This Thanksgiving holiday weekend has been different for me, an interesting reminder that my life has changed permanently and with finality.
The same trappings that have always been a part of the holiday weekend were there. We ate the same foods, we bought a tree and got it trimmed, we wrote our Christmas letter and signed our cards, we did our usual day after Thanksgiving shopping jaunt - in fact, we followed most of the same rituals we always have. But the weekend itself has transformed into an ongoing reminder of just how much life has changed for me and for my kids over this past year.
The weekend began by the return of my children from their respective colleges, a return that is familiar to the one, and a new experience to the other. As my college newbie ran around to familiar haunts in a whirlwind of activity, seeing her friends that she has missed, doing familiar activities, and enjoying the things she has loved for her whole life, there was a new appreciation for what she has taken for granted because it has always been there for her, and it has been missed.
But I also observed a new maturity, as she experienced the college disconnect for the first time, and she realized the truth of the old cliche that you can't go home again. Everything is the same and everything is different, all at the same time, in a way that cannot be explained, it must be experienced. She is ready to return to her new life in college, and she will embrace the time there with a new enthusiasm, I suspect, because she has now gained an understanding of what she has there by being here once again.
It is always a thrill to see your children stretch in their understanding of life, and I feel fortunate to be on the sidelines cheering them on. For those parents still in the throes of the hands on child raising years, I promise these times make it worth every tear that will fall and every moment you will wonder if you will all survive the experience.
I saw my eldest, an old hat at managing the equal demands of wanting to see friends and also spend time with family, also work to manage the new demand of a very significant other who was also managing her own family and friend demands. It is a new experience for me, as well, as I let go even more of what has always been my right as a mother to his time and attention, and watch him set his own parameters for his choices this weekend. It is very clear what is important to him, and I am satisfied that his priorities are firmly in the right order - he is managing his time and his obligations as well as anyone can when there are too many demands and not enough hours in the day for everything that is important.
But I realized this weekend that my kids are not the only ones who have stretched and grown and changed these past few months. I have also transformed, into an only person, someone unaccustomed to having company and conversation and additional life in the house. I have developed new routines and a new schedule and new habits, and I have found that the old demands no longer fit like they once did. The growing pains are hard on everyone, but ultimately, I think we will all be better for having gone through them.
If it sounds as though I am looking forward to being alone again, au contraire. In fact, I will miss my kids more now than I did when they left this fall. I have a new appreciation for what each of them brings to my life, and I will miss each of them more acutely for their absence. I am getting a glimpse of the rest of my life, when they will be truly gone, in lives and homes of their own that have nothing to do with me at all, and I will miss them and what they have brought to my life on a daily basis for the last 25 years more than they can imagine.
But I also look forward to the opportunity I have to forge ahead in new ways, and to build a new life for myself as an independent adult, something I have never done. I will continue to enjoy the things that I have been enjoying - the peace and solitude I have never really experienced before, the opportunity to schedule my days based on my own whims instead of someone else's needs, the freedom to do whatever I want, whenever I feel like it, without answering to anyone. (Well, except my boss and my clients, obviously!)
It is a surprise to me to find out that as my children grow and change and transform, I, as their parent, am doing the same. In short, this Thanksgiving, I have found old things for which to give thanks in new ways. This year, I am very thankful for:
My family: I am not only thankful for my two children, who fill my life and give it meaning, but for my extended family, as well. I am grateful for the mother who is nothing short of my guardian angel, a woman whose place in my life words are simply inadequate to describe, so I won't try. I adore my "big" brother, who is always there to count on and lean on and sort things out with. I am grateful for the wife he brought into the family circle, providing me with the wise and loving older sister I have always wanted, and the example she doesn't even know she is. I am thankful to have two nieces and a nephew whom I love and who are endlessly entertaining, each in their own way. They all bring something totally different to the family table, and they fill a hole that we didn't even know was there until they showed up.
I am also thankful for the extended family that has graced my life for all these years. I didn't fully appreciate or understand just how important they were to me until now, when we are losing them one by one, and I feel bereft of their love and their caring and everything else that made each one unique and special. I have been well and truly loved my entire life, and that is a gift without measure. My family has taught me about unconditional love my whole life, and it is the gift that keeps on giving as it spreads to new generations through each of us.
