A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to 40

While walking in a 40 year-old’s shoes for a year I’ve gained insights into this getting older process. So many conversations and questions with others who tackle similar issues. So much introspection. The overarching theme is that there’s a ton of well, everything, to explore at mid-life. As long as we make the time and open ourselves to discovery. And not take everything so seriously.

As I was reflecting about this piece I pictured Nathan Lane in Stephen Sondheim’s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum—especially that first number when the entire cast entertains on stage. So, to pay homage to the song “A Comedy Tonight” here is my version…mere observations from the written posts and continuing conversations I have with friends regarding this life’s phase.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to 40

“Something familiar…”

Hiding behind wrinkles and memories from 1990? Seek the genuine you to resurface. Use your confidence and experience to shine. We don’t have anything to prove—except that there’s more life bottled up within our souls.

“Something peculiar…”

Hearing kids sing 80s songs like they’ve watched MTV for years unsettles you—and yet, makes you proud. Today’s youth doesn’t even know what Aquanet could accomplish, but they can belt Bon Jovi like any solid big hair band groupie.

“Something for everyone…”

There’s a diet or an exercise video series du jour for all. And technology to track whether we’re on task. Fad or fit-tion? What are you hooked on—or hooked up to?

“Something appealing…”

Making more of an effort to prioritize you. Whether that means carving out time for yoga, grabbing wine with friends, or saying no to homeroom parent—block out some blissful minutes. You deserve it.

 “Something appalling…”

Not using up all of your vacation days…or your spouse saving up his/hers. Why not take more breaks to enjoy this vibrant time in your life? Go on an adventure while you still have the energy and health to hike, kayak, and make it through five wineries in one day.

“Tragedy tomorrow…”

Cop shows congest network TV…capitalizing on the public’s fascination with society’s horrors. The real tragedy is shows like Parenthood ending. Time to discover other poignant, well-written dramas and more comedies to lighten our television viewing.

“A Comedy Tonight…”

Find the funny…whether in the mirror or at life’s silly circumstances. Laughing lowers stress and boosts immunity. And creates connections with others. Maybe it’s time to don a toga and whip up some old card games circa college days.

Toga or not, take some steps to evaluate what else you care to experience and make it happen. It’s time to act on some selfish desires to make you happy. Because when you do your entire ensemble will be dancing alongside, uplifted by your joy. "Goodness and badness, panic is madness--this time it all turns out all right!"* And I truly hope it does for you. Let's keep toe tapping down this path and see where Act II leads.

 

 

 

*lyrics from “A Comedy Tonight” from A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

You Are What You Eat? Gulp, I Hope Not

“Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of.”

Sure, we’ve all heard the above nursery rhyme. If I had to say, in food terms, what I’m made of I immediately think of pizza, ice cream, wine, and grilled cheese with bacon. Much of my identity revolves around food—meeting up with friends for coffee, planning menus when entertaining, and feeling the joy of cooking for others. I’m one of those people who lives to eat, not eats to live.

But what if you have to cut out sugar and pretty much all foods you love? Then what’s left?

This fall I’ve been battling a flare up with my autoimmune disease, Hashimoto's. So I started researching nutritional ways to make me feel better. Feeling desperate I decided to try an autoimmune protocol (AIP) diet. Following the guidelines means consuming organic protein and vegetables. No dairy. No gluten. No sugar. Not even tomatoes or eggs.

This is not a post about my health or to catapult me into martyrdom--it is about the transformation and observation of feeling the loss of identity at this point in life.

Others who change jobs, divorce, get sick, quit working to be a stay-at-home parent, get injured and can’t play their sport, retire —this life alteration is what I’m referring to. The time when a large part of your life-- and maybe your defining characteristics-- are finished.

How do you adjust to the new you?

In O Magazine Martha Beck writes, “Any transition serious enough to alter your definition of self will require not just small adjustments in your way of living and thinking but a full-on metamorphosis.” She goes on to say, “Don't attribute your happiness to your new identity; security lies in knowing how to deal with metamorphosis, whenever it occurs.”

So I started dealing with these restrictive changes, accepting the adjustments…until one afternoon I simply craved a chocolate chip cookie. I decided to bake some gluten free version, (the prepared mix contained no sugar—so how tasty could they really be). My daughter said they looked like taco meat. My husband said they smelled like dog biscuits. And me? They truly did not satisfy on any level.

Admittedly the cookie experiment left me a little glum. Who was I, if not donning an apron and sharing in life’s delicacies with those I love?

