25 years. My husband and I have been married 25 years today! I don’t know how we got here. I mean, I do but I don’t.
In our newlywed years, we never doubted our “together foreverness.” We were young and in love. We couldn’t imagine anything derailing that. We were a love-at-first-sight couple and our wedding was one fun party. So, we just figured we were one of those couples with a bullet-proof marriage. But, as our marriage grew in age, we began to witness the separations and subsequent divorces of friends. A few of them were not surprises – to them or us. However, more often than not one of the two spouses was completely blindsided by the split. You’ve heard it, too. Cue a random Tuesday in July. She comes home from work like she always does, tells him that she isn’t happy, that she hasn’t been happy in years and that she is leaving. They had just spent the weekend together having dinner with friends, doing yard work, watching a movie. Everything seemed fine. She seemed fine. He is completely blindsided. And this is a terrible situation because the spouse that has been unhappy for years has been molding this moment in her mind for a long time. She is prepared. But for the spouse that is blindsided, this is devastating. He’s had no preparation, no chance to see it coming and now he’s desperate to work on saving his marriage and she’s already long gone – literally and figuratively. How’s that going to work in marriage counseling? It isn’t and it doesn’t.
As these marriages were falling like cards around us, Matt and I would continue to be shocked by the couples that were dissolving. We started to look at each other and acknowledge “If it could happen to them, then it could certainly happen to us.” I’m not talking infidelity, lawlessness, drug use, or some other “well, obviously” marriage dagger. Many of these couples were so like us. I understand that we can never really know what goes on behind closed doors, but several couples were as similar to us as I could ever imagine. So, yes, if it could happen to them, then it could certainly happen to us. Scary.
So, how did we get so lucky to be here together, 25 years later? The truth is, I don’t know! Seriously, I don’t have an answer. But, as I replayed those 25 years in my head, I kept returning to something that Matt and I have been practicing since we realized that divorce doesn’t discriminate. We check in with each other. It goes like this:
Hey, we’re good, right? We’re still good? Remember, we always say that if we are not good, we will say it and we will start the work to fix it. So, look me in the eye and tell me how you are.
This is not on a schedule. It doesn’t happen every Sunday at 4. It just happens every few weeks or months. If there’s been another heartbreak on a marriage train, then it’s going to happen more often because that’s scary. If life is flowing like a river, then it’s going to happen less often because that’s bliss. We just check in with each other. And we’ve been doing it ever since our first friend was blindsided.
Does this bulletproof our marriage? Nope. But, do you know what it does do? It allows us to live in a tiny fraction of uncertainty, comfortably. Marriage is uncertain. It might only be a very tiny bit of uncertainty, but it’s uncertain. And this is because no matter what vows we take, words we say, or acts we do for the other, we can never, ever be 100% certain that our marriage will last until death. We can’t. And the reason we can’t is that we can never know for certain what is actually happening inside of our spouse’s heart and mind. So no matter how much my husband does for me, says to me, or showers onto me, there will always be a small space of uncertainty because I can’t be in his mind and know his thoughts. It is in this space of uncertainty that I have to trust in us. I have to trust that his actions and words are true. Marriage is uncertain but uncertainty doesn’t have to equate to doubt.
We are currently raising teenagers. This has been our marriage’s greatest test and is the hardest thing we’ve ever done. By this point, we have been on our knees countless times. We have even been flat on the floor. And when there is as serious of an issue as a teen’s life at stake and the two of us are at odds as to the right plan of action, fissures form quickly in the marriage. We have had some terrifying marriage moments in the last five years. Checking in has been crucial. Because when one of us spoke these words “I’m actually not okay. We are not okay right now” for the very first time, we both cried a river. It was so, so painful. We had never answered the “Hey, we’re good, right?” question that way before. We were already struggling at parenting and now, one of us had pointed out that the marriage was in a brutal hailstorm. We almost didn’t know what to do. I think we looked at each other and said “Does this mean it’s over? Did we not make it??” I can laugh about it now, but we truly weren’t sure of the next steps or what it meant for our future.
Marriage is some hard, hard work. You have to check its pulse every so often. Give it some oxygen, or a nap, or a vacation. I think that’s how we got to these 25 years. We started asking “how are we doing?” and we learned to not fear the answers, however painful they might be.
Happy 25th Anniversary to my husband, Matt, who really does make my life sparkle like the sunshine. May we never be afraid to ask, and answer, the hard questions.
“Look me in the eye and tell me how you are.”
A few amazing things happened recently that I need to talk to you about.
1. My youngest turned 17. Birthdays do not happen in a vacuum and in our family they require loud noise, tons of people, colors and flavors. It can vary in intensity but they are all still required. Basically, whatever it takes to let the world know that someone in our midst turned another year around the globe – that’s how we celebrate. We monumentize it. It’s a thing. So we did that yesterday. We made the reservations, texted the appropriate people, bought the stuff. We gathered together. But…***About 6 days ago, I got this text: Can …….. come to the birthday dinner? (insert girlfriend)
2. Well, first of all, of course!!! That son brought that perfect girl. Is it a thing to have an additional person at the birthday table? Yep. We never actually did that before. We have 3 teen/twenty-something boys, but for some foreign/unexplained reason the GF thing hasn’t been a thing for our family. Until now. But I am here to tell you, if she makes your son smile and is a deep part of his life, then yes. It’s an additional thing. And you add the seat at the table. And it’s as natural as butter and lemon cake.
