Spinning My Own 45

Growing up we had a Fisher Price record player, and I remember being at the age when I was beyond listening to books on records. At Allentown’s Laneco, the equivalent of today’s Target, (food, home goods, even clothes), the music section pulled me every shopping trip. One day my mom told us we could pick out our own record, and I took the task seriously, flipping through the 45s in their paper covers, wanting to make a good first purchase. I ended up choosing Diana Ross’s “Upside Down”—the first of many musical buys in my life.

And here I am…turning 45. Sometimes I relate to those records, constantly spinning. As much as I’ve seen our world turn upside down I hold many steady truths close to my heart. What truths propel you? What keeps you grounded? Inspired? Here’s just a sampling of things I’ve witnessed, internalized, and ponder, especially in the first half of my 40s:

• Senseless events happen in every community.
• Kids’ unique glow and their impressionable souls need to be celebrated and encouraged.
• Our livers harbor too many toxins. We all need to hydrate and eat healthier.
• Toxicity in all areas of life should be eliminated.
• Stay true to yourself. And always strive to improve.
• A democracy should have government representation that truly represents its citizens.
• Some of society’s “machines” seem too daunting to fix.
• Every single child needs teachers who have their backs.
• Surround yourself with people who feel like sunshine.
• Don’t take wins to your head or losses to your heart.
• I’ll never tire of reading and loving the power of an amazing book.
• Finding activities that bring you joy should never tag along with guilt.
• Moms amaze me for their strength, how much they carry, and all that they do.
• It’s a tough tightrope of living for today and saving for the future.
• We cannot grasp the digital effects on our children—they live a different childhood than ours.
• Time seems to be moving at a faster clip.
• Mainstream medicine still does not have a handle on autoimmune diseases.
• Leaders should follow a moral code.
• The rampant sexual harassment reported over the past year disturbs me.
• Everyone has a story to tell. They’re worth listening to.
• I still get awestruck by privilege. That certain people’s paths are instantly easier because of money and connections. I often wonder if they sincerely, humbly are grateful for it.
• Coordinating trips with friends is nearly impossible because everyone has so much happening. But those relationships and “time off” nourish the soul.
• I believe in the promise of kids. And I hope they believe in themselves.

As I spin from day to day at the age of 45, I rely more on instincts, often having my emotions turned “inside out” like Diana Ross sings, and I know this much to be true. That even at 45—with the right people around—you can still feel hopeful, young, and inspired. There’s so much life yet to be played! 

Seeking Simplicity

Like in my journal where a blank page offers a sense of hope, the clicking over into a new year brings that same sense of optimism and clarity. A sincere taking stock of both the good and frustrating from the last 12 months with a twist of yearning, wide-eyed promise into the next. In some ways the mental page flip of the kitchen calendar reminds me what is most important in life. 

With renewed spirit after the overindulgence of the holidays—the mind/body/house clutter—always returns with a need to simplify. The need to refine. Years ago when I was a business consultant in Boston my favorite manager, Bob, told me that we should be able to relay our overarching plan to the client in haiku form. That the usual consulting-ese often convolutes the purpose of engagements. We should stay focused with a clear objective in everything we do and say. That idea stuck with me.

I just read Stephen King’s memoir On Writing, and he would agree with Bob. He suggests during the first edit that you reduce the writing by 10% and stay focused on the overall theme. That every detail, action, and dialogue should all advance in the sweeping notion of the story’s central idea. 

With too many life distractions how difficult is it to stay focused? Can we all edit 10% of our lives?

I am in awe of successful people who achieve beyond what I have done in my 44 years. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because I wander too much…that multitasking in different directions stands as a feeble, flimsy yet realistic excuse for not doing more. I can justify that of course I haven’t finished my 180,000 page novel; that I’m too busy cleaning up my kitchen five times a day along with everything else that drains my energy. As Seth Meyers and Amy Poehler would say, “Really?!?!”

So in seeking simplicity I took a stab at writing my own haiku:

Striving for simple,

honest, true living

sometimes exhausts me.

Granted, traditional Japanese poets wrote haiku poems inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or a poignant experience, and mine is none of that…but those 17 syllables encapsulate how I feel. Why does carving out a simpler life take so much work?

