Signs Say--Listen to Your Heart Singing

I’ve spent my share of dollars on palm readers, the sketchiest one in some woman’s living room in Minneapolis.  As much as I loved the entertainment factor I still listened with a captivated ear to get a glimpse of the future, a mere hint of how I should move forward.  I’m a sucker for signs in our cosmic universe helping me explain events and decisions.  Even five years ago I caved in to saying “yes” to making a move to central Florida for my husband’s career.  What pushed me over the edge?  Driving to the food store and seeing two Florida license plates here in Pennsylvania.  I squinted at those sunny oranges, then looked to the skies and said out loud, “Wow, this HAS to be a sign from above.”*

Since I’m a seasoned soul now…should I still seek signs when making decisions?  Or should I rely on my acquired “wisdom”—(a term used loosely)-- mixed with my gut feelings?

Growing up I was the person who would listen to the radio for inspiration about how my life would unfold, wondering if a secret crush would amount to anything by what song came on my pastel radio—a little “Just a Friend” by Biz Markie vs. Roxette’s “It Must Have Been Love.”  Later in life I admit to reading an ex-boyfriend’s horoscope to glean what he was up to.  Especially that I’m a Capricorn, I should be level-headed, right? 

In this decade when so many distractions obscure our thoughts, (astrological or otherwise), maybe we should be contemplating less and feeling more.  Ignore the noisy external signs that mold our thinking.  Better yet—don’t even search for them.  That’s right—take the time to embrace some quiet and stillness so we can listen to our own hearts for guidance.  Carving out those minutes without life’s static can be done.  One of my friends awakes an hour before her kids so she can enjoy her coffee and start the day on her terms.  Other ideas: go for a solo walk after dinner, make your kids do an hour of quiet time in their rooms, drive without turning on the radio.  If something bothers me I retreat to the tranquility of my bedroom and write in my journal.

Remember:  anything in life can be justified; it’s all how people frame their choices.  I get that.  But when making decisions or wondering why stuff is happening—know that life is full of coincidences.  Sometimes reading messages in innocent indicators can do more harm than good.  Rather, look inside and listen to yourself.  Get a gut feel for a warning.  Feel what brings you most joy.  Instead of figuring out the SIGNs we should be taking note of what makes our hearts SING.

* As a post script: we ended up not moving to Florida in 2008, which, to this day, I chalk up to a miracle and having faith in our destiny.  I'm glad the day my husband had to sign our moving papers I didn’t hear Natasha Bedingfield sing, “Take me away” in her song, “Pocketful of Sunshine.”  I will share—that afternoon my entire being exhaled a sigh of relief because staying in Pennsylvania felt right and made me incredibly happy.

Our Own Mile Markers...When Have You Felt Validated? A Look Back

In September we stood as a family at the 0 Mile Marker statue in the beautiful city of Richmond, Virginia.  It wasn’t the first time in my life I’ve noticed one of those signs capturing the distance from some point to another, but I wondered, who the heck really cares about the distance in miles? 

That gray, literal “milestone” in the heart of Richmond made me think of life’s journey.  What mile markers in our own lives stand out?  Can we take anything from those moments when we’ve felt like we arrived?  That we were validated? 

Recently an almost 60 year-old woman looked at me and asked, “Why do you have such a problem with 40?”  To be clear—I don’t have any issue turning 40 or being “Over the Hill.”  Every passing milestone/age carries its own weight.  I decided to map some of my own age markers when I truly felt older, looking back at significant years and their implications for me.  Maybe you can relate.

Age 9: It was the last year before double digits, which I’d be for the rest of my life.  I felt too old to wear pigtails.

13: A teenager.  Why was I the only 7^th grader without braces?  I’d have to wait until 9^th grade, way past their cool factor. 

16:  Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, that accurate sing-song cliché.  Couldn’t wait for my driver’s license and the freedom/responsibility along with it. 

18: High school graduation.  Knowing full-well that the special “John Hughes in my own mind” era was over and being excited about the college years ahead. 

21:  Fond memories of dear college friends celebrating a rite of passage that included some drinks laced with Bailey’s and amaretto liquor.

23:  Landing my first “real” job in Boston.  Switching to a Massachusetts driver’s license and car plates--thinking that I was all grown up because I did so.  Renting a 3^rd floor walk-up apartment in the Italian North End.  Monthly walks to the laundromat with my oversized duffel bag of dirty clothes.

25:  On my actual birthday I carried an extra bounce in my step because I thought that co-workers/clients would look at me and somehow read my “not just graduated from college age” on my face and treat me with more seriousness and respect.  

26:  Meeting my husband.  At a bar.  Technically it was a networking event.  Obviously we were networking for other reasons than drumming up business.

