to go off-course.  But unlike Tina and Steve, our story is definitely not whole movie...

We arrived at Antone's as the opening band was starting to play.  Mark got us a couple beers and we easily approached the stage from the side...a great spot for when G. Love and Special Sauce take the stage!  We were thinking ahead, yes we were.  We nabbed a perfect audience location.  Wouldn't you know it just as the energy in the room shifted indicating G. Love was ready to take the stage, two young women with matching i-Phone protectors around their matching i-Phones pushed their way to stand right in front of us.

We thought ahead.  How dare these two...  F***ing txting, Twittering... Oh sh*t, I left my cell phone at home.  I  hope Mark has his if there's a kid emergency... F***ing Facebooking Barbie doll droids... Meeee-owww...

I glared.  One of them spoke:

"Excu-use me, this is a general admission concert... genera-al admissssssion...  That means we cut in front of you, and you push in front of us, and we climb over you, and those are the rules of general admission..."

By now my anger had passed and I felt amused.  I admit I also felt a little old, but in a pompous, looking down from a mountain top kind of way.

The young women txted other people who were presumably not present at the concert on their matching i-Phones.  It was obvious that when they were done they'd push to an even better spot like front and center.  They were young and beautiful and hungry.  I felt wise and beautiful and satisfied.  They would spend the night seeking attention and recognition.  I would rock out to some cool tunes and go home to make sweet love with my man.

I leaned forward and delivered a delayed response to the ear of the spokeswomen for the two:

"Thank you, honey, for letting me know the rules general admission.  I never quite heard them that way before.  I wish you only success in all your endeavors.  Go, young tigress, be yourself..."

She rolled her eyes at me.

I love being in my forties!  Life just keeps getting better and better and definitely abundantly more fun.  I think it's all really a matter of perspective.

If only I had a dollar for every time some one asked me why I became a rabbi...

During interviews for pulpits or talking to others in my capacity as a congregational rabbi I always answered that I enjoyed the diversity of work the job entails.  I liked studying and teaching.  I liked counseling and I liked public speaking.  I did truly appreciate all these aspects of my career as a congregational rabbi.  How many single positions

The truth is I think I became a rabbi because it was in a Jewish context that I found my voice and enthusiastic reinforcement for exercising it.  I found my way into NFTY, the youth movement of Reform Judaism in America.

There I quickly made friends and learned that I was naturally a leader. Even though I had plenty of friends at school, weekend getaways and retreats were more conducive to cultivating deeper friendships than during or in between classes.

I developed social action projects in which other people participated, had a great time, an did some good in the world.  With fantastic mentoring from the Religious Action Center, as a teen, I lobbied progressive issues on Capitol Hill and trained other teens to do so.

Prayer and learning were informal and I was encouraged to be creative with them both.  I was.  Others enjoyed my liturgical and educational experimentation.

I was good at youth group and I was good at being a Jew.  So the movement encouraged me to become one of its leaders, a rabbi.  I never really thought about it much, I just did it.  It fit.

When I look back on the past quarter century of my life, I see that in the rabbinate I had a place to focus my passion and creative energy.  Ultimately I believe that is why I became a rabbi.

Interestingly I have learned that passion and creative energy aren't as conducive to synagogue life in adulthood as they were in adolescence.  For most church and synagogue goers, organized religion is a place for recapturing a moment of certainty and ritual practice in an uncertain and often chaotic world.  Routine is important, as is the status quo.  When the rabbi is too involved in his or her own passions or creative pursuits, the people feel frustration and neglect that they aren't getting the experiences they pay the rabbi to get.

I didn't become a rabbi to be an employee of the Jewish people.  I became a rabbi to explore Judaism more deeply and share my findings.

One of the most interesting observations I've made in my transition back into civilian life from the rabbinate is how difficult it can be to shift gears.  I don't mind that my phone rarely rings and that I only receive 5-7 emails a day rather than forty.  I like that part a whole lot.

The challenge is being an ordinary player on an even playing field again.  As a rabbi, my title and position changed the dynamics of social engagement...even among friends and family.