In A Whole New Mind author Daniel Pink suggests drawing a five-line self-portrait for a creative spin at looking at the bigger picture. I interpreted the exercise as a way to distill the true essence of who you are. A graphical haiku of sorts. Here’s mine:

As with all new year’s resolutions filled with an expectant hope, my search for simplicity will, I’m sure, veer off-course as life’s mundane consumes my minutes. But I pray that glimpses of filtered, stripped-down priorities make their way into my cluttered mind as reminders to keep it simple. And I suggest that you try the same—pen a poem or draw upon what’s truly essential for you.

When Do You Take A Knee?

“I’ve made a decision tonight that this is going to be my last show. There’s a lot more to me than playing on the road and this is the last one I’m going to do.” Elton John, 1977

“This is my farewell tour. I’m never coming back. I swear to God.” Cher, 2002

Many musical artists declare their final tours—over and over again. Is it for money? That allure of performing? Connecting with their fans? The rush of creativity? Not knowing when to stop even if their voices have weakened?

As we get older why is it so difficult for people to take a knee?

Granted, I personally don’t know any rock stars or live that glittery life, but I do witness people not stepping down in other areas. I’m always observing how women approach their athletic decline, wondering how I’ll be and whom I’ll emulate in the coming decades. I’ve witnessed stubborn tenacity, a willful ignoring shrug. Last year in my tennis contract a sweet 70-ish woman could not hold her own with the rest in the group. At the end of the season she surprised us by declaring that she was coming back—certain she would have bowed out.

On the flipside last week I was blown away by a different older lady on the court. After our ninety minutes she slowly walked to the bench. As we gathered our things she quietly uttered, “I need to find a different group. My playing is weaker than yours—and it’s not fun for you or me.” Of course we gave her our support, saying we’re just playing for fun, she should think about that decision. But I was so impressed that she was willing to take a knee. She emitted a graceful honesty—true, laced with some sadness—but how differently these two women interpreted their abilities struck me.

There’s a consistent rush with always having hope, that thinking you can improve, that you are still up to par—and I admit that inertia creates an exciting energy. There’s a youthful elixir brewing in that spiritual force of strong belief in self. But at some point you’d think you’d look in the mirror and reflect. Do some checks. As I’ve been considering this post and its meaning—my theory is taking that knee requires a lack of ego, a welcoming acceptance, and an honest respect/awareness of others.

I’ve seen legends like Ray Charles and Tina Turner perform past their prime, and I had goosebumps in the audience watching them, grateful to experience their brilliance. But in real life—most of us aren’t legendary artists. We all age. We all weaken. We all become a different version of ourselves. I hope when that time comes—in whatever life arena---that arthritis or stubborn self-denial will not prevent me to purposefully take a knee when I choose to. Like Cher will sing during her 2018 Here We Go Again tour, I hope I’m “strong enough.”

Grace or Grit: Taking the High Road For Our Kids' Disappointments

While watching the latest royal wedding one word buzzed through my head—grace. How everyone—the bridal party, gospel choir, commentators—displayed true grace as they went through the motions. Perhaps the perfect 70 degree, blue sky weather helped set the mood, but even without that backdrop the royals’ event would have gone on without—(and with)—a hitch.

But not everyone’s life mirrors pristine perfection like that day. As someone who feels emotional cuts like sharp wounds, I try to muster grace, even when challenged, to reach a Zen-like state. Taking the high road is not always easy--especially as a mother when you feel that crushing, belly busting hurt others cause your kids. It’s not easy to let go of the heartache, disappointment, and anger. I struggle.

Should we be more graceful as we get older?  

This past spring—and even last week-- I experienced that tidal wave of outrage that I had to stifle. For the first instance with my daughter I turned the event into a teachable moment, trying to inspire strong character, when behind the scenes I didn’t sleep for nights and cried for her disappointment. Last week I opted to not bring it up with my son—waiting for the right moment when I wouldn’t feel my chest ache so I could be more present and level-headed.

I recently watched Rocky IV with my two youngest boys. I hadn’t seen that movie in decades, but what I remembered, (besides Apollo Creed dying), was the powerful montage of Rocky Balboa training for his bout with Ivan Drago. The beard, the snow, the leather jacket…and Sylvester Stallone somehow running, climbing, even clawing his way to the top of a snowy mountain. He alone at the summit.

