Hot Young Blonde

I used to be a hot young blonde... really! It's true! And guess what, it’s overrated. Seriously, I wasn’t happier or more successful or content. In fact, I have gotten progressively happier and all those things since my hot self at the age of 25. And, really, what 25 year-old isn’t hot? Everyone’s been there, that’s when you’re supposed to be your hottest so you can attract a mate and procreate. Sexy, isn’t it?

My grandma would say there are “show ponies” and there are “work horses.” I mean, I’m not the ugliest nag in the stall or anything (far from it, wink! wink!) I’m just saying my looks are honestly less important to me as I grow older. Sure, I’d like to live a healthy life and maintain some sense of attractiveness well into my later years (I wouldn’t mind being the hottest nonagenarian in the home, think Blanche Devereaux.) In no way am I saying my appearance is grotesque nor am I giving up on my looks, far from it! What I'm saying is that I choose not to fixate on what I see in the mirror or obsess over (impossibly) maintaining the same physical self I was in my twenties. I’ve got other things to do.

So, I’ve gained some laugh lines and age spots and my beer/wine belly - and my tendency to pat on it like a proud expectant mother - has prompted a few well-meaning but awkward comments about my “due date.” Who cares?! If I’ve learned anything since age 25 it’s that most of us are our own worst enemy. Does anyone but me really care if there are lines on my face or that my jeans are size whatever? No. And I’m 99% sure no one cares about those things about you either, unless you are, in fact, the center of the universe. 

Look, I will never be (thank God!) or look like a 25 year-old again, and neither will you (unless you’re one of my hip young millennial coworkers.) I wouldn’t trade a day of my 37 years to go back. Ok, maybe that day I so gracefully threw up in a cup coming home from a drunken night with an old friend, spilled it on myself, unzipped my skirt to take it off then walked into my apartment building where I unexpectedly came face-to-face with a co-worker, where I gave a friendly nod, then briskly turned to walk away with puke everywhere and my ass hanging out. Yep, that day…that day I would trade, but that’s it.

To me, a life best lived is one that includes the things you love, not deny yourself - which is why so many of my meals involve cheese, wine and carbs… you know, just in case it’s my last… You can’t reverse time no matter how hard you try. So, instead of spending my days trying, I’m going to embrace who I am now, a hot beer-drinking, pizza-eating 37 year-old, wrinkles and all. And  with that, I will continue to be happy. 

Chillin Child-Free

So, Mother's Day has come and gone. This year I noticed an over-abundance of articles about "child-free," "child-less," "have children but support all women and their motherhood status." Don't get me wrong, I love that this is even a conversation, says the girl who was this close to a Women's Studies minor in college.

I myself am a devout member of the "child-free," a term I just read about today. I do not have children and have never (even as a child myself - I played "lawyer" or "businesswoman" all the time but never, do I remember, playing "mom") wanted to be a mother. It was never a big internal debate that I had, I just never felt the drive or need or even fantasy, but my decision is just as firm as if I had. Some women yearn to be a mother and know their whole life that they want to raise children. I can honestly say, I am the complete opposite of that woman. And, with that, I am confident, comfortable and sure. And, the next person whose response when I express my desire to remain child-free says, "Never say never!" will promptly receive my foot up their ass (seriously people?!!)

Women and circumstances decide (or not) to have children for a lot of reasons, some good, some not so good. However they arrive at their motherhood, child-free or child-less status is all very complex, extremely personal and for many, not at all easy. I know that I'm lucky, not necessarily to be child-free (but have you been to the Subway by the Science Center the last week before summer break when the teachers have all but given up on keeping order among the mutiny?!! Nope, definitely not for me,) but to know what I want (or don't want) and having the right to make that decision.

Look, it's not an easy decision for a lot of women, so let's be kind to each other, respect that what's right for you isn't right for everyone and appreciate that at least we have choices. And for goodness sake, positive thoughts and well-wishes to my good friends, the sandwich artists at the Science Center Subway!

   

Happy Mother's Day!

A friend just asked me what my family “does” for Mother’s Day. My response - our family doesn’t really “do” anything big or special for Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, which I guess is our own tradition. Also, I selfishly claim that because my birthday is always on or very close to the second Sunday in May, it takes trump. As a kid, I even insisted on celebrating my birthday on Mother’s Day every year at the pizza place where they would give me one of the pink carnations they were handing out to mothers. What can I say, it made me feel special and also like I had pulled one over on “the man.” Ha!