I like not being in charge...but I've nearly forgotten how to do that.  Without giving it a single thought, I catch myself taking for granted that everyone around me will go with whatever plan I put forward.

The more anonymous I am, like at last week's South by  Southwest film panels and workshops, the easier it is feel my own smallness and open my mind to new information and modes of conduct.

The more intimately committed I feel, like in marriage and family, the harder it is to pull the stressed out over committed rabbi back and reinvent the choreography of daily life, both short term and long term pursuits.

The good news is that scientifically, the case for human adaptability has been proven rather successful.  I can grow and change and adapt and continue to develop into a more deeply thinking, compassionate, and creative partner and parent.  We all just need a little patience.

South By Southwest 2010 is now past.  I wonder what the streets of Austin will look like once the sun rises and I can see them sadly uncrowded.

I already miss the tens of thousands of interactive inventors, film lovers, and musicians who were here.  They brought such energy and excitement and innovation and creativity into our lives for more than a week of frenetic learning, networking, people watching, and listening to awesome music - everywhere!

The internet is my friend.  "Content" is my art.   Who doesn't appreciate well-crafted words, striking images, and music deliberately chosen or composed to facilitate the pace and tenor of a journey?

All the rest is commentary, go and learn...

Happiness is one of many possible responses to whatever may be the object of our attention.  It is an opportunity to practice mastering our minds. 

What makes some people seem so happy and others so dower?  I think that happiness is linked to our satisfaction with what we have, where we are, and with whom we keep company.

Often we focus on what we don’t have, where we’d rather be, and the shortcomings of our loved ones, neighbors, and colleagues.  If we want to increase our overall sense of satisfaction or happiness, we need to shift our attention to how much cool stuff we have, the beauty of the places in which we reside, and the endearing characteristics of the people with whom we spend so much time.

Happiness is a choice to embrace and enjoy what is good and plentiful in our lives.

I am missing the Olympics that ended.  A two-week season packed full with lots of different events and challenges is just right for a fair weather fan like me.  I love sports.  Still, watching other people play them on TV doesn’t usually keep my attention for any length of time. 

While following a team or an athlete brings about its own thrills and chills, I am more the experiential type.  I like to run, skip, and play myself.  I don’t care if I play well or look good.  I just like to play, especially outdoors and with as little extra equipment as possible. 

Two intense weeks of watching the Olympics on TV every two years is just about right.  This year, I was utterly fascinated by the story of the speed skater whose coach who sent him into the wrong lane in the 10,000 meter final.  Beneath the sting of such a costly mistake during a sporting moment in which there is no room for error must be a relationship of complete trust between athlete and coach.  I suppose that is why the error in judgement was so tragically captivating.

When I first saw what happened, I began to wonder if I ever trusted anybody enough to follow directions without thinking through whether or not the instruction was the right move to make.  For me, there is always a pause.  It’s not a silent pause.  The audiotape sounds something like, “and if your friend jumps off a bridge, you’ll follow?” 

I have avoided master – disciple relationships my entire life.  I recognize them in family structures, academics, organizations, sports, and all the arts. There have been many fleeting moments in my life, so far, in which I wanted to be a disciple to a certain master.  None of them ever really stuck.  

I know it sounds crazy, but a number of years ago I decided to consciously practice loving others.  I literally slowed down my pace and began looking at other people and listening to them.  I practiced on my family members, colleagues, clerks in stores, whomever sat close to me on the bus, and passers-by on the street.  The funny thing is that it worked!  I began “feeling” more love for humanity.

I learned that love has something to do with accepting others as they present themselves rather than secretly judging them for not being more like I want them to be.  A sense of humor helps a lot!

I remember learning in a high school psychology course that a pristine form of love, unconditional love, was not only possible but also favorable in relationships.  At the time I thought unconditional love was merely a form of loyalty.  The problem was that being on the receiving end of a commitment or promise, kept simply because it was made, doesn’t feel very loving.

Unconditional love means to love without expecting anything in return.  Generating the love is not particularly difficult.  The challenge is to share the love without keeping score or secretly waiting for the gesture to be recognized, requited, and rewarded.  