28:  Marrying.  Feeling very grown up dressed in ivory with a carefully made-up face and styled hair while helping my grandmother put on her stockings. 

30:  Becoming a mom.  At 5 AM requesting to see my daughter, (who spent the night in the nursery), just so I could look at her in awe, not believing I was now responsible for this completely dependent little person.

31:  Buying our first house—so excited to create a home. 

32:  Giving birth to my first son.  Note—I didn’t request to have his bassinet rolled into my room at 5 AM, instead opting for more rest.

33: Began teaching at the graduate level.  Loving the inspiration provided by my students and colleagues.

34: Meeting my always happy second son.

37: Treating my hospital stay and birth of my third son as a Bed and Breakfast retreat—bringing books to read and enjoying the peace and quiet—of a hospital—over the demands of being home. 

39:  Embarking on this blog to discover the joys and uncertainties of getting older.

What will 40 have in store, besides a slower metabolism?  Not sure yet.  But I encourage everyone, at any age, to look back with a sense of your own wonder at the significant steps, and perhaps missteps, you’ve taken to get to your current mile marker.  The distance traveled does matter.  It takes endurance, some heartbreak, joyous moments, real responsibility, some inertia, and lots of learning to grow older.  Write it down, look at old pictures, and celebrate your own journey. Age may be just a number—but remember, it all counts. 

If Not Now, When?

Hands down, the Barbie yellow camper ranks as one of my favorite childhood presents.  It took me hours to put the stickers on the plastic pieces.  It even had a little seat so I could ride on top of it.  One warm day after it rained I took that banana beast outside and pretended that the doll family was on vacation, skipping their shoeless feet in the puddles, wondering if one day I would take my own family on a dream trip like the pretend one in the driveway. 

So it’s no wonder that two weeks ago I picked up a yachting magazine at a dentist’s office and thought the exact same thing—would I ever live a glamorous life and travel as depicted?  When I flipped to the article entitled “If Not Now, When?” I almost choked.  Could this be a sign to head to the Mediterranean and cruise on a big boat?  I’m no Sheila E, so the glamorous life is out of the picture, but it does beg the question:  how much do you save up now to live a richer life later?   Is it irresponsible to take risks especially when the financial stakes are high?  The answer is “yes” to buying a yacht I can’t afford, but it gets a little blurry when discussing a family vacation or investing in home improvement projects. 

And it’s not just financial decisions that are easily postponed… volunteering at a children’s hospital, taking African dance lessons, trying a new career, sending unpublished books to publishers.  The back burner used to feel far away, but in reality that flame could burn me it’s so close.  I remember in my twenties feeling relieved that Julia Child was 49 when she first published Mastering the Art of French Cooking and that Judy Blume began writing when her kids were in preschool.  Somehow knowing that other women became successful professionally later in life gave me a grace period.   I always felt I had time.

But my clock is ticking, and it’s not that clock. 

I think of the common excuses for not taking the plunge, any plunge:

• I can’t afford it
• I don’t have the time
• It’s unrealistic
• It’s not a good time

But are they mere excuses costumed as avoidance?  I have found that whenever I have stuck out my neck and taken a risk—it’s always been better than sitting with regret.  Even if nothing substantial came of it.  At least I can feel solace with trying.  No matter what—we gain something, even if it’s just perspective, a new friend, or a conversation starter—whether we fail or succeed. 

During this next decade I vow to take my time, and I don’t mean by being patient and detail-oriented.  I mean I will literally take time-- grab it, reserve it, seize it, and use it.  About fifteen years ago in Boston I stumbled upon a now nameless travel book whose foreword’s quotation said something like, “The only trips I regret are the ones I didn’t take.”  That sentiment rings through my mind whenever I question spending money on a purchase or an experience I know I would value.  The same holds true when considering whether to take a risk or try something new.  I may not be luxe-y enough for yachting, but I am fortunate for many other real opportunities. 

We older gals can do anything, right, Barbie?  And I mean, right now.

40 Means Not Having to Say You're Sorry

Maybe it’s because the many commercials for Saving Mr. Banks remind me how the chipper, original Mary Poppins measured herself as, “Practically perfect in every way.”  Or maybe it’s because I keep vying for some Norman Rockwell picture perfect holiday moment with my kids.  And that hasn’t happened.  Or perhaps I felt it last week when I apologized to another elementary school mom for not going to my children’s winter school parties.  I mean—am I the only mother who opted out in lieu of lapping up some quiet before the 16-day school vacation?  Unlike Chicago sang in 1982-- it’s never been hard for me to say I’m sorry.  In fact, sometimes I find myself saying it too much.  It is one thing to say sorry if you do something wrong.  But at midlife I find people apologizing for unnecessary reasons: either to fit in, to not offend, or to explain for less than perfect lives—especially when it comes to decisions we make as parents.  Isn’t it time to just be true to yourself and let things be? 