I don’t know why we don’t celebrate the way other (seemingly functional) families do with brunch or lunch and cards and cake and that butt-ugly Jane Seymour jewelry I’m sure LOTS of disappointed mothers have been gifted. My parents, despite my sharing their stories for them in writing, are very private people – always have been, always will be – which seems ironic considering I am the master/mistress of TMI (stories about shitting one’s pants… been there, done that! See previous posts.) Except for within our inner circle, the immediate family, my parents shy away from all attention and fuss. My mom has even thought ahead to the unwanted attention she might receive after her hopefully very distant but eventual death – no funeral, and if the law would allow, stick her in a garbage bag at the end of the driveway on trash pick-up day. I don’t know if Mom has big plans for an obituary as it would draw attention, but if one is allowed, it will no doubt be something brutally succinct, as in “Bad news… [Mom’s name] died.” The end.

Just because we have no big customs or elaborate celebrations for these Hallmark holidays doesn’t mean my family doesn’t value them or their meaning. I will call Mom on Sunday, like I do every Mother’s Day, to acknowledge the holiday and wish her the best. A bit of a formality we mutually understand, but I think she appreciates the call nonetheless. And I will call my dad on Father’s Day to do the same and be met with a quick “thanks” mumbled back in slight embarrassment before we move on to more important conversation that will certainly put less “unnecessary” attention on him. It’s the same every year. See! We have our traditions, after all! And I look forward to them just the same.

Like a Fine Aged Wine

So, with my next birthday looming, I’ve been thinking a lot about growing older. I’m actually ok with it. No, really! At 36-37, I’m not exactly staring down the other side of the hill yet, but your thirties are when you become a bona fide adult. A REAL adult… like how old your parents were when as a kid you first really understood the concept of age. I guess you’re still only as old as you act. And look! I mean, I did add some skinny jeans to my wardrobe this year – just trying to fit in with my co-workers, a super hip band of “Millennials.”

 

My attitude towards aging comes from my genes (not skinny.) See, the women in my family seem to get better – happier, funnier, more confident and more at peace – with age. They’re also nuttier, feistier, more spirited and more outspoken – all good things in my book. They also deal with aging and everything it entails with humor and grace - a word I can hardly type here considering their pure love of fart talk, dirty jokes and all things gross (seriously, conversations at our family dinners would make a 12 year-old boy blush, but we sure have a good time!) As my mom would say, “Getting old aint for sissies.” It’s going to happen to the best (and luckiest) of us, you might as well get your laughs where you can.

 

Laugh, we do! My 92 year-old grandma, as many her advanced age, can't remember a damn thing! I'm not telling her secrets, she knows (when she can remember) that her memory isn't good. Fortunately for her, she has my mom to keep her (mostly) in line. When Grandma forgets, Mom (mostly) gently reminds her. And when Grandma sees a sign as they're driving for Dairy Queen's sale on bacon cheeseburgers and remarks that she might like to try one, Mom advises that, in fact, they've just come from doing that very thing. Oops! But, the old fart (Grandma AND Mom) know how to roll with the punches and not be afraid to laugh at themselves. It's the only way you survive.

 

Getting older takes guts. I feel lucky that I was shown how to "roll with the punches" from a long line of lively, hilarious, headstrong women. That's a legacy I can live (and grow old) with.

 

 

Shit, Not You Again...

Right. As I was saying, "my bucket list"....

So, it's been a while since I've written - 2 1/2 years actually! Well, you know, LIFE... Jobs, friends, dramas - they come and go, all with due time. "In with the positive, out with the negative..." as I used to say when I was in my twenties and faithfully doing yoga meditations - poor sap! As I get older, I find it's more gratifying to "in" with the wine, and "out" with the F-bomb. What? It's still a form of self-expression just with a different, perhaps, less physically healthy approach.

In the last couple of years, I guess you could say I've been working on my "bucket list" (from my last post, November 2012.) But, really, aren't we always working on our lists, our goals? What's the point of achieving them, anyway? Isn't the point in the practice and lessons learned from the effort of getting there?

And I have learned a lot since my 34 year-old self who last wrote. I'll be 37 next week, and I, like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally like to say, "I'm gonna be 40!... Someday!..." Yes, yes, every birthday is a milestone, even the ones not divisible by 5 or 10. So, I'm confident (and hell-bent determined - don't challenge me, I'm a Taurus with a strong German heritage) to make 37 a great year.


So, here's to me! And, us! Or, this theoretical miraculous year in which I finally discover the one small key to infinite happiness (but not before I cure AIDS and cancer, then fund the arts all across America with the money I make, attend the Met Museum's Costume Institute Gala wearing one of those Beyonce booty-worshipping couture gowns where Clooney finally decides to turn his attention to me/my booty, where it should be.)