Last week still feeling a bit blue, I trudged to a Christmas event where a speaker talked about the real meaning of the holiday. Regardless of any religious ties—what I heard could give strength to anyone facing overwhelming times. The message I heard: for times when your life expectations shatter, just focus on the constants--the true, positive, reliable parts of your life that bring you peace and happiness. That could mean faith, friends, enjoying the sound of your children’s laughter…

Sometimes in life you can’t have your cake, (or cookie), and eat it, too. If you are challenged by an identity change, seek supportive people who listen to you. And do activities that bring you joy. Maybe cook up a new nursery rhyme for yourself…and remember what you are made of and stay strong.

 

For more information about how AIP addresses inflammation in the gut read:

http://aiplifestyle.com/what-is-autoimmune-protocol-diet/

http://www.thepaleomom.com/autoimmunity/the-autoimmune-protocol

For the Martha Beck piece: http://www.oprah.com/spirit/Strategies-to-Deal-With-Every-Phase-of-Major-Life-Changes#ixzz3KlrXvcKz

 

How Do You Place the Importance of Where You Live?

Years ago I would walk through Boston’s North End, loving the intermingling smells -- the harbor’s salt water with the fresh bread from the bakeries and garlic from the Italian restaurants. I’d feel the uneven bricks below my feet. Hear the hum of nearby Logan Airport and the street traffic which used to run above ground prior to the Big Dig. Here was a city I treasured, that became a part of me, a part of my history. Still, in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t stay—that this wouldn’t be my forever home.

I’ve lived in a number of locations—and have appreciated their history, uniqueness, and people. Certain places felt more like home than others, but none so much as settling into the western Philadelphia suburbs. My heart feels that solid sense of belonging. Yet a notion always glimmers that maybe we’re missing something—that there could be other addresses to enrich our life experience.

How attached are you to your sense of place? Your house? Your town?

My husband and I often entertain the thought of working and living abroad for a couple of years. To provide that wide-open, global perspective, the cultural appreciation, the possible absorption of a new language. Relocating would teach our kids resilience, that change is a part of life, and that as long as we’re together we’re home.

On the flipside we appreciate the sense of stability, creating a rich history with friends and family, and becoming a real part of the community.

Does anyone else weigh settling down vs. exploring elsewhere? Especially now, at this stage in life?

We have friends who live abroad and those who move frequently within the States—and the wanderlust part of me thinks, “That’s amazing you have the gumption, that bold sense of adventure as part of your family fabric,” and I wonder if we could really uproot, take that leap, and start over just like they do.

And then I look around and feel there’s no place I’d rather be, sort of how Jesus Jones sang the lyrics in 1990.

“Place” impacts not only the shaping of our current lives, but how we reflect on our life experiences. I love the sentiment Ladette Randolph expresses in her memoir Leaving the Pink House, “I best understand my life though the houses where I’ve lived…Houses are often the archives for my deepest, most resonant memories, the places where I’ve curated my life stories.” The same applies to cities, towns, and neighborhoods.

I know home is where the heart is—yes, surrounded by those we love, but it is more—I need to feel an intuitive connection of peace and promise—to the local scenery, the familiar smells and sounds, and the rhythms of daily interactions. Look around you, breathe in the sense of place that envelopes you, and hopefully you feel the comfort wherever your current landscape takes you.

“Place conspires with the artist. We are surrounded by our own story,
we live and move in it. It's through place that we put our roots.”                               --Eudora Welty

Deadheading: Not Just for Flowers

Three weeks ago I deadheaded my sangria daisies, and I am shocked that even with the cooler October weather new blooms emerged to brighten my landscaping.  I love those flowers—and not just for the name.

Also around that same time I kept looking in the mirror at my dead head…my broken, dried hair...and thought—do I have the guts to just chop off my lack-lustrous locks? I haven’t had shorter hair in decades.  Just like Sally Field’s character M’Lynn worried in the 1989 movie Steel Magnolias—I agonized whether my hair would end up looking like a helmet.  Or I’d get that dreaded “Mom cut,” which would certainly age me.

How much do we worry about hair at midlife?  Men going bald?  Women dealing with thinning hair? 

I’ve been “blessed” with fine, straight locks my entire life, (hope you read the sarcasm in that statement)…and for the last five years have been dealing with thyroid issues, which has negatively affected my hair.  Sometimes I find my eyes scanning the crowds—admiring Irish and Indian women with their thick tresses. And then on the opposite side of the spectrum I think of my adult friends with alopecia who’ve completely lost their hair, and my heart goes out to them.