Here’s an example: at a party this fall I was talking to parents of middle and high school-aged children. When asked whether my kids played sports, (they are in fourth grade and younger), I practically whispered with an apologetic shrug, “They play soccer, but it’s only rec,” as if I needed to make an excuse in this overly competitive kid culture.  Or maybe it’s more like we parents are the ones trying to fit into a perfect parental picture.

Looking back on that conversation I wonder what’s happening to society and people my age.  It seems my peers lament about our overcommitted schedules, the woebegone days of our youth when we didn’t play organized sports until third grade, and the lost days of three-letter high school athletes.  Yet here I am, proud of my kids, loving that they love to play sports, but I’m sipping rum punch and feeling guilty that I’m not spending the money and time to cart my kids all over just to play soccer. Should I feel bad that I’m not seeking college scholarships for my kids’ obvious athletic talents?  Am I less dedicated to my children?  Do I not believe in them?  Am I masking a part of me by apologizing?  My point is: why do I grapple with feeling guilty? 

And it’s not just travel vs. rec sports.  I find myself apologizing for not signing up my kids for karate because it’s a 10-month commitment, or not encouraging them to swim because I hate sitting in a natatorium and smelling chlorine, or not driving that long 25 minutes to a drama class even though it would be a terrific experience for my daughter.  The onslaught of opportunities gets caught in a web of confusion, resentment, and pressure.  And that’s all in our own minds.  

As we strive for perfection in our own families we mothers often feel the responsibility of making the right decisions.  Our insecurities bubble to the surface as “sorry” statements.  Instead our focus could be trying to do what is best at this time in our lives—not only for our kids, but for ourselves.  We need to keep our own sanity in check.  And by doing so we show our children that “only rec”—or whatever our newest qualifier is—is not an apology but a life choice allowing for balance.  Mary Poppins floated away with an umbrella and flawless red lips.  For the rest of us—(I’ll be Saving Mrs. Sheldon)—we can rise above by not making excuses and perfect the art of not fitting into some ideal, unattainable mommy mold.

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If you have time--here are some suggested articles:

Just Remember: Nobody’s Perfect article in Philadelphia Inquirer -- http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20131222_Just_remember__Nobody_s_perfect.html

http://www.phillymag.com/articles/travel-soccer-parents-nightmare/?all=1

and http://www.stltoday.com/news/local/metro/is-it-really-a-good-idea-for-kids-to-play/article_2e072908-c2d2-5616-8a77-69a1a88f2386.html

Even the Naughty People in Your Life Can Add a Nice Perspective

I grew up with my mother often retelling her view of friendship…that her mother always said to her, “You’re a lucky person if you can count five good friends on one hand.”  While I agree with this truth, and I’m blessed for my friendships, sometimes I get nostalgic for friends who once were in my life.  Or I get frustrated by the people who bring negativity, and I wonder if I should just cut ties.  At this age should we just maximize our time and only create memories with those who bring us joy?  After a holiday of giving thanks for the good I’m starting to realize that even the bad--including people who may be on Santa’s naughty list--have a purpose. 

If you think about it—the characters we bring into our lives help us shape our life story.  And every good story needs drama.  For interesting drama there needs to be conflict.  And for tension to exist these “bad” people have a role…but maybe it’s not so bad.  Any good novel or movie needs that character to spice up the storyline.  Remember—in life you’re the main character of your own best novel.  It would be boring if there were no villains.  The positives these individuals bring to my life: they add perspective, patience, and strength.

1—These negative people do offer a different perspective.  You can try walking in their shoes and understand where they’re coming from.  You can think about how you could help them.  Maybe they’re missing something from their lives.  By trying to appreciate their view your own mind gets stretched and maybe you’ll think of something you’ve never thought of before.  They don’t think or act like you would, but they’re not you. 

2—As a mother the most important virtue I’ve nurtured is patience.  And believe me, my volcano erupts more than I’d like it to.  The same applies when these folks drain me.  I feel my stress meter rise.  When irked by someone I find myself doing deep breathing, making more of an effort to listen, and trying to be as compassionate as possible.  It’s like I’m exercising a part of my soul that needs strengthening. 

3—Lately I’ve been focusing on one word when dealing with extra difficult people, and that’s “fortitude.”  For some reason when I recite this word it brings me peace that I can have the strength to withstand someone’s judging statement, someone’s passive aggressive behavior, or some action that just cuts to my core.  I know if I have the strength to get over it, to let it slide, I’m a better person for it.  And then I use that memory of strength to get me through the next time it happens.  And I feel calmer and surer of myself.