Let me tell you all about it. I promise this will be short. Why? Because applauding the worth of a person requires so fewer words than lamenting them. And I applaud her. So, there. Short and sweet.
Numero Uno: She complimented and thanked every person that waited on our table. Water? Thank you so much. Appetizer? Thank you so much. Napkin arrangement? Beautiful! Entree? Delicious, thank you. Dessert? I love it, thank you. You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat people that treat them. She treated every person that tended to her with gratitude. What a beautiful thing. ✔
Numero Deux: I listened in on my son’s conversation with her during dinner, because that is also how we learn. What did I overhear? “When you went with me to my brother’s performance at his school…” Well, her brother is 10. 10!!! My son went to a 10 year-old’s school performance?? A 10-year old who is unrelated to said son?? Yep. Well, my legs fell off. Children will shock you and amaze you and bring you to the seat of your soul. Let them. That’s what they are supposed to do. I don’t know when this performance was or when he went, but he did that. WOWZA. ✔
So that just does it, doesn’t it? Our children will surprise us and amaze us and shoot us right out of orbit. Let them. It’s amazeballs. I’m going to ride my spaceship around the globe today and I’ll let you know when I’m grounded again. This particular kid has worked so hard to navigate the world he lives in. I’m so proud and happy and honored that we are a part of his universe. We would not be the same without him and neither would all the other people in his sphere. I’m so excited that other people have found his awesomeness. Let the girlfriends in. They are fine. There are plenty of seats at the table. And they bring things out of our sons that we can’t. What a beautiful thing!
The first sound that I can ever remember hearing: My Papa at his breakfast table in tiny Hardtner, Kansas, very middle of the U.S.A. My Grammy made his breakfast every morning before he went to work on the construction site. Bacon, eggs and toast. He would cut the eggs down to bite-size with his knife and fork on the white Corelle plate. The eggs were cut precisely to a uniform size. The knife and fork made a very distinct click-clack sound that I can still hear in my mind to this day. I’ve tried to replicate it, but have yet to master his knife-and-fork art form. Admittedly, I don’t own any Corelle. That could be the missing piece. But, it’s more likely that my Papa’s sounds of life just can’t be duplicated.
Hearing is the least appreciated sense of the 5 (or 6, if you believe we are more than our physical selves) because it’s 99% under the radar. Stop and consider the sounds in your day:
- We have an owl in our ‘hood. He orients me to the time of day. He prompts me to turn my head this way and that to “find” his rooftop perch. He makes me pause and stay still just a bit longer than usual so I can take in his majestic hoot. He knows things I don’t. His hoot beckons me to learn more about his life instead of focusing on mine.
- Our house plumbing sings a subtle song when my people in the house wake up and move about. The sound gives me a warning of who is about to clear the stairs and make themselves known. It might be a kid, it might be a husband (well, there is just the one) – you pay attention because the origin of the sound gives you the clue of whose face is about to pop up. It tells me it’s time to put down the coffee and book and get moving. The day is officially starting. Without my pipe’s serenade, I’m not sure I’d get going.
- Our fancy coffee machine hums while she delivers her goods. She also hums when she hasn’t been touched for 2 hours, letting me know she is officially off-duty.
- My neighbor’s front door squeaks when it opens and shuts. I love to see their boys move in and out of the house and I’m not ashamed to stand at the window and stare. Children are a beautiful thing. (Sight is a close second favorite sense, after all)
- The basketball on the driveway, bouncing off the backboard. That’s enough about that. Lol.
- The electric cars that move up and down my street. They are mostly Teslas, but there are a few others. That electric sound is totally mesmerizing – so much so that I might need to get one in the future.
- The music in my local grocery store. ABBA, Journey, Peaches and Herb. No legit big-box store plays up-to-date music. It’s against grocery store music law.
- My dog has a resounding “Oooff” when he lays down. Every time. I hope that never changes.
- The surgery center on the floor above my office. The chairs move mid-morning to mid-afternoon. I believe it’s the break room, but I don’t know this for certain. ***The stories we tell ourselves to fill in the unknowns are as important as the story itself. I don’t need to know if it’s the breakroom because it’s the break room in MY story, and that’s what counts.
- My Sunday paper hitting my driveway and the delivery driver zipping away. That is just beautiful.
- The garage door, front door, refrigerator door, dryer door.
- The ice maker. The blender. The electric razor.
- Anyone on FaceTime. In our house, they are often situated face-up, staring at the ceiling while we keep going about our business. Once again, hearing trumps sight…
- Laughter. Laughter. Laughter.
