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!

"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:

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.

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. 

When was the last time you allowed yourself to do the thing you wanted?

When was the last time you gave yourself that grace?

When was the last time you wrote yourself a permission slip -- and did it?!

As I wheeled my cart out of Target a few weeks ago, my brain did a bunch of mental gymnastics. I remember thinking about the oppressive heat, the menu for the book event I was hosting the following week, whether I would join my family and friends at the town pool later that day, my next newsletter, and so on. This was in the span of less than one minute.

As I lay facedown on the massage table with nearly two dozen needles in my neck and back, about a million thoughts went through my head. They ranged from how did I get here to I can't believe I have so many needles in my neck and back to did she really just say that?! Welcome to my inaugural acupuncture visit! To reveal my mind's inner workings, I'll unpack those questions one by one.

The other day, a woman old enough to be my mother commented: "I guess you're officially middle-aged now, right?!" I'm 43 years old, so doing the math, I agreed -- somewhat in surprise. I guess I am middle-aged. Later that same day, I was part of a conversation where someone said, "You know you're in your 40's when...." And later that same week, I saw some friends for the first time in awhile and we spoke ad nauseum about our various ailments before joking: "We got old!"

So, is the universe telling me something? I'm not sure, but in honor of the rule of three, here is my random list of "Tell me you're middle-aged without telling me you're middle-aged."

On June 6, 2023, my life changed when I was diagnosed with lymphedema. If you don’t know what lymphedema is – I didn’t – it’s excessive swelling caused by the buildup of lymphatic fluid somewhere in the body. My lymphedema manifested itself -- out of nowhere – in my left foot. It impacts my foot, my toes, my ankle, and my lower leg. There is no cure for lymphedema. Although lymphedema is not a life-threatening condition, it is a life-altering one and it requires extensive daily management.

I was at a "parents' night out" dinner at a restaurant the other night. As we sat down to eat, the server came over to take our drink order. One of the moms picked up the beer and wine list and ordered a lager on tap. The server told her that the beer was no longer available and the mom said: "Oh! I'm sorry!" before she picked another beer.

I shut off the faucet, took off my dish gloves, and paused the audiobook. I opened the junk drawer and took out paper and a pen to write down the quote I had just heard: "The stories you choose to tell are the stories that make up who you are." When I heard this, I thought: "Whoa. I'm going to use that one day." That was last week, so I just didn't realize how soon that would be.