Old friends: I am so grateful for the very special old friends that I can still call on for whatever I need, be it a laugh or a shoulder to cry on, or something else entirely. I have been ridiculously blessed with the best friends anyone could ever ask for - totally undeserved, but thoroughly appreciated and valued.
New friends: I am gradually accumulating new friends, especially as my children bring their friends into my life. As they develop significant relationships, I have been blessed in surprising ways by people that I never knew would be a part of my life, but whom I'm glad are there now. I have always enjoyed people of all ages, and I am so happy that I can count as my friends kids who are teens as well as men and women well into their mature years. I have been richly blessed, and I look forward to many more years of friendship with those people I never realized would be so important to me.
Pets: I am thankful for the critters that inhabit my household and make things interesting. One of them was ill over Thanksgiving, and my concern for him reminded me of how much pleasure he brings me each and every day. My relief at his recovery, and my joy in hearing him once again sing his happy little song reminds me of God's words that His eye is even on the sparrow. Each creature is a part of the plan for our world, and I would be a lot lonelier without them.
Material goods: If we are honest with ourselves and each other, we are thankful for the tangible goods that we have accumulated, even if we tend to focus more on what we don't have. This has been a hard year for me business-wise, and the end is not in sight. And yet, through God's grace and a lot of help, I still have a home and food on the table, and I am more grateful for that fact than ever. I would even posit that the lack of wealth has served to clarify for me what is truly of value in my life. The "stuff" that used to be so important in my 20's has faded, and the things that matter to me now are clear and easy to identify. That is a gift in itself for which I give abundant thanks.
Time: I am grateful that, more likely than not, I have time to work on myself and my life, and to get right what I have so far gotten wrong. I am thankful that I can mend fences that need mending, and I can show appreciation where it is due. Although we never know how much time has been allotted to us on this earth, I live each day as best I can, so that at the end of the day, I will never have to look back and regret.
Blog: I am thankful that in my middle years, I have found an outlet for my driving passion of writing, one which went begging before I found the blogosphere. Whether one person or many read what I write and throw into cyberspace is less important to me than that I have the amazing opportunity to do it at all. I am thankful for the talent I have been given, and I hope that someday I will put it to even better use. I wait on God to tell me when that time and place will be, and look forward with enthusiasm to the opportunity to continue improving as a crafter of words and phrases until then.
God's grace: I am thankful each and every day for God's grace in my life, and the example that is set for me. It has made me the person I am today, and it continues to encourage and inspire me to be a better mom, daughter, sister, niece, cousin, and friend. Grace is the gift of life, because it is the promise that no matter what I do wrong, I will have another opportunity to get it right. There is no greater gift than that.
This Thanksgiving, I encourage you to take time to think of not only what you are especially thankful for, but why. Sometimes it takes a special day to remind us of what really matters in life. So take this time set aside to give thanks, and recognize what gives your life meaning and makes it worth getting up each day. I think it will give you a new outlook on being thankful. At least it has for me.
Happy Thanksgiving one and all! To each of you, I wish you all the best of the holiday season upcoming. Breathe easily, relax, and realize that no matter what doesn't get done, the holiday will be perfect in its own way as it is every single year. Let the magic happen as it comes, and it will be a success!
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Well, at least that's something...
I find human beings fascinating in their ability to adjust to adverse circumstances. No matter what may have happened to them, most people seem to have an endless capacity to reconcile themselves to their current situation and somehow find a way to cope with whatever is going on in their lives at that moment.
There are many different ways that life can, and often does, go wrong. Flat tires, stains and spills, forgotten appointments and running behind ~ the every day ups and downs of an ordinary life provide lots of examples of people routinely rising above their circumstances, in tiny doses of inspiration for those who are paying attention.
But sooner or later, every life will have some true catastrophe to derail the ordinary; a moment that will test personal strength, as well as faith, in a contest of good and evil that will ultimately reveal the character within. The surprise, I think, is not that some people fail the test, but that so many people pass it so spectacularly.
It is that resiliency, that true human spirit, that amazes and thrills me as an observer of people. Watching someone I care for bent and stretched and ultimately forged (a nicer way of saying forced) into someone better than they were before is an incomparable privilege of being alive, and it inspires me each and every time.
I was struck by this process once again as I recently listened to my daughter describe the process of sorority rush. Rush, for the uninitiated, is a weeklong routine reminiscent of medieval torture in which anxious females have their spirits crushed over and over before ultimately rising like a phoenix to find their appointed place in the Greek world. Although it may seem like a superficial example, I think it is the perfect showcase of the human ability to adjust expectations, and it rather effectively demonstrates the human instinct to survive and rise above whatever adversities life throws in the path.