What is the first sound you remember hearing? Ode to SOUNDS. They orient us without our awareness and define our space in such a specific way. I hope I can hear all the things to my very last days. But if I can’t, I’m confident my mind will fill in the blanks. What a beautiful gift to hear life happening all around us. Happy listening!
My favorite part of a big snow day? The unplowed street on that first evening. The storm has wound down. The snow plows haven’t yet come by – they have bigger roads to plow and the neighborhoods must be patient. But, a snow day never stops people’s needs and the people have to move. And so they have. All day long. The movement has created a mish-mash of snowy mess on my street that is absolutely stunning. The ruts and the clods and the tire treads, the footprints, the melty parts. For the first 24 hours, the neighborhood streets fend for themselves in a snowstorm and they tell a story.
Tonight, about 3 a.m., the snowplow is going to come through my ‘hood. It will make a distinct, coarse, scraping sound as it carves a central line down the middle of my street. Clods of snow will be shoved indiscriminately to the left and to the right. There will be no witnesses – it will be 3 a.m. And just like that, the DNA of my neighborhood will be wiped clean. Ready to start anew with a uniform path back out into the world, furrowed by that piece of metal backed by a motor. Routine will start again because we can’t stop time.
Snow imprints parts of your LIFE for just a short bit. And then it melts to create room for something new. How beautiful is that???
This past Friday, I was prepared to shut down the blog. The internet was full of sadness over the passing of The Queen of Mommy Blogging, The OG Mom Blogger, Dooce. I pored over the tributes and read some of her best posts. I loved her take and will miss her beautiful words. As I took in the commentary from around the planet, I thought “It sounds like blogging is mostly dead. I think there are other platforms like Tik Tok and Instagram and a whole host of others that I know nothing about that must be the platforms of today. I missed the boat and have nothing new to add to these new-fangled ways of communicating. People don’t want to read blogs. They want visual content and it needs to be in 1-2 minute increments.”
So I decided I would bury Beautiful Olive. Why pay for the website hosting, the Constant Contact subscription, and the domain name rights when it was just sitting out in the internet world languishing with no new content? When blogging was old-school and a thing of yesterday?
Have you ever tried to cancel an auto-renew subscription? Well, the business-savvy peeps of the world are business-savvy for a reason. And they have figured out that if they make it really hard to cancel an auto-renew subscription, 92% of people won’t cancel it. You can buy almost anything online, without talking to a single person, with a single mouse click. But if you want to cancel something, you have to CALL someone and TALK to someone first. No amount of mouse clicks will get you there. This is why, two days later, I have not yet canceled Beautiful Olive or any of the internet extras that accompany her. I would have to make phone calls and talk to people and I am an introvert. We don’t play that way. We do not like to talk to strangers whose goals are exactly opposite ours.
So, the blog is still here because it was too much of a pain to cancel it. And, then I woke up today and I decided to write. So, there you go.
“Do you know what a loser is? A real loser is somebody who is so afraid of not winning they don’t even try.”
Grandpa, “Little Miss Sunshine”
It’s Mother’s Day and my typical MO celebration has been to do whatever I want with wild abandon. Mimosas and blueberry muffins for breakfast. Naps. Reading. A dinner fit for a queen, complete with dessert. And wine. Plenty of wine. Sometime after becoming a mom, I declared it the day of indulgence and I always indulged.
But, some things happened to me over this past week (which I will tell you about in a minute) and all week when my husband or sons would ask what I wanted to do for Mother’s Day this year, I would answer “I don’t know. Not much. I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to have mimosas or blueberry muffins or a bottle of wine or naps. I know that’s what I don’t want. I’ll get back to you…”
I’ve been on a collision course for the past year with my bad choices and habits. I weigh more than I should or ever have, I drink entirely too much alcohol, I don’t get the exercise I need and my ability to deal with life’s stressors is out of whack. The real struggle is in the knowledge of these things on the one hand and doing nothing about them on the other hand. The cognitive dissonance takes our anxiety to an even higher level and then we are even more unhappy with ourselves. It’s a vicious cycle. Because we are thoughtful, intelligent beings, we really should be able to figure this out. But, we can’t. So, we are losers.
I’ve had the “Why do I KNOW what I need to do, but do the opposite?” conversation with myself so many times over the past year I’ve lost count. And every time I have had that conversation, I would follow up with “And, are you ready to do something about it?” And every time, the answer was a resounding “Nope. Tomorrow. Come back tomorrow and ask again. Maybe the answer will be different.” And I would stroll off with my glass of wine.
About a week ago, I had the same conversation, but the answer was different. You can tell when it’s different. It feels like it rises up from your core and is straight-up bellicose. Everything starts to align and suddenly you’re just ready. You holler back at the old self who answered “Nope” every time. “Hey. Old Self. New Me is taking over. We don’t need your help anymore. We got this. Bye-bye.”
