The thing is, being "stuck" implies impermanence. I think of a "stuck" object as something that can be jostled loose and put back into place. It's not "stuck" forever. That perspective also made room for self-compassion when I realized I had been stuck. 

Thank you all for your kind notes and support following my surgery last Thursday. (If you missed last week's newsletter, click here for the lowdown.) I feel great and honestly have been since I left the recovery room! There's no pain at the incision site and I'm getting around well on my crutches, even if I'm counting the days (7!) until my sutures come out and I can walk again! 

At 7:30 a.m. ET this morning, I am undergoing a lymphovenous anastomosis (LVA), which is a microscopic sugical procedure to bypass my lymphatic veins into my circulatory veins. We're talking about veins that are the width of human hair (!!!). The goal is to create "exits" for the lymphatic fluid in my left leg to alleviate the swelling and achy, heavy feeling I constantly experience. Although there is no cure for lymphedema, I'm cautiously optimistic about the results.

On March 6, 2023, I had never heard of lymphedema or World Lymphedema Day, yet I was mere days away from exhibiting the symptoms. On March 6, 2024, I was just getting over my denial and out of hiding. Check out the short video I filmed around that time. Today, I'm proud to celebrate lymphedema and help to spread awareness about this chronic condition. Thank you all for your support.

It was Christmas morning, 1988. I was eight years old and understandably up early. I needed to investigate if Santa came and if so, whether he brought me the thing I wanted the most. So I crept out of my room to the landing down the hall. I peered down to the living room where our Christmas tree stood. I saw wrapped gifts and quickly spotted what I came for: the 1988 Macy's Snoopy stuffed animal. YES!

Super Bowl XXXVII was 22 years ago, but I still think about it every year when the Big Game rolls around. I don't think about it for the reasons that you might assume. I wasn't there. I don't know where it was, who played, who won, or who performed at the halftime show.* I think about it because of a decision I made.

The woman walking towards me was absolutely striking.

She stood out on the cold, dreary Saturday morning in New York City. Her long, straight dark hair was freshly styled. Her makeup was flawless yet understated, accentuating her pretty features and dark eyes. She was young, but dressed older than her years, especially for a weekend. Her long, wool camel coat was unbuttoned, revealing a cream-colored cashmere turtleneck and matching silk trousers cinched with a smart belt. She clutched a designer handbag and her boots click-clacked as she moved quickly up the sidewalk. 

Confession: I had an unusually hard time finding my word this year.

Typically, the word magically comes to me sometime in December and it's like an epiphany or a lightening strike. A word popped into my brain a few weeks ago, but it didn't feel quite right. It was somehow "off" or incomplete. So I had to peel back a few layers, reflect on 2024, and ask myself three important questions. If you're interested in finding a word for the year or feeling meh about your choice, maybe they'll help you too:

• "What was hard for me last year?"

• "What do I need this year?"

• "What is holding me back from what I want to achieve this year?"

"OMG! I LOVE your shoes!"

Reflexively, the women I was standing with in a small circle all looked down at my feet. In a split second, I felt a combination of relief, grief, and gratitude. Relief that the unconventional shoe choice for a professional event was peer-approved; grief that I wasn't wearing fancy heels like 98% of the other women at the event; and gratitude for stepping out of my comfort zone.

My eight-year-old son keeps saying, "I know your parents are Santa." When I ask him to tell me more, he says, with some exasperation: "I know reindeer can't fly. I know Santa can't fit down the chimney." He repeats this every night before bed. He even told my husband he's going to set up a video camera capturing us leaving his gifts, but he thinks we'll erase it while he's sleeping. Mind you, he has no access to any sort of camera, but you can't blame a kid for trying.

'Twas the night before this newsletter goes to press, and all through the house, here is where things stand tomorrow when you read this:

Days until Christmas: 20 
Days until New Year's Eve: 26 
List of incomplete tasks: 

To show my appreciation, I'd like to give you a little laugh to start your week, courtesy of the earliest iteration of my blog: my old high school newspaper column, "On Marino's Mind." It seems like my sentiments back in the December 1997 issue are spot on for the present day -- and I think you'll enjoy the fact that my "voice" is very much the same. So, here are three excerpts from my December 1997 column:

It was the perfect night for stargazing: 55 degrees with clear skies. The Astronomy Club's telescopes were set up along the 50 yard line on the football field and kids from grades K-12 were scattered about. I sat on a blanket with another mom, simultaneously marveling about seeing Saturn's rings and chuckling at our second graders playing tag and rolling around on the turf in between stargazing. Core childhood memories were locked in.

The voters stood in line at the polls. After they manually signed the voter register, a volunteer gave them a paper ballot and directed them to one of two private voting booths. Each voter entered a booth and reviewed their choices in the primary election for civic rights in their community:

At my old job, a client required that we submit a quarterly report about one of their biggest cases. It was a template covering the case's procedural posture, the status of discovery, pending and anticipated motions, strategy recommendations, and of course, projected costs and fees. It required time, thought, and analysis. As the junior partner running the day-to-day on the case, yours truly was responsible for the quarterly report.

I kept patting the pocket on my suit jacket to make sure my business cards were still there. The incessant checking was just nerves -- I had given out approximately zero cards so there was no reason to believe they'd gone anywhere. I glanced around the room and felt overwhelmed. There were a few hundred people milling about at the cocktail hour before the awards dinner. 

This may seem obvious, but it bears stating: LinkedIn is a free, powerful tool. I know multiple people that don't use LinkedIn unless they are looking for a job. Or, they look at what their contacts post, but they don't click "like," leave a comment, or share any content. These are wasted opportunities! Don't sit on the sidelines or be a voyeur. And no, you don't "need" LinkedIn Premium -- I don't have it. 

What makes you different? Chances are, others have your same professional skillset. I am not under the false impression that I'm the only professional speaker out there talking about quieting the imposter voice, saying no, setting boundaries, and extinguishing burnout -- and doing it well.

But think about walking down the sparkling water aisle at the grocery store. There are countless brands. Some people prefer LaCroix, others prefer Waterloo, and some prefer the store brand. They all offer basically the same thing, but we like what we like -- and are loyal to that brand. (Ever get in a Coke vs. Pepsi debate with some? Yikes!)

The Honeycrisp apple looked like something out of a fall catalogue. It was oversized, perfectly round, and a nice mix of red and green hues. As I cut it into slices for my son's after school snack, I couldn't help but snag a bite. But I was disappointed -- it had no taste! What a bummer. A little bit later, I popped a mint in my mouth. Once again, I tasted nothing. 

"Who let the dogs out? Who, who, who, who, who?!" The song blared through the speaker connected to my phone as my son stood up to bat. He had a smile on his face and his shoulders squared. It was the first annual "Boys vs. Moms" baseball game to cap off the summer season. I wasn't watching from the outfield, but from my post as ballpark DJ. Yep, you read that right.