I’m not saying that my mother and grandmother would start counting “bad” people as blessings on their fingers, but maybe it’s time to be thankful for these people in our lives.  Just a simple shift in how we think about these relationships.  As we learn to live with them our own character further develops. We should appreciate that they help give our life meaning, playing a role in our life story. 

Give Someone--or Yourself--a Lift

I felt brave on the lift.

Anybody else afraid of chair lifts?  Even though I’m not a skier I’ve been on some, and they just feel so open, which is probably purposefully designed for the thrill seekers who attach their feet to snowboards or skis.  This past summer we took the kids to Jiminy Peak in Massachusetts, and my heart flipped when I saw my two older kids inch their way up the mountain to the alpine slide entrance.  Their bodies looked incredibly exposed on those lifts, like they could just fall down from the sky towards an injury.  Sure, the ride up the mountain—in snow or summer—is relatively easy, and the ride down is heavily charged with joy, tinged with terrifying terror at times. 

When does the going get easy?  During my twenties and thirties most of living focused on building a life.  It would seem, at this perch of plenty, that we should be able to enjoy the view, not work as doggedly tired, and relish the ride down--savor what we’ve created—even for a short while.  But I’m starting to feel like that’s not the course.  Lately my heart has been heavy for friends who are grieving for sick or recently deceased loved ones or who are depressed and scared about their own illnesses.  Sometimes I feel-- at this point in life-- we are dodging fateful health blows, periodically looking up to see what will shower on us.

Work hard.  Make decent decisions.  Live by a moral code.  Do good for others.  How do we lift ourselves up when we try our best, yet destiny has a way of striking our hearts so that we are forever changed?

I don’t have the answers; there’s so much that happens on Earth that is inexplicable.  All I do know is that when times get tough it helps to rely on friendship, spend time with the people who comfort you, and acknowledge that the open air, vulnerable chairs will keep rounding the bend and pick us up.  We need to have faith that we will fall back into the seat to be taken for another ride.  The chair lift on Jiminy Peak doesn’t stop—even in summer--and as long as we’re here on Earth we might as well be calmed by the soothing repetition, the scenic views, and the sometimes quiet of the ride.  For who knows how bumpy the run down the mountain will be?  Those sky rides can be scary, and if you know someone who has been shaken reach out and give them a lift of love.  That’s the ticket.

If I’m an Old Soul…at 40 Does that Mean I’m Really 80?

I’m eagerly awaiting the premier of Anchorman 2, simply because Will Ferrell’s humor makes me laugh.  Just the thought of him streaking down the street in his skivvies in Old School makes me smirk…because, even though I love to have fun, that would never have been me in college.  Maybe if there had been a movie entitled Old Soul I could have made a cameo appearance.  Yes, I was that fifth grader who begged my mother to buy me my first corduroy blazer—purple, by the way—that would go perfectly with my gray sweater vest and pearls.  I always attributed my affinity to suits and grown-up attire to sneaking glimpses of LA Law and Family Ties and thinking that Alex P. Keaton and I would someday marry.

Point is…I’ve always been an old soul.  If the essence of an old soul means thinking too much about the future without enjoying the present, then yes, throughout my life I have been guilty of that.  Naturally I’m a planner and a worrier.  But at this point in my life I don’t want to skip ahead.  At almost 40…would that make me almost 60? 80?  How do I remain true to my current age without letting the future get in the way?

As a kid I appreciated my childhood, but a part of me couldn’t wait to get older.  Now, though, I don’t feel that way.  I hesitate to even think ahead a decade.  I wonder if this is the best time of my life, and if so, am I grateful enough for my blessings?  Instead of reminiscing about the past and anticipating the future---maybe during this weekend of gratitude I should focus on what’s great about being 40.

Forty is fabulous because:

• I won’t become a cliché this year buying a cool sports car, (wait…would that be so bad?)
• I can have fun embarrassing my kids
• I always knew fluorescent colors would make a comeback
• I have tons of great memories and photos to make me smile
• I can justify going to bed early because I’m worn out
• I love feeling settled
• My children are kids before their teenage years-- I still have some control over them, and everyone isn’t going their separate ways
• There has been tons of time to build some expertise, to learn much, to gain life perspective
• The oldies station plays music from my childhood, not just my parents’ generation
• There are plenty of people I can rely on for advice and friendship
• Madonna will always be older, and she looks pretty good
• I’m still young enough to dream about the next chapters in life

I fully realize I'm not 80, and when/if that time comes I hope I'll be scribing many more life lessons and gratitude lists.  But even now--if I could whisper advice to a younger version of old soul me I would say, “Savor the moment and don’t worry so much about the future.”  Because I’m here now, and the present really is a gift.  And I’d add a reminder to thank my mom for that blazer.