Most girls come to rush week with their preferred sorority already firmly planted in their mind. The impressions they have formed come from many sources: family, friends, movies, television shows, web searches. The list of sources for information is limited only by their willingness to google, and their hopes and dreams are limited only by their own imaginings.
It is a long and difficult week for most girls, characterized by one loss after another as their dreams have to be repeatedly modified from their original expectations. Cuts are announced each day, and if they are not on the list for their preferred house, there are tears and heartbreak, at least for the moment. But then most of them gather up their remaining dignity and press forward, suddenly noticing positive qualities in the remaining houses that were previously hidden by a mistaken understanding of what would be best for them.
The most interesting aspect of the entire week, at least to me, is that when the houses announce their selections, most girls are thrilled to have been chosen by whatever house claims them, even if that was the last house they would have wanted at the beginning of the process. Many of them go on to be as dedicated to their altered outcome as if they had chosen to be there from the very start.
People of limited vision would say those girls have lost something, because they did not attain what they had originally hoped for. But I would posit that those who learn to accept and adjust to unforeseen events and build new dreams are the true winners, because they have gained in maturity and wisdom from adversity they never wanted. It is, in fact, a crash course in the harsh realities of real life, where sometimes the best thing that can happen is not to get what you hoped for, because there is something better elsewhere, once that door has closed.
Some people would say this is a superficial example, something that doesn't really matter in the context of a full life. But I would argue that the process of rush, psychologically brutal as it is, is a microcosm of real life. It is, for many girls, a forging experience, revealing the underlying mettle of the girl within. Hopes and dreams drift away in a daily wave of tears and regrets, while they watch their options temporarily limited. For many, this is the first time they have been told a true no to something they really want, and it is a tough thing to accept.
But other new opportunities come knocking, if only they can open their hearts and minds to the other options that have now opened up, and a surprising number of girls rise brilliantly to the occasion. It is, to me, a fascinating study into the ability of human beings to adjust their expectations to the circumstances in which they find themselves, and not only accept, but actually embrace both the hardship that got them to that end, as well as the outcome itself.
Many crises arise in a long life, of course, times in which people reveal themselves as the flexible phenomenon they truly are. When someone has a lingering illness, they make plans and say goodbye and even prepare for their own funeral, even though the human instinct is for survival.
I have seen people endure their house being blown to bits by a hurricane or burned to the ground with nothing but ashes to remind them of their past, and their first words will be about what went right in the catastrophe. That sort of mind bending flexibility in thinking is an amazing quality that defines our spirit.
I don't know if it's a regional quality, but I have lived in a number of states, and I have never seen anything to rival the ability of Minnesotans to downplay disaster. It isn't that they don't notice. Given the number of tater tot hot dishes that make the rounds, there is plenty of misery going around, and lots of people notice.
Quite simply, they are determined to recognize the good fortune that it wasn't worse, because it surely could have been. Whether it is a big catastrophe, like a death, chronic illness, or divorce, or a smaller crisis like a flat tire in the pouring rain with no spare, they will find a way to minimize the inconveniences of life.
But Minnesotans aren't satisfied merely with self-deprecation and personal uplift. There is an expected, and really rather charming response to this Pollyanna-like display of unreality, so that everyone can participate in the feeling of well being. (Whether they want to or not.) In case you are ever in Minnesota and find yourself desperately trying to fit in, there is one phrase that will almost guarantee your instant acceptance into the club.
Allow me to assist you in navigating the deceptively still emotional waters you will encounter.
When you are told that someone has terminal cancer and only six weeks to live, but at least now they won't have to get that crown they've been putting off, the proper response is, "Well, at least that's something...."
If your house burned to the ground, and you focus on the fact that your cat survived the experience, someone will be sure to point out that "at least that's something...."
If you go in to the dentist for a cleaning and discover that you have a cavity, a true Minnesotan will be glad they didn't need a root canal. Because... well... at least that's something....
See how easy it can be to play along?
Although it can be annoying at times to have your real life catastrophes persistently reduced to a catch phrase, it is an invaluable way of both reassuring us and putting us in our place. Misery does love company, but the pity party eventually has to end. It can be helpful to be reminded of what has gone right when everything feels wrong.
