Archives for posts with tag: Moxie Tales

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This past weekend David Brooks wrote an article about daily ritual and creativity in the NYT. He cites the book Daily Rituals: How Artists Work , which Joey and I actually found in a local Greenpoint book shop a few months ago. At that time, I was desperate to create some more ritual in my life. Floating from project to project, and physical ailment to physical ailment, I craved the stability that might come with daily routines and rituals. I’ve written about ritual a bit on this blog, and have searched for ritual in my daily and varying routines. I found some rituals in certain practices like traveling. But when it comes to my creative practices (writing and choreographing) I don’t have any steadfast rituals. I think I’ve managed to create much more stability in my life since stumbling across the Daily Rituals book at the beginning of the summer, but my days still lack ritual. There is not one thing that I do every single day without fail. Except maybe brush my teeth and take my pills. I don’t walk the dog the same way each day, I don’t eat the exact same thing for breakfast each morning, I don’t even have a ritualistic drink like coffee.

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Photo on 9-22-14 at 11.56 AM #3
Moxie tale for the day: ginger tea. Accompanied by a recipe for writing. Getting started is the hardest part. This ritual helps.

1 Early morning (early fall cool weather and clouds don’t hurt).
1 Bowl of oatmeal with nuts and dried fruit.
1 Cup of Ginger tea.
1 cute pooch on the lap.

I drafted some blog posts, ideas, and thoughts when I was first recovering from cancer and going through more rigorous chemo. Since then, I’ve wanted to move on, but some of the more fun cancer-inspired projects have stuck. One of these is mocktails. From here out, Monday is mocktail day on the blog.

Because of my medicine and my general quest for health, I’ve given up alcohol since my cancer diagnosis. One thing that’s shocked me the most about my decision to give up alcohol is the response that I often receive when I either refuse alcohol, or explain that, for at least the next two years [likely forever], I wont be drinking. People are shocked. Forget the horrendous side effects of my medicine, the fact that I’ve been delayed in my degree progress, or the emotional and mental trauma of illness. The fact that I no longer drink alcohol – or caffeine at that, the horror! – really upsets some people. I think it’s because drinking is a visible trace of my cancer battle. Most everything else has remained somewhat hidden within the comforts of my home. Joey and my immediate family see my struggles, my closest friends know about the intimate details, but beyond that I pass as incredibly “normal.” When I don’t participate in what I now realize is a bedrock social convention of our culture, I am all of a sudden publicly marked by my battle. What’s funny is that I don’t miss alcohol in the least. In fact, Joey has never really liked drinking at all, so he has gladly joined me in an alcohol free life that we’re both really enjoying.

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