It’s inevitable that this visible, physical transformation occurs—unless you’re Sofia Vergara with her amazing mane.  No denying it—as we get older our hair does change.  It turns gray, alters in texture, and loses some of its elasticity.  And our hair surrounds a facial structure which also ages--our facial bones, including our eye sockets, nose and upper jaw, continue to morph.  Should our hairstyle be an accessory to this mature face?

Are there other mid-life people who fear changing hairstyles?  How attached are we?  I have some friends who boldly alter their persona with crazy color and frequent cuts, and I have others who haven’t changed their styles, (like me), for years.  Is it an emotional tie?  Our hair being a key to our personality?  A refusal to accept that our hair should change as we get older? 

I’m not sure we have to modernize our hair as we age, and I am not convinced that a haircut is timeless and can last for decades on our transforming faces.  I know I personally had to make a literal head vs. heart decision to cut my hair, and honestly, I’m still getting used to my mirror’s reflection. 

If you’re at your “split ends” with what to do with your aging hair I suggest asking for honest opinions from your friends and trusting an experienced stylist who will take into account your hair’s texture and facial structure before deciding the best length and cut.  Maybe it’s time for a fresh new style—or a simple enhancement of what you currently sport.  I never thought those daisies would spring forth additional life this late in the growing season…and maybe, just maybe…my own chopping will yield a brand new look—and outlook—of my own. 

 

I’d love to hear about your relationship with your hair as you’re getting older.  Please comment and share your thoughts.

 

If you’re interested in checking out hairstyles for different age groups:

http://www.redbookmag.com/beauty-fashion/celebrity-hairstyles/age-appropriate-hair#slide-1

Puppy Power--Teaching This Old Yeller New Tricks

I never really understood the appeal of dog movies. Beethoven? Couldn’t get over the slobber. Marley and Me? No interest in a misbehaving pooch. I figured—must be because I’m not inherently a dog person. I grew up with miniature schnauzers, but I’m not the type of person who would pet a friend’s dog. I get grossed out when someone takes a tennis ball out of a dog’s mouth to toss it. The adage of “Never trust a person who doesn’t like dogs,”--really? Who, me?

At this stage in life can a person change? Or can a dog be, (sorry for the pun), that cat-alyst?

Here’s an example. Continuing with the dog theme—I’m an old yeller. I am in awe of mothers who keep a calm tone, even after telling her kids to do something eight times. For me, for whatever reason, I can’t get my kids to motivate unless my voice escalates in pitch and volume. Which stresses me. It upsets the kids. Yelling, as any research can tell you, is not healthy. So last week I told myself—I would not raise my voice for an entire day. When I felt that annoyed energy rise up my throat I took deep breaths, walked into another room, and reminded myself of my promise. The kicker was that during dinner my 6 year-old said that the best part of his day was that I didn’t yell. That stung. Wow, even he noticed.

Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks?

And maybe a young dog can totally transform you.

Three weeks ago we welcomed a puppy into our home. On a pretty much impulsive whim we drove to Lancaster County and bought an adorable puppy from a sweet Amish family. That first night as I got up every two hours to take out Olive, and then cuddle her close, I felt like the Grinch--at the end of the book. Literally, I felt my heart expand in love for this furry little creature. My maternal instincts kicked in, and I fell for—yes, a DOG. Never before did I understand that bond. Now I get why people have bumper stickers expressing their canine camaraderie. Last week I drove through Philly, saw a beautiful park with the skyline as background, and thought, “Wow, I’d love to bring Olive here sometime.” What?!?! Who, me?

At the end of the classic 1957 movie the little puppy steals a steak and starts to resemble his dad, Old Yeller. That reminds me that I don’t want my kids emulating my temper when they’re adults. Maybe I can learn new tricks—I’m trying to keep my outbursts at bay. And maybe my puppy has taught me to be more patient and tender. Now I can’t wait to watch a pooch movie—maybe this weekend we’ll watch My Dog Skip—and I’ll tear up knowing how much Olive has already enriched our lives.

Home is where the bark is. Just less so with me—I’ll leave the woofs to my playful puppy.

 

 

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/health/2012/11/27/why-are-we-yelling/1729357/

http://www.parents.com/toddlers-preschoolers/discipline/tips/10-ways-to-stop-yelling/?page=1

How Do You Scratch a 7 Year Itch?