I don’t know what flipped the switch. All I know is that I’ve been praying for it to flip for the past year and I knew I would know when it did. I was glad it flipped on Sunday because I had an appointment for a routine physical on Tuesday. “Whew!” I thought. “This is great! I dodged that bullet! Thanks, Me!” But, apparently, two days of changed habits is not enough lead time for your lab values to be whipped into shape and my doctor called me on Wednesday to tell me that I might need to go on some medication to combat some concerning findings. 😲
Truth be told, my inactivity, my diet, my relationship with alcohol (that is a really dumb term) was really getting wildly out of control. I think it was pretty dark at times. And when it’s dark, we peer out of the hole and look around at everybody else to see how they’re doing. And when everybody else seems to be doing just fine, we clamp the shell down even tighter, don’t we? But the inner turmoil is still there beneath the surface. Somehow, we can’t figure out how to just do what we know we need to do. We are losers.
Well, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. The switch will flip. The inner turmoil will work its way to the surface and demand a decision about who wins. I woke up this Mother’s Day and I RODE A BIKE for 30 minutes. I drank water and fasted until 2 p.m. I’m writing, not napping. At dinner, I’m going with CAULIFLOWER MASH instead of POTATO MASH. I e-mailed my physician and asked for a 6-month reprieve, medication-free, to get my sh*t in order. And I’ll gladly pay out of pocket to get new labs drawn in 6 months so I can prove that my switch has indeed flipped.
Will I feel as sure tomorrow or the next day or the next as I do today? I don’t know. This isn’t my first rodeo. We are all a work in progress, all of the time. Today, I woke up and I felt like writing. I felt like riding a bike instead of drinking a mimosa. I felt like eating an orange instead of a blueberry muffin. And I felt like being a better mom to my boys, which means some of my dark, crap habits have to take a back seat. So many of us are fighting crazy fierce battles. We get really good at hiding them from the world. Keep the conversation going with yourself. Let her answer “Nope” as long as she needs to. When the timing is right, she will suddenly answer “Yes” and you will know. And you will always be a winner in my book.
Happy Mother’s Day, my beautiful friends. You are nothing short of fabulous today and every day.
8.14.2021.
That was the date of my last blog post.
It was about buying a kayak and floating around by myself with my thoughts.
My modus operandi is to start anew whenever something doesn’t go perfectly. Drop a stitch on the knitting project? Tear it all out and start over. Even better, find a different pattern and move on – that pattern was clearly and inherently FLAWED. Stuck on a crossword puzzle? Turn the page and start with a clean slate. That fresh, white page with all of those empty boxes? There is so much potential there. Letters are dying to be cast into the right spaces and not a single mistake has been made. Stepped away from your blog for a bit too long? Start a new one. No one will know the difference as the internet goes on forever and will swallow whole and without apology whatever you put there. New name, new page, fresh start.
Wait. What?
Have you ever stepped away from something for so long that the thought of going back to it was ludicrous? In October of 2021, I thought “Look at the calendar. It’s time to create a new blog post.” But, in October of 2021, I was in an emotional free-fall and I didn’t care to share. “Later,” I said to myself…
At the end of December, 2021, we were still stuck fixing the broken axles and tie rods of life and, honestly, we were slogging. Did anybody really want to read about that? At the start of a new year??? Nope. “Later,” I said to myself…
In February of 2022, the wind changed and we got some much-needed relief. By that point, I was so tired of treading water that I just wanted to sit in my transient cocoon of peace and stare at the blue sky. “Later,” I said to myself…
In April of 2022, big changes were coming to our household and we had to prepare. College, moving out, road trips, and summers spent away from home were all looming. The family body was getting ready to split across the country in ways it never had before. I had to get ready for that. “Later,” I said to myself…
I guess now, it’s “Later.” I don’t like yarn repairs or eraser marks or blogs that aren’t updated according to the calendar. I am the queen of “Get it right from the start or start fresh. Does anybody have to know about the previous starts that never saw the light of completion? Bury the evidence and slap on a new smile, girlfriend!”
302 days have elapsed between 8.14.21 and 6.12.22. That’s too many days. Have you read any of the “How To Blog?” guides? 302 days between posts breaks all the rules and it is exactly how blogs die. Whatever the last page of the internet search is, that is where you will find this blog right now. I’m sure she already died in the water.
But, I still love “Beautiful Olive.” On November 14, 2020, I breathed life into her and it became a thing that I created that had never been. It’s imperfect. It’s definitely not my best work. I don’t even know what my best work is. But, I do think I have to stop covertly tossing out all of my work in the interest of “starting fresh.” Beautiful Olive” isn’t as easily trashed as a pile of yarn or a book of puzzles. Apparently, there is an electronic footprint on the internet. Ergo, she can’t be trashed. My modus operandi hit a snag.
I need to tell you that I still don’t have my kayak. Therein lies another reason I hesitated to return to this page. How embarrassing is that? 302 days ago I announced to you and the whole internet, that I was going to get a kayak. I still have not. I want the kayak. I have a vision for it and exactly how it’s going to help me power through life problems with force. But the kayak is not a part of my life yet, other than in my mind. It’s so hard to circle back to what hasn’t yet been completed, isn’t it? It’s like your unchecked to-do list grows a stadium-size index finger and follows you around, poking you in the shoulder.