Being a Minnesotan is not just about a state or a place. When it's your birthright, the expectations are so ingrained it's impossible to leave them behind. Wherever in the world Minnesotans have gathered, sooner or later you are almost certain to hear the words, "Well, at least that's something." And I think it's a pretty solid way to live your life, all in all.
Whatever happens to you this week, keep in mind you can always find something positive in almost every situation.
Because... Well... At least that's something....
There are many different ways that life can, and often does, go wrong. Flat tires, stains and spills, forgotten appointments and running behind ~ the every day ups and downs of an ordinary life provide lots of examples of people routinely rising above their circumstances, in tiny doses of inspiration for those who are paying attention.
But sooner or later, every life will have some true catastrophe to derail the ordinary; a moment that will test personal strength, as well as faith, in a contest of good and evil that will ultimately reveal the character within. The surprise, I think, is not that some people fail the test, but that so many people pass it so spectacularly.
It is that resiliency, that true human spirit, that amazes and thrills me as an observer of people. Watching someone I care for bent and stretched and ultimately forged (a nicer way of saying forced) into someone better than they were before is an incomparable privilege of being alive, and it inspires me each and every time.
I was struck by this process once again as I recently listened to my daughter describe the process of sorority rush. Rush, for the uninitiated, is a weeklong routine reminiscent of medieval torture in which anxious females have their spirits crushed over and over before ultimately rising like a phoenix to find their appointed place in the Greek world. Although it may seem like a superficial example, I think it is the perfect showcase of the human ability to adjust expectations, and it rather effectively demonstrates the human instinct to survive and rise above whatever adversities life throws in the path.
Most girls come to rush week with their preferred sorority already firmly planted in their mind. The impressions they have formed come from many sources: family, friends, movies, television shows, web searches. The list of sources for information is limited only by their willingness to google, and their hopes and dreams are limited only by their own imaginings.
It is a long and difficult week for most girls, characterized by one loss after another as their dreams have to be repeatedly modified from their original expectations. Cuts are announced each day, and if they are not on the list for their preferred house, there are tears and heartbreak, at least for the moment. But then most of them gather up their remaining dignity and press forward, suddenly noticing positive qualities in the remaining houses that were previously hidden by a mistaken understanding of what would be best for them.
The most interesting aspect of the entire week, at least to me, is that when the houses announce their selections, most girls are thrilled to have been chosen by whatever house claims them, even if that was the last house they would have wanted at the beginning of the process. Many of them go on to be as dedicated to their altered outcome as if they had chosen to be there from the very start.
People of limited vision would say those girls have lost something, because they did not attain what they had originally hoped for. But I would posit that those who learn to accept and adjust to unforeseen events and build new dreams are the true winners, because they have gained in maturity and wisdom from adversity they never wanted. It is, in fact, a crash course in the harsh realities of real life, where sometimes the best thing that can happen is not to get what you hoped for, because there is something better elsewhere, once that door has closed.
Some people would say this is a superficial example, something that doesn't really matter in the context of a full life. But I would argue that the process of rush, psychologically brutal as it is, is a microcosm of real life. It is, for many girls, a forging experience, revealing the underlying mettle of the girl within. Hopes and dreams drift away in a daily wave of tears and regrets, while they watch their options temporarily limited. For many, this is the first time they have been told a true no to something they really want, and it is a tough thing to accept.
But other new opportunities come knocking, if only they can open their hearts and minds to the other options that have now opened up, and a surprising number of girls rise brilliantly to the occasion. It is, to me, a fascinating study into the ability of human beings to adjust their expectations to the circumstances in which they find themselves, and not only accept, but actually embrace both the hardship that got them to that end, as well as the outcome itself.
Many crises arise in a long life, of course, times in which people reveal themselves as the flexible phenomenon they truly are. When someone has a lingering illness, they make plans and say goodbye and even prepare for their own funeral, even though the human instinct is for survival.
I have seen people endure their house being blown to bits by a hurricane or burned to the ground with nothing but ashes to remind them of their past, and their first words will be about what went right in the catastrophe. That sort of mind bending flexibility in thinking is an amazing quality that defines our spirit.
I don't know if it's a regional quality, but I have lived in a number of states, and I have never seen anything to rival the ability of Minnesotans to downplay disaster. It isn't that they don't notice. Given the number of tater tot hot dishes that make the rounds, there is plenty of misery going around, and lots of people notice.