I’m no heavyweight fighter nor do I physically train like one, but as a mother I do carry my children’s heavy emotional pain akin to Rocky lifting timber in the Russian tundra. I think most moms do. When it comes to my kids’ disappointments I take a different high road than if something happened to just me. Maybe it’s because I hurt more deeply. I care more. I wonder what’s swirling in their minds. I worry about the effects that could manifest in the future. I think about their self-esteem, confidence, and their reactions. I know kids should learn from losing, getting bad grades, and being disappointed—I get those lessons. I’m talking about HUGE crushing blows.

All I can say is that taking the high road allows us to reach the cleaner air and gain a clearer perspective. The strenuous emotional workout to the mountain top is worth it—because even at our age, we have a lot to learn, to still grow stronger, and to inspire ourselves to embody royal grace. And if we can’t emit that cool, loving, serenity we strive for—I suggest taking a grace period—sometimes distancing yourself with space and time does wonders. And then you’ll be ready for the bell of the next round…

Passion or Passivity: What Will You Pursue?

Last Friday I flipped through stations on my tired 2004 car radio and didn’t like the music, so I settled on a news program. Four women discussed Bitcoin and cryptocurrency. Normally any financial conversation would make my ears blur in confusion, and a blanket would cover my disinterested brain. But for some reason I couldn’t flip the channel; I was captivated by these women and their zeal discussing blockchain technology and its future. These women cared about something so foreign to me. I respected their focus. Their passion.

Especially now, after experiencing a ton of life, seeing injustices, and witnessing these tumultuous times…one would bet we all feel passionate about something. Seeing videos and photos of students protesting gun violence in schools gave me hope that people are fighting for what matters. But I’m just sitting on the sidelines, more like in my comfy La-Z-Boy recliner, and hoping that someone else is fighting for my causes.

Should we all be fighting for the issues near and dear to our hearts? How does deeply caring translate to actual action? What stirs up your passions enough to do something?

Without taking a breath I could list the issues that make my heart beat faster. Aside from reading articles and books, posting and liking on facebook, sending letters to politicians via ResistBot, and having spirited chats with friends and my kids…I’m not doing anything. Does being a voter and a concerned citizen not suffice anymore? I get angry when politicians tweet “thoughts and prayers” after innocent people are murdered because condolences are not enough…politicians need to DO something. But am I no better?

In 2000 friends and I did an AIDS charity bike ride from Boston to NYC. The experience was an explosive effort; hundreds collectively encouraged the cyclists along the way. I felt exhilarated being part of a greater good—joining together for 3 days of supportive and hopeful joy. So I thought—maybe I could get out-of-shape me to find something like that again. When I googled charity bike rides I found hundreds of opportunities. You can pretty much pedal for any cause: literacy, Alzheimer’s, childhood hunger, cancer research…the endless list gave me hope.

During the recent snow day my kids and I watched Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle. The characters get trapped in a video game and have to replace a jewel in a jaguar statue to go home. Each person is given three lives—which are tracked as tattooed lines on their arms. Who knew I’d listen to Kevin Hart and take his words so seriously? “We all get one life; decide how you’re going to spend it.”

So whether you spend that one life volunteering, giving money, protesting, contacting politicians, cycling for a cause, pursuing cryptocurrencies, or running for office—if you feel the burning passion to make your voice heard…many outlets and opportunities exist. Seek them. Do something. Get up from the La-Z-Boy and act with purpose before that passion fizzles into excuses and powerless pleasantries.

P.S. Yesterday I took my own advice and attended the inspiring and hopeful March for our Lives rally in West Chester, PA. For many reasons I’m glad I did—but mostly because I was in awe by the students who spoke with poise, determination, and emotion. They reminded the thousand who attended that we all have something at stake in securing the safety of our children in schools. I urge you to get involved in a cause that gives you goosebumps and keeps you awake at night. With your energy and effort you can make a difference.

Tact or Friction?

Over the past month friends and I have discussed our aging parents. We agonized over a dad’s Parkinson’s disease, moving a dad into assisted living, and a mom’s heart problems/treatments. My smart, sensitive friends and I realize that we will be challenged by similar issues in a few decades. So when I googled the top aging issues to see what else we’d face—(osteoporosis, arthritis, diabetes)-- I was surprised that one wasn’t listed: the lack of a filter. Think of that curmudgeonly, crusty uncle who thinks he can say whatever he wants because he’s already lived his life.