So, I don’t have my kayak yet and I waited 302 days to update my blog post. I’m pretty sure my scarf has a dropped stitch or seven, but it’s been in the closet for nine years, so who really knows? It’s hard to be imperfect. Much harder than being perfect, I think. But, I was at REI with my son yesterday and the kayaks are on sale. Here’s to circling back. Have a beautiful week.
I’ve been struggling lately. Have you? Struggling. Isn’t that the phrase du jour? Covid. Wild Fires. Floods. Climate Change. Murderous Insects. Something called an Army Ant that literally took my friend’s yard from lush green grass to dead, dead, dead in just 3 short days. Yep. I’ve been struggling.
As I am firmly planted in middle age, I feel like I am watching my life from outside my body. And it’s full of judgment:
- I thought I would be further along by this point in my life (insert retirement savings, college savings, savings in general, health and wellness, travel, business, friendships, spirituality, enlightenment)
- I thought “this…” was what I wanted (insert clothes, shoes, house, car, massage, bike, fancy makeup brushes), so why am I still dissatisfied?
- I thought I would “be…” by now (insert “here, there, anywhere”)
I believe the mid-life crisis for women is slow and drawn-out. It’s a gradual feeling of unease that creeps in around the edges and blurs our sense of self. In our twenties, we take risks. We are full of confidence. Our bodies will still do exactly what we ask of them and our brains are whip-sharp. We just go and do and drive that bus wherever we need it to go. Life is so full of potential and the horizon is barely visible.
In our thirties, we are so busy. Our careers are solidly moving forward. Our kids are young – they make us smile and laugh and give hugs and sloppy kisses freely. Our bodies still do what we ask of them because what choice does it have? We are BUSY. But, it’s a GOOD busy. The horizon is beautiful, but still so far away.
In our forties, our kids have grown older and more independent. We are glad to do all of that taxi-driving because we are spending precious time with them. We are still BUSY, so we barely notice that the body is getting a little more defiant about things we ask it to do. We start to hold our book or our phone or our mail an inch farther away from our eyes. And then another inch and another inch still. Finally, we are holding all required reading at arms-length before we trudge into Costco to buy the 6 pack of readers. The horizon is not so far away now, but we are busy with teens and careers and everyone knows “We are in our PRIME because we can go to dinner or a movie or even a night away because our kids are old enough to be home alone for more than 30 seconds” so who cares about a horizon??? And we don’t mind the readers, they come in tons of fashionable styles!”
I’m on the precipice of turning fifty. I can’t yet write about what the fifties will be like because I’m not there. But, the latter part of the forties has been admittedly uncomfortable. They’ve made me question everything I’ve done up to this point and everything I’ll do in the latter half of my life. This is why it’s a Mid-Life Crisis. MID-LIFE. See? You look behind and you look ahead and you tell yourself all sorts of ridiculous stories about how your life is turning out now that you’re in the middle of it (see above “I thought by now…..). And I hate to generalize, but I will anyway. I believe that for men in Mid-Life Crisis, the realization that they are within it comes fast and furious. And then the decision about what to do about it also comes fast and furious. They buy the sports car. They jump careers or jump out of an airplane or put in a pool and a backyard kitchen. They turn 180 degrees and everyone nods and says “Mm-hmm. See? Mid-Life Crisis.”
This is not the case for women. Remember, it’s a gradual unease. We start to question ourselves and our station, but it’s so subtle. We are a little heavier than we were in our twenties and thirties and early forties. We are noticing our skin is more wrinkly and worn and tired. Our bodies are getting more belligerent when asked to do certain things. Our kids are growing into adulthood and we are seeing that we most definitely made some mistakes in parenting. Ouch. That’s a blow to the mom-ego.
The Merriam-Webster definition of a crisis: An unstable or crucial time or state of affairs in which a decisive change is impending. This is where I am. It is an unstable and crucial time. I can’t, nor do I want to, live in this state of unease indefinitely. And I think I’ve been here for several years. It’s making me tired and scared and despondent. I want out of the Mid-Life Crisis. Because when we live in this state too long, it causes us to withhold all of our gifts and talents and goodness from the world around us. The world needs each of us as we are, not as we think we should be.
So, how to climb out? We are told by all of the professionals to take baby steps. Incorporate small changes daily. Walk twice a week for just twenty minutes. Add one piece of fruit a day. Wake up ten minutes earlier. Get your coffee at home, save $$$. Drink one more glass of water a day. Start small and the change will become a habit. Right? Here’s the thing. We think too small. The reason we are uneasy at this stage in our life is that the world NEEDS us to be our big, beautiful selves and instead we are over here in the corner being small. That’s why we are STRUGGLING. We are grappling with a horizon that is now clearly approaching and we gave up our coffee and drank more water and ate the banana and NOTHING HAPPENED. We still feel uneasy and restless and inadequate.
The Mid-Life Crisis requires a bold response. The other day I came across this in Jen Sincero’s book “You Are a Badass at Making Money”:
If you want to change your life, change your life.