Quite simply, they are determined to recognize the good fortune that it wasn't worse, because it surely could have been. Whether it is a big catastrophe, like a death, chronic illness, or divorce, or a smaller crisis like a flat tire in the pouring rain with no spare, they will find a way to minimize the inconveniences of life.
But Minnesotans aren't satisfied merely with self-deprecation and personal uplift. There is an expected, and really rather charming response to this Pollyanna-like display of unreality, so that everyone can participate in the feeling of well being. (Whether they want to or not.) In case you are ever in Minnesota and find yourself desperately trying to fit in, there is one phrase that will almost guarantee your instant acceptance into the club.
Allow me to assist you in navigating the deceptively still emotional waters you will encounter.
When you are told that someone has terminal cancer and only six weeks to live, but at least now they won't have to get that crown they've been putting off, the proper response is, "Well, at least that's something...."
If your house burned to the ground, and you focus on the fact that your cat survived the experience, someone will be sure to point out that "at least that's something...."
If you go in to the dentist for a cleaning and discover that you have a cavity, a true Minnesotan will be glad they didn't need a root canal. Because... well... at least that's something....
See how easy it can be to play along?
Although it can be annoying at times to have your real life catastrophes persistently reduced to a catch phrase, it is an invaluable way of both reassuring us and putting us in our place. Misery does love company, but the pity party eventually has to end. It can be helpful to be reminded of what has gone right when everything feels wrong.
Being a Minnesotan is not just about a state or a place. When it's your birthright, the expectations are so ingrained it's impossible to leave them behind. Wherever in the world Minnesotans have gathered, sooner or later you are almost certain to hear the words, "Well, at least that's something." And I think it's a pretty solid way to live your life, all in all.
Whatever happens to you this week, keep in mind you can always find something positive in almost every situation.
Because... Well... At least that's something....
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Cinderella is a fairy tale; real glass slippers break...
My advance apologies to everyone who closely follows the entertainment industry. I don't watch television, (I rarely even turn it on,) so most of the "stars" of today are unknown to me. I rarely go to movies, don't usually read People magazine or EW, and don't particularly care about what people are doing in Hollywood.
I'm truly not an intellectual snob; that job is reserved for my son, Mr. Sandwich Himself. If keeping up on celebrity "news" is your hobby, then knock yourself out. I'm a big believer in the adage, "To each his own," and it looks like there are lot of you out there with the same hobby. (Although, to be fair, I will admit I don't exactly consider actresses and actors to be deep thinkers, and rarely take anything they say seriously.)
No, I'm not speaking from a platform of intellectual conservatism. The truth is much simpler. I really just don't care a whole lot what people are doing anywhere, unless it's actually my business. And hardly anything is, I have found. I could say a lot about people keeping their noses out of other people's lives at this point, but that's a different blog post, so I'll keep myself in check. (I am now glowing with self-righteousness for being so self-disciplined.)
Anyway, I stumbled over a delicious quote this week that really spoke to me, and I had to query her name to find out who she was, because I had never heard of her before. Turns out, she's an actress.
I don't know if she is vain or humble, empty headed or a Mensa candidate. I don't know if she is a good actress or a bad actress. (I have heard of her show from my daughter, an aficionado.) I have no idea what kind of character she has, or if she is big into community service or other ways of giving back to the world.
Surprisingly, however, I think she and I may have something in common. That is, if you think that the 89 pounds on my 5'9" frame the day I graduated from college is a problem. (I thought it was, but I'm guessing my reasons and yours are slightly divergent. Completely opposite, even.)
Anyway, Portia hit the nail on the head with a very perspicacious statement this week, upon which I simply could not resist expounding.
The statement in question was, "You can't put a size 8 foot into a size 6 shoe."
Simple? Yes. Obvious? Perhaps. But how many times in life have we tried to do exactly that? It's not just Cinderella's step-sisters that were desperate to be someone they weren't.
We are surrounded on all sides by the pressure to be someone else. It's not surprising that in the fantasy capital of the world, an actress would have a problem with her body image. After all, Hollywood is all about the illusion, regardless of the cost to real people - whether actress or fan - in self-esteem and life satisfaction.
Although Portia was talking about eating disorders, I find this statement to be a great metaphor for most things in life. If you are forcing yourself to fit someone else's image, you are, quite simply, doomed to failure. Underneath it all, no matter how hard you try to be someone else, you are still going to be you.