Some people seem to have a happier disposition than others.  While some portion of that is probably innate, I think a person can practice being happy! 

Happiness and joy seemed to be linked to gratitude and awe.  No matter what it is we want in life, it’s important to balance our desire for more with gratitude for we have already.  It is also important for us to take pause and acknowledge what goes right for us seemingly without effort and what is beautiful before we’ve begun to tamper with it.

I literally began my “happy” practice by stopping to smell the roses.  One day the adage “stop to smell the roses” just popped into my head as I walked past a yard bordered on all sides with stunning rose bushes chock full of heavy blooms.  I stopped and smelled them.  Each color rose had its own subtly unique fragrance.   I caught myself having fun appreciating the subtle aromatic differences among dusty purple, deep red, and brilliant orange roses.  I rarely pass a rose bush now without stopping to smell its flowers.  One of my daughters and one of my nephews now join me when the occasion presents itself. 

Slowing down and paying attention to all the beauty and kindness around us that we too easily take for granted is a very effective way to begin to practice experiencing joy.   Once we recognize what happiness feels like in such a moment we begin to recognize it other times as well.

One of the many lessons I learned during two decades of rabbinic training and service was to value disciplined practice.  

Disciplined practices strengthen our resolve to make and keep commitments to others and to ourselves.  Our capacity to trust our colleagues and loved ones (and ourselves), can be nurtured or destroyed by our general experiences with commitment.  

A "fear of commitment" refers to someone's inability to trust others enough to withstand real intimacy, to love.  

I once attended a seminar with the Franklin Planner/Covey Leadership organization.  Steven Covey talked about a man he knew who had confided in him that he didn’t love his wife any longer.  Covey told him, “So then, go home and love her.”   

That simple little story blew my mind.

Love is a disciplined practice.

Every time my hunky and hilarious husband slurps or farts or burps or says something maybe he should have kept to himself…I make a conscious decision to love him.  I give him a kiss and tell him he's sexy.  

Love is a disciplined practice.

Have fun.  Life is short.

What if we didn’t call religion, religion.  What if we called it chopped liver instead?  I am a vegetarian.  I don’t even eat real chopped liver.  I make a faux chopped liver from green beans and walnuts.  Still, chopped liver means a great deal to the genetic information inside me.  My grandmother apparently made an awesome chopped liver before she adopted a “heart smart” diet.  I was already young enough not to remember it.  In the homes of American Jews of European family history, chopped liver is a staple dish at gatherings. It’s not pretty to look at nor does its high cholesterol and fat content make our mouths water.  Still it’s always there and, by the way, it always gets eaten. 

I want to write about my transition out of the rabbinate and into civilian life.  I learned a great deal as a rabbi.  I really loved the work I did.  The best part was the amount of time I spent with people, lots of people, lots of different kinds of people.  Remember the Doors’ song, “People are strange”?  We are.  We are very strange creatures on the planet.  We do odd things…often in the name of religion.

Religious wisdom is ultimately universal and therefore shared among all people of many different sorts of faith.  Religious practice is a tool, one among many, for creating meaning in the passing of time and reaffirming our commitment to the values we consider important.

Unfortunately as soon as the word, religion, is uttered most of us either accept religion as a act of faith or reject religion as a collection of superstitions and hypocrisies.  And among us, on both sides of the equation, are folks emphatically committed to their points of view.  It’s hard to talk seriously and intelligently about religion in such a polarized environment.

So what if, instead of talking about religion, we talk about chopped liver?  It’s ugly.  It’s fattening.  It’s also nourishing, rich in protein.  It’s comfort food, inviting fond memories of aunts and uncles and grandparents of a generation slipping into the past. 

There are shared truths in our experiences as human beings, figuring out how to live our lives, pursue our dreams, and heal our injuries, that are ugly and uncomfortable.  We indulge in too much and too little confidence.  We also all experience fleeting moments that remind us that people are generally kind and concerned for one another, and life is filled with moments for which we are truly grateful.  These fleeting occurrences become memories that inform the way we think and feel about ourselves, our loved ones, strangers, and life.