Well, there you go. That’s really all there is to it. But, instead, we women are over here overanalyzing, overthinking, overstressing. If we want to change our lives, let’s change our lives!
There is a saying “Spend twenty minutes a day in nature unless you are too busy, then spend an hour.” I am one of those “too busy” people. I multi-task and juggle 18 things at once. I am a “doer”. And I am pretty sure I wear it as a badge of honor. But, I’ve always been intrigued by this saying because it is the antithesis of the way I live my life. I don’t know how to “not” do. As I pondered the Mid-Life Crisis and how to get out of it, I realized that what we all need to do is something dramatically different, completely out of our comfort zones. Something that will make us terribly uncomfortable for a little bit.
Enter The Kayak Project. To begin emerging from my Mid-Life Crisis I plan to get a kayak, take it to the lake several evenings a week and float around in nature for an hour all by myself. I’m not going to be on my phone or talk to people or read or listen to podcasts. I’m just going to be in that kayak all by myself for an hour. I am going to do this MOST ESPECIALLY when I don’t have the time. As a Type-A person who really doesn’t know how not to be busy, this is going to be HARD for me. I don’t yet know how to be alone, skimming around aimlessly in nature when there are so many things that need to get done on the homefront. It gives me anxiety just considering it. I don’t even own a kayak! I have only actually been in a kayak one time in my 48 years of life! But, all of this is solvable and I am going to solve it. I realize many of you already kayak and go do all kinds of things on weekday evenings and stay up late all the time, opposite of me. That’s not the point. The point is, I DO NOT. But, now I am going to. So, yes, your Kayak Project will probably look different than mine – just make sure it’s out of your comfort zone and makes you nervous and makes your heart skip a bit. Go take a class, open a business, write a book, bake a souffle, climb a mountain, take a solo trip. Just get it going.
Eckhart Tolle says “You cannot find yourself by going into the past. You find yourself by coming into the present.” We need to think bigger, ladies. We are restless and uneasy and watching our life from outside of ourselves because we are not being bold enough. Pick something that scares you and gives you some anxiety and do that. Just one thing. If it just so happens that eating another piece of fruit every day or drinking that extra glass of water is what it takes to make your heart skip a beat and scare you, then maybe that’s your thing. But, I’ll venture a guess that it’s not. We can take a lesson from how men deal with the Mid-Life Crisis and think BIGGER. Small thinking is holding us back. Grab your readers, it’s time to go! Xoxo
Have you seen “The ‘Burbs”? It is hands-down the best “neighbor” movie ever made. I first saw it in the mid-90s and at that time, I just loved it because it was hilarious. It wasn’t until decades later in life that I came to realize how much truth was embedded in that movie. This post is for the neighbors out there that have forged some of the deepest friendships known to man simply because they weren’t afraid to get to know their neighbors.
Here’s the first thing to know about neighbors. You don’t get to pick them. Yes, when you house shop you scope out the neighbors as best you can. You make judgments based on the appearance of the yards, the number of cars parked on the street, how well the house is kept up. You might judge their outside lighting – is it loud, white, and fluorescent or is it soothing, soft, and yellow (I might be biased)? You might try to gawk at their bumper stickers – how many stick figures, dogs, cats? But, this is not really knowing them. Not at all. You don’t really get to know them until after you’ve moved in. And by that point, you own the house. Nope. You don’t get to pick your neighbors.
Here’s the second thing to know about neighbors. Embedded in the very essence of “you don’t get to pick them”, a neighborhood is by default a menagerie of people. The neighbors have varying personalities, ages, quirks, careers, lifestyles, religions, and opinions. The chances are super high that you would not have matched with many of them as friends if you were doing a Match.com for friendship. This can be daunting when you move into a new ‘hood. We tend to make friends with people who most align with us. So, when we first move to a new ‘hood, we make brief introductions and small talk and we assess who amongst them is most like us. Then we decide who we want to get to know better. And that’s where a lot of neighborhoods begin and end – stick with what you know. Gravitate to those most like you and leave it at that. Well, I’ve come to realize that friendships with neighbors can go much deeper than that.
Three years ago, it was a Sunday evening and we had only been living in our new house for about two months. Suddenly, Matt went missing from the garage. When I last checked on him, he had been doing some work in his garage brewery. Ten minutes later, he was gone. If you know Matt, this is not urgent so I just went about my business.
Within half an hour of his disappearance, our doorbell rang. I’m an introvert – I don’t answer the phone or the door or the kiosk salespeople at the mall and I also don’t actively search for a missing extroverted husband unless at least two hours have gone by. Whoever it was would not go away so I reluctantly answered it. There were two of my new neighbors at the door, whom I had never met, telling me that they had my husband next door. They said “It’s nice to meet you! Come over to meet our spouses and have drinks and food!” I was horrified and probably a little annoyed. It was Sunday night. I don’t do things on Sunday nights. It’s practically Monday on Sunday night. Preparations need to be made and some routines need to be followed. However, these two ladies I had never met would not take no for an answer. So, I begrudgingly went. I’ll spare you the details, but who knew you could have fun on a Sunday night!? They taught me that.