If you have a size 12 frame, you are never going to be a size 6, no matter how much you starve yourself, no matter how many hours a day you work out, no matter what you do or don't do. You will be a 12, it's just a matter of whether you are an emaciated 12 or a full figured 12.
If you are a global thinker, you will struggle in an accounting job where the details matter.
If you are a free spirit, you are going to struggle in a world that wants to pin you down.
It doesn't mean you can't do it; after all, Cinderella's step-sister cut off her toes to get that shoe on, and you could, too. (On a side note. Don't you sort of wonder what that would have looked like - the crystal glass shoe rapidly filling with deep red blood?) But that seems like a rather painful way to fit into something that is clearly wrong for you.
I think it's only fair to point out that she didn't end up with the prince in the end, either, so it's a cautionary tale.
I wish we lived in a world where differences were celebrated instead of denigrated. I would like to be part of a world where speaking different languages was only a barrier to conversation, not to understanding. I would like to be part of a world that valued teachers as much as stockbrokers, and maids as much as executives, because they were following their dream with passion and doing the job well.
For a long time I didn't have a scale in my house, because I refused to allow my vision of the perfect number that much control over my own self-esteem. Whether it's 89 or 129 or 409, that number doesn't change the person hiding inside, the real me. It doesn't define what makes me a good friend or bad, a good mother, sister, daughter, person. It is a superficial way to evaluate someone, especially one's self, and is a path doomed to failure, no matter how enticing it may be.
The consequences of imposing false expectations on ourselves or others can be life threatening. Karen Carpenter, one of my favorite singers ever, died for the illusion. So did Tyler Clementi, Ana Carolina Reston, and Christy Henrich. Although the dream they were reaching for was slightly different for each of them, the illusive win was rooted in the same desire to meet or exceed artificial expectations, reinforced by an unforgiving culture in which a narrow definition of perfection is not everything, it's the only thing that matters.
Much of life is simply beyond our control, but we do have the ability to set our expectations realistically. We can make our goals achievable, and we can intentionally disregard those who insist on bringing us down to some other vision of how we should be. Society focuses on the superficial exterior; how beautiful the glass slipper looks. Karen, Tyler, Ana, Christy, and hundreds of others like them, are a testament to the reality that it is also fragile and unreliable.
Although I occasionally enjoy wearing my high heels, most days, I'd rather wear tennis shoes, (usually a size too big in case my feet swell.) Glass slippers can break, and I would hate to get splinters in my foot.
I'm truly not an intellectual snob; that job is reserved for my son, Mr. Sandwich Himself. If keeping up on celebrity "news" is your hobby, then knock yourself out. I'm a big believer in the adage, "To each his own," and it looks like there are lot of you out there with the same hobby. (Although, to be fair, I will admit I don't exactly consider actresses and actors to be deep thinkers, and rarely take anything they say seriously.)
No, I'm not speaking from a platform of intellectual conservatism. The truth is much simpler. I really just don't care a whole lot what people are doing anywhere, unless it's actually my business. And hardly anything is, I have found. I could say a lot about people keeping their noses out of other people's lives at this point, but that's a different blog post, so I'll keep myself in check. (I am now glowing with self-righteousness for being so self-disciplined.)
Anyway, I stumbled over a delicious quote this week that really spoke to me, and I had to query her name to find out who she was, because I had never heard of her before. Turns out, she's an actress.
I don't know if she is vain or humble, empty headed or a Mensa candidate. I don't know if she is a good actress or a bad actress. (I have heard of her show from my daughter, an aficionado.) I have no idea what kind of character she has, or if she is big into community service or other ways of giving back to the world.
Surprisingly, however, I think she and I may have something in common. That is, if you think that the 89 pounds on my 5'9" frame the day I graduated from college is a problem. (I thought it was, but I'm guessing my reasons and yours are slightly divergent. Completely opposite, even.)
Anyway, Portia hit the nail on the head with a very perspicacious statement this week, upon which I simply could not resist expounding.
The statement in question was, "You can't put a size 8 foot into a size 6 shoe."
Simple? Yes. Obvious? Perhaps. But how many times in life have we tried to do exactly that? It's not just Cinderella's step-sisters that were desperate to be someone they weren't.