My Bucket List

Between a few friends' recent health scares and some fundraiser events I've attended, the subject of the "bucket list" seems to have come up a lot lately. Which got me thinking, what would I include on my own bucket list of things I'd like to do/accomplish in my lifetime. There's so much!

Do I include the easy things that would allow me to merely "cross off" a few items? Do I limit it to the most ambitious, "YOLO" list of adventures to prove that I'm alive?  If I'm being truthful, my bucket list contains some pretty mundane tasks. Afterall, I'm a mostly "youthful" 34 year-old with no known health problems or other reason to face her own mortality.

Item #1: Travel to countries/territories/areas that challenge me. I am a proud American who appreciates all that this country has to offer. However, in addition to traveling this country, I have also travelled internationally and have come to appreciate the larger perspective. There is just so much outside of our own "backyards" that could teach us so much. My biggest pet peeve: those who say they won't leave the country becuase there's so much "here" they haven't seen. Well, sure. America has so much to see and experience, but don't use that as an excuse not to travel to a place where the language, currency and culture is different.

Item #2: Be kind, be helpful, go out of your way to help others.  I'm no saint. My life is filled with plenty of regret and moments I'd rather forget. However, I TRY to live a life that will, if nothing else, let me sleep well at night. Sometimes, in my moments of self-pity, I feel that an attitude of altruism (I'm not unselfish enough to have reached that goal) leads to being taken advantage of by even the most well-meaning. What's the point? The point is, I'd rather strive to be a person who makes others feel better about themselves, gives them confidence and shows them that they have an ally in you. Everyone needs someone on their side, and neighbors help make your "community."

Item #3: Forgive yourself. I have two very close friends that I've had since college. Through life changes, marriages, break-ups, babies, new jobs, new cities, etc., we haven't spoken as often as we/I'd like. Even though we haven't been able to spend much time together, we are still as close as ever. And with our close friendships, we are able to overlook the amount of time we have (or haven't had) to catch up. At the end of the day, I love them. None of us wastes time beating ourselves up over how much (or little) time we've had to give.

My bucket list contains so many more bullet points, I just haven't yet come up with the specifics. The point is to make a list of life goals that are personal to you, but don't wait for some major life change/transition to strive for them. It's much easier to live a full life fulfilling your dreams than to wait til you're staring death in the face. Go! Embrace life! Or at least make a list of what you want to achieve. It's never too soon!

My European Siesta

It's been a good, busy summer. There has been so much going on, especially at work, that the time has flown by. But, the focus of the season, the thing I have spent the most time thinking about, planning for and recovering from, was my awesome, three-week trip to Austria in late July and early August. Having looked forward to it for nearly two years, since my last trip there, it's no surprise that I had an incredible time! I even came back home with every good intentions of writing, with great inspiration, about traveling and how much it affects your life, your attitude and your daily routine. However, I have found that it's really difficult to put into words, without sounding overly dramatic, because traveling experiences are very personal and uniquely invidividual.

The truth is, I came back from Austria (as I do with every major trip) a different person - more relaxed, more open-minded, and more appreciative. I feel very fortunate that I am able to go to Europe (after saving every penny I can from my hard-earned "non-profit" salary) every few years, and I really try to absorb every minute and appreciate every second while I'm there. This trip was no exception. Surprisingly, the thing I valued most while I was in Austria was solitude.

Although I was there to visit my sister, a violinist at the opera institute, she and her colleague/friends, who I've also gotten to know quite well, had to work during the week. This left me plenty of time to find my way and entertain myself in a foreign country. Days were spent sleeping late, wondering around town looking for hidden corners not yet seen, grocery shopping for non-preservative-filled bread and cheese and fruit (things so foreign and UNDERappreciated in America) and finally deciding on a serene and scenic place (in abundance in Austria) to read a book. My favorite is a small lake just off the Strassenbahn line, where I spent many afternoons laying in a hammock, where I could watch the ducks swim and read Peter Mayle's "A Year in Provence". Pure heaven!

Unlike every other trip I've taken, these three weeks helped me realize and appreciate the value of my own company. Back in reality in Louisville, Kentucky I live alone and have plenty of time by myself, however, the time I spent in solitude on my trip is different. There, I was on an adventure in a strange place that weirdly felt like home but where the people spoke a language that I couldn't quite grasp (despite much practicing) and where I stuck out like a foreigner, a tall, stalky, corn-fed, self-aware American. Unlike at work or weekend chores, my time was completely to use as I wanted. And my time was never better spent than on my Austrian vacation siesta.