Fast-forward three years and our gang have grown six couples deep. We are, in many ways, as different as night and day. These neighbors have taught me what it truly means to be a part of a diverse community. Last week I paused to consider what the common thread is that binds us together. Is it that we live on the same street? No. That’s just how we first met. We have grown so close because we respect each other and all of the ways we are different. We are kind to each other. And that is our common thread.
Here is how different we are. We have golfers, cricket-players, gardeners, socialites, introverts, early birds and sleeper-inners. We have neat garages, messy garages and everything in between. Some of us have a lot of kids and some of us have one. Some of our kids are bookish and whip-smart and responsible and some of them tend more toward the social, funny, wild side. Some of us have too many cars (LOL) and some of us have only one for the whole family. Guess what? We don’t care about any of that!
Of the 12 of us, we are Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, and Christian. My neighbors bring us gifts on Christmas and wish us a Happy Easter. In turn, we support them through Ramadan and celebrate their New Years’ and their festivals. Some of us don’t eat certain meats, some of us can’t eat gluten. Some of us can’t handle spice and some of us buy Thai chiles by the pound. Some of us drink, some don’t. Some of us take breaks from drinking and we diet and exercise and go through phases. We have it all here on Briargrove Way and diversity doesn’t scare us. Here’s the bottom line: We care about each other and we are never rude to one another. We never make fun of each other for our diets, preferences, opinions, and idiosyncrasies, no matter how different they may be from the next. We started with a basic level of respect and that was our foundation for building an amazing neighborhood posse.
And here is why this matters. Mostly, the past three years have been rainbows and unicorns on Briargrove Way. We celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and graduations. We celebrate chess victories, gymnastics medals, business successes, May Day, and the addition of a new hot tub. We celebrate green grass and Costco treasures. But, because statistics are a thing and life doesn’t stay the same forever, I know that many of our families will face some sort of hardship or tragedy or sadness in some coming season. So far, we’ve only faced hunting for the lost cat or dog (found!) or the sudden need for cooking ingredients or the craziness of quarantine. But I know a hardship is always a possibility and I also know that when that happens, they will have my back and I will have theirs. It’s a beautiful thing.
None of us gets left out in our ‘hood. For any reason. Would my posse of neighbors go help Ray dig up that dead body in the Klopek’s basement? Hell yes, we would! Why? Because after three short years with these people, we would do just about anything for each other. And how did we get here? Because we started off by respecting each other and all of the ways we are different. I love these neighbors. They have my heart and have taught me so much more about diversity in community than I ever thought possible. I owe them so much more than I will ever be able to give back to them. I’m one lucky girl that my friends kidnapped my husband and rang my doorbell three short years ago!
Last weekend, my youngest and I spent two big, fat, glorious days together. The other people that live here were occupied in various ways so we went wherever the day carried us. Saturday was a gorgeous day – 65 and sunny. We did some work in the backyard. We weeded and trimmed. He hammered some wayward deck boards. We ran the dog in crazy circles. Then, we climbed into my husband’s truck, rolled down the windows and sunroof, and set off to Boulder. He was in charge of the music. We sang, tapping the steering wheel and the armrest to every beat. We discussed the song lyrics, the state of the nation, the state of the world, the state of our minds. We hiked. We shopped. We ate. We laughed. We let Saturday circulate all around us and it was good.
Yesterday was Saturday, again. I texted my son “Hey, Trader Joe’s, Costco, Dick’s…Come with?” An hour later, we’re cruising around town again, playing more tunes, carrying on more conversation. We bought all the unnecessary things at Trader Joe’s, commented to each other on the inordinate amount of people who seemed to be in a hurry at Costco (we decided those people would be better served if they shopped on a Tuesday evening) and, let Saturday settle all around us once again. On the way home, Journey’s “Who’s Crying Now?” came on Sirius and we really cranked it. It was so good.
At one point, I asked him if it bothered him that I sang along to the music. He said “No. You don’t really sing loud or anything.” And then he went on to say, and I’m paraphrasing, that he enjoys hanging out with me, he enjoys listening to music with me, he enjoys having conversations with me, and that he likes having fun with me. Did you hear that?? He said I was a cool mom, even if he didn’t say that exactly. The rest of yesterday, I was strutting in my coolness. I was like “I’m that mom. I have his ear and his heart. I am so smart and so wise and I know how to parent. All you have to do is drive with the windows down and listen to Journey, people!”
