« Decade: March, 2010 | Main | Cousins: May, 2010 »

April 12, 2010



I always feel that way at seders, that loneliness that is different from all other kinds of loneliness. I think it is why I have stopped attending them. That isn't the right answer either. But it is the one I have right now.


Yes, a loneliness that is different from all other kinds of loneliness. Having moved around a lot, most Passovers have presented uncertainty for me. I've learned that focusing on gratitude and appreciation - for receiving Seder invitations, for being hosted at a lovely table, for having a chance to contribute - can ease some of the pain of wishing things were different. And I've noticed that when I'm able to "splash around in the here and now", either at a Seder or in life, the loneliness lessens and sometimes disappears.


I just got my head out of a book and had time to catch up on your blog :) I love this post ... and its conclusions!


I loved this piece for its authenticity and the rich lessons learned. Oh, and terrific writing, too!

Prima Donna

Where's this month's post?



Your last paragraph totally resonates with me!

"Doing single"and being happy is SO SO SO much better than "Coupled & wishing I wasn't"


My sister is younger than I, and always attends the seder with us, but after what we'll call The Great Passover Debacle of 5753, she refuses to sing the four questions. During the seder in question, I finally got my sister to agree to sing; I also got my aunt to agree to switch my grape juice with her wine throughout the evening. I was 13, and thought I was man enough to handle it. Well, after two glasses of that ridiculously sugary Manischewitz stuff, my sister started singing, and I developed an unstoppable case of the giggles. I couldn't help myself, and my poor sister (who was 10 at the time, and was unaware of my alcohol consumption) thought I was laughing at her. She bolted upstairs and locked herself in my aunt's guest bedroom until dessert was served. In response, I laughed my ass off then passed out on the dining room floor.You'll be happy to know, however, that 1.) my sister wasn't so traumatized that she gave up singing forever she developed a rather nice soprano voice in high school, and 2.) I am waaay better at holding my liquor these days.

The comments to this entry are closed.