On average a person stays at their job for 4.4 years, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. And Millennials stay in a job for less than three years.*

So it’s no wonder that this year I’m starting to scratch. Getting itchy. My primary job, being a mother of four for the last 7 years, has caused a prickly feeling to creep up my spine. I love my kids with all of my heart. But it’s just that sometimes I want something different, a break from the daily grind of food shopping, laundry, and being the logistical leader of this family. I admit to wishing the time away for my youngest to start elementary school, (I can practically hear the gasps from my friends whose kids are in college). I may sound like an insensitive, unloving mother, but isn’t it only natural for an all-consuming job to wear you down?

I’m not the first person to feel this way. The “seven-year itch” is a psychological term suggesting that happiness in a relationship declines after year seven of marriage. So, maybe my job satisfaction level is just petering with parenthood. 

Last weekend my husband and I watched the 1955 movie, The Seven Year Itch, which shows how a faithful publishing executive, Richard Sherman, fantasizes about cheating with his new upstairs neighbor played by Marilyn Monroe. The two form an unlikely friendship—he being optimistic that romantic feelings are brewing, and she more seeking his air conditioning during a hot Manhattan summer.  It turns out that guilt runs Richard to his wife and kid who are summering in Maine.

But I can’t just run away from the mundane motherhood monotony by fleeing to Kennebunkport.

Who else has caught themselves in a cycle of dissatisfaction—in any situation? When there’s little hope of relief? How do you scratch your itch?

Four years ago I had the worst case of poison ivy. Oozing, hideous scabs covered my body, and all I wanted to do was scratch. The only way I found episodic relief? I scalded myself in the shower—tricking my skin to not feel the rash, but instead to feel the burn. Temporary, but still blissful.

During challenging, strenuous times like in my current full-time job, we need to find those retreats to recharge. And not feel guilty about doing so. Sabbaticals for teachers—and now in some businesses—were invented for a reason. Note: “sabbatical” is derived from the word “sabbath,” for rest—a luxury often missing for mothers. Along with time off we need the support to do so. We need a medium to escape the tedium.

This motherhood job is a permanent one—and is no fantasy like Richard Sherman’s whimsical daydreams. Anyone in the trenches can relate. His imagination takes him elsewhere…leading ultimately back to his family. Maybe, just like with the poison ivy, what is needed is a few showers of relief—to take me away---only to be returned to my little blessings, but with my irritation healed and me feeling less stressed. 

 

*”Job Hopping is the ‘New Normal’ for Millennials: Three Ways to Prevent a Human Resource Nightmare” –Forbes 8/14/12 http://www.forbes.com/sites/jeannemeister/2012/08/14/job-hopping-is-the-new-normal-for-millennials-three-ways-to-prevent-a-human-resource-nightmare/

No Woman is an Island? I Disagree.

I’ve often romanticized a tropical lifestyle—the ever-wearing flip flops, dancing to steel drums on the way to the food market type of existence. Wouldn’t life be more effortless and relaxing being surrounded by crystal clear, champagne shores, “knee deep in the water somewhere” --like the Zac Brown Band sings? Would we be in constant vacation mode driving to and from soccer practice?

For years I’ve yearned for that get-away paradise, especially at times when bottomless mango daiquiris didn’t cut it anymore. I even kept a secret list close to my heart of the five friends I’d take on a deserted island. You’ve probably heard versions of the “5 Friends Everyone Should Have,”—like a lawyer, physician, mechanic, therapist, and a carpenter. Or about the “5 Friend Types”—like a listener, a motivator, a helper, an adventurer, and a comedian. Would you pray to be shipwrecked with a movie star like Gilligan? Who do you prioritize? Whom can you text/call to satisfy your pick-me-up?   

When teaching a public speaking class about aggressive and agenda-driven interviewers I talk about the “island of safety.” I suggest that the students prepare three key message points to drive the conversation, to focus their time as an opportunity to present their ideas and not get sidetracked down some tangential path. If someone asks an unrelated, hostile question the responder should acknowledge it, and then create a bridge to return to their main messages, or to their island.

Over the years I’ve realized that the bridges to reach those on my island—have been key to not only survival, but to share in life’s sheer enjoyment. As a high school graduation gift my favorite teacher gave me a framed piece of calligraphy with John Donne’s poem, which begins with, “No man is an island, Entire of itself.” Contrary to Donne’s poem, perhaps we are our own islands, molding our lives by erupting into our own safe havens? Granted, mine’s a land-locked one in suburban Pennsylvania with no steel drums…but in a non-methodical manner I have somehow crafted my own island of safety. I know the importance of gathering that band of merry people whom I can depend on, laugh with, and be inspired by.

So be grateful for the treasures on your island, those who make you feel confident, loved, supported, and encouraged. And make sure to thank them for just being there—in your fashioned paradise—which, in reality, may be in your own backyard.