This morning, I was alone with my thoughts, sipping coffee in the quiet house. A nagging thought started coursing through me and it wouldn’t leave. I sat with it for a while. Then, I went and found that 14-year old, youngest son and said “Do you remember yesterday when you said you enjoy being around me? That I’m a good mom to hang out with, that you’re glad we like many of the same things? Well, I want you to know that you won’t always feel that way. In the next few years, you are going to like things that I don’t. You are going to have opinions opposite of mine and feelings that are contrary to mine. You are going to do this because part of growing up is cleaving away from your parents – both literally and figuratively. In order to grow up, you’re going to seek out things that your parents don’t like and you’re going to do this all ON PURPOSE. You’re going to become contrary and it’s going to cause some friction between us. You’re going to find a way to be different than us. I know that doesn’t seem possible right now, but it will take place. So, right now while I have your ear, I want to tell you that this will be completely normal. And all I ask is that, when you are going through this growing-up necessity of life, you pause often enough and listen to your soul guide you on what is wrong and what is right. When that time comes, you won’t want my compass but you can use your own – it will be reliable and you will be ready. And, finally, while I still have your ear, if you want to rebel in something, don’t pick music. I like just about every kind of musical style there is and I will keep up.”
I so wish these thoughts of mine would have appeared in my conscience when I was younger. I wish I would have said these same things to my oldest, who is now 19. How much easier would entry into adulthood have been for him if he’d been warned about what to expect and reassured that it was normal? If he’d been told that he had a fine compass and that we couldn’t wait for him to use it, all by himself? Hindsight is always so crystal-clear. For some reason, our eldest children are parented more from a place of fear than from a place of assurance. Fear is the “emotion experienced in the presence or threat of danger” whereas, assurance is “a state of mind in which one is free from doubt.” (Merriam-Webster) By design, we become better parents through age, experience, trials, errors, misjudgments, good judgments, and sometimes, total and complete flub-ups. As we become more seasoned parents, we become more assured and less fearful. The good thing is, it’s never too late. We can always roll the windows down, play some music and ride around with our kids as sidekicks. We can keep connecting with them in whatever way they will let us. And that is truly a good thing.
Do you know how many blogs and essays and opinions are out there for us to soak up? I’ve never googled it. But, I know it’s a lot. There are so many, that there are no words or ideas or phrases that I will pen here today that will be necessarily new. So, why do those of us who like to throw our ideas onto paper keep doing it, if it’s not really laying down anything that hasn’t already been said before? Because in the same way that many give big, giant hugs as a means of support, I give words. I do like hugs. Human touch (especially now) is golden. But, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always recorded my deepest emotions in words. And then I give them to other people. Like a hug.
I’m sitting here on a Sunday afternoon and the window is open because it’s 62 degrees with a barely noticeable breeze. I hear a bird. I hear a dog. I hear the bouncing basketball and the dad and the son shooting it around on the driveway. I hear the unattended tv in our family room – also hoops. I hear an airplane. And because we had an unbelievable tragedy in our state last Monday, as I pause and listen to my surroundings, my mind takes me back 7 days to last Sunday. The day before that tragedy. Did any of those 10 souls, whose lives on Earth were cut short without their permission, hear any of these same things last Sunday? It was cooler that day, maybe the windows weren’t open. Dogs surely barked and birds sang, though. Families played ball. People flew in airplanes. Same as today. Just seven days ago.
My mind wonders what sounds each of them noticed last Sunday. Of all the sounds that competed for brain space, which ones sped VIP to the frontal lobe, beating out all of the other riff-raff sounds that didn’t matter? There are a lot of sounds that come into our ears every minute. We don’t pay attention to them all. We can’t. Filtering is vital to our survival. The world would be a cacophony from birth to death without it. The possibilities of what each of those 10 heard and noticed on that Sunday before that tragedy is endless. As I listen to the dad, the son, the basketball, the dog, the bird, the airplane, I find myself hoping that whatever it was they each heard and processed, noticed, and felt on that day was full of meaning, emotion, reverence, and love. That they heard the most important things for him or her on that day, at that moment.
How do we move forward in light of a horrible tragedy? How do we fix what’s broken? How do we heal people who hurt? And how do we heal people who might hurt other people? How do we heal them before they hurt people? Fractured families, workplaces, schools, nations? How do we help people to visit stores, attend movies, drive down the highway, get on airplanes, and go to school without a fear that tomorrow might not look like today?
The truth is, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. But, you know how a loved one will jump in to hug you as tight as a vise when the sadness in your heart threatens to overtake you? I know you know what I’m talking about. There are people we encounter in our lives that can literally hug the hurt out of us – if only just for a few seconds. But, there is power in that few seconds. Those seconds allow you time to catch a needed breath and get some clarity. Clarity not to forget what brought you the hurt in the first place, but to know how to move forward when the hug is over and in a way that doesn’t destroy you in the process.
In that same vein, I offer my words. They are my hug to you. And in the same way that a hug can’t directly make you feel at ease getting on the airplane or walking through the shopping mall or ducking in to buy those eggs, that hug gives you so much power. You have power. We have power. We have a beautiful world full of birds and basketballs and people who hug us so tight we see stars. Is it fragile? Of course, it is. Why do you think we see stars and only stars for a quick second when somebody hugs us that tightly?!? Because life is fragile. Fragility is okay. The world doesn’t require us to be tough and unbreakable. It only requires that we care more than we fear. That is how we help each other. Give and get all the hugs this week. They don’t always come physically, especially in Covid.
XOXO