I’m reading the biography of the Bouvier women which highlights the sometimes contentious relationships among Janet, Jackie, and Lee. Mom Janet’s characteristic flaw was never holding back any criticism of her high profile daughters. Even as Jackie Kennedy walked down the aisle to marry Aristotle Onassis Janet whispered to Jackie, “Don’t do it. It’s not too late to back out.” As I turn the pages it’s evident how Janet’s consistent strong words affected Jackie and Lee throughout their lives.

Which got me to think: as we get older is it more important to use tact or even make up something supportive to maintain a harmonious relationship? Just how hurtful can words be?

Last weekend I saw my friend’s son as Henry Higgins in a middle school production of My Fair Lady. Aside from being wowed by the many detailed lines he memorized for the very long show, I was fixated on one of the main themes: that words—and how you say them—can transform a person from being a lowly flower seller to a high society lady. How Eliza Doolittle learned to speak from Higgins truly did shape her life. Language matters.

What if we all paid more attention to the actual words we say—and the delivery of them? Would the world be a nicer, more loving place? Or would it create a fake version of reality if people aren’t being truthful?

Personally I have been bruised by stinging words said to me, phrases forever scarred in my brain—thus straining relationships and making me more conscious of trying to stay mum when angry. When pushed to say something I usually side with tact…or opt for silence in order to avoid conflict, keeping in my true feelings. Yet occasionally the imperfect mom in me explodes—just like when Eliza Doolittle reverts to the Cockney in her, just like Janet Auchincloss domineering her daughters-- and I can see first-hand the ripple of words rattling my kids. And I try to rebound to my vow of remaining kind and supportive to my children.

Osteoporosis may weaken our bones as we age, but our resolve to watch our words should stay strong. I do believe tact can avoid friction. Language is powerful ammunition—for good and bad. As Doolittle sings, “Wouldn’t it be loverly” if at any age we stopped to consider what we say and how we say it?

Ring in the Old Me

Two years ago my daughter decluttered her room and put ribbons and trophies in a box to discard. I was shocked she would dispose of memories and accomplishments. Her response as she looked at my sappy eyes, “Mom, I can take a picture of them.” On the opposite side of the spectrum my second born has created a shrine in his room and never wants to trash anything.

I’d like to consider myself somewhere in the middle of my two oldest. Ideally, at this age when my entire household collects SO much in terms of paper and unessential things…I’d REALLY like to be more minimalist, unattached to possessions.

Is it crazy to be attached to material objects? Especially when we know we’re passing through this life and can’t take them with us when we die?

I was shocked this year at how hard I took losing an object that I didn’t realize held so much meaning.

In November I lost my college ring. I remember the day I lost it. I treated myself to a massage, put it in my wallet, and reminded myself, “I can’t forget it when I’m done or I’ll lose it.” Of course, that relaxed feeling post-rub down soon became hurried thoughts of to do’s, and I zipped out of the spa.

Two weeks later I looked for my ring, and it was gone. Immediately I felt an emotional hit, like a sucker punch. Memories flooded my heart. A collage of undergrad moments spun through my mind. And I reached for my tissues. It wasn’t just a gold signet ring missing; I felt like I lost four unbelievable years, a proud association with my college, friends, and professors, and, even though I didn’t want to admit, a huge chunk of my youth—gone.

I looked on the Balfour website and thought that even if I wanted to spend the money, I couldn’t really replace that ring. The one with the tiny scratches. The one I’ve worn off and on for 23 years.

It’s not like when I die this ring will mean anything to my kids. That’s when I started looking around my house full of stuff and thought: I promise to purge, dispose of dust collectors, and clear clutter. Only keep objects that bring joy. Every article and quotation about possessions make people who collect and covet sound hollow, like they’re missing the spiritual, higher value of relationships, experiences, and moments, especially amidst an American culture of consumerism and consumption. I am not like that, I thought. Things in my life aren’t most important to me.

Yet three months later when I found the ring in my car—an energy returned. Maybe this object, a possession with symbolic meaning, possessed some of that twenty-one year-old spirit. I also realized that even when those minimalist urgings surface, there is value in having things that inspire, remind, and tell our lives’ unique story. These valuables can be like an old friend—and there is a treasure in that.