We are surrounded on all sides by the pressure to be someone else. It's not surprising that in the fantasy capital of the world, an actress would have a problem with her body image. After all, Hollywood is all about the illusion, regardless of the cost to real people - whether actress or fan - in self-esteem and life satisfaction.
Although Portia was talking about eating disorders, I find this statement to be a great metaphor for most things in life. If you are forcing yourself to fit someone else's image, you are, quite simply, doomed to failure. Underneath it all, no matter how hard you try to be someone else, you are still going to be you.
If you have a size 12 frame, you are never going to be a size 6, no matter how much you starve yourself, no matter how many hours a day you work out, no matter what you do or don't do. You will be a 12, it's just a matter of whether you are an emaciated 12 or a full figured 12.
If you are a global thinker, you will struggle in an accounting job where the details matter.
If you are a free spirit, you are going to struggle in a world that wants to pin you down.
It doesn't mean you can't do it; after all, Cinderella's step-sister cut off her toes to get that shoe on, and you could, too. (On a side note. Don't you sort of wonder what that would have looked like - the crystal glass shoe rapidly filling with deep red blood?) But that seems like a rather painful way to fit into something that is clearly wrong for you.
I think it's only fair to point out that she didn't end up with the prince in the end, either, so it's a cautionary tale.
I wish we lived in a world where differences were celebrated instead of denigrated. I would like to be part of a world where speaking different languages was only a barrier to conversation, not to understanding. I would like to be part of a world that valued teachers as much as stockbrokers, and maids as much as executives, because they were following their dream with passion and doing the job well.
For a long time I didn't have a scale in my house, because I refused to allow my vision of the perfect number that much control over my own self-esteem. Whether it's 89 or 129 or 409, that number doesn't change the person hiding inside, the real me. It doesn't define what makes me a good friend or bad, a good mother, sister, daughter, person. It is a superficial way to evaluate someone, especially one's self, and is a path doomed to failure, no matter how enticing it may be.
The consequences of imposing false expectations on ourselves or others can be life threatening. Karen Carpenter, one of my favorite singers ever, died for the illusion. So did Tyler Clementi, Ana Carolina Reston, and Christy Henrich. Although the dream they were reaching for was slightly different for each of them, the illusive win was rooted in the same desire to meet or exceed artificial expectations, reinforced by an unforgiving culture in which a narrow definition of perfection is not everything, it's the only thing that matters.
Much of life is simply beyond our control, but we do have the ability to set our expectations realistically. We can make our goals achievable, and we can intentionally disregard those who insist on bringing us down to some other vision of how we should be. Society focuses on the superficial exterior; how beautiful the glass slipper looks. Karen, Tyler, Ana, Christy, and hundreds of others like them, are a testament to the reality that it is also fragile and unreliable.
Although I occasionally enjoy wearing my high heels, most days, I'd rather wear tennis shoes, (usually a size too big in case my feet swell.) Glass slippers can break, and I would hate to get splinters in my foot.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Life is not a bowl of cherries. Except when it is....
I think cliches, like Christmas letters, have their place in this world, and it's an important one. After all, a statement doesn't become a cliche by accident. It's because so many people have so many similar experiences that after awhile, they start to say the same things, and voila, a cliche is born.
I have a whole arsenal of cliches, ready at any moment, which I can use with deadly accuracy to remind my family that they are not the first person to have ever done, thought, or felt any given experience. I think it's important to remember that when it comes to being human, we really do have more in common than not, even with people on the other side of the world.
Each culture has its own unique cliches which are used to express their common experiences. For example, a penny for your thoughts would not make any sense in Qatar, where they don't use pennies. But I'll bet they have something similar to show that the person asking values you enough to want to know what you are thinking. (Of course, a penny was worth a lot more back when this one came into being. These days, it's more of an insult, so use it sparingly.)
As a sidelight, isn't it interesting how we will give someone else a penny for their thoughts, but we want to give our own two cents worth? Does this indicate that most people feel what they have to say is twice as important as what anyone else has to offer? I think that is something worth asking ourselves whenever we give an unsolicited opinion.
(I suspect my own children wish I would take that advice more seriously. They seem to value my life experience a lot less highly than I do, for some reason. I guess they don't realize that practice makes perfect.)
Cliches come and go, of course. Don't take any wooden nickels isn't a line you hear often any more, although it was quite the catch phrase back in the early part of the 20th Century. And yet, the advice contained in the adage is solid gold - don't be gullible. That is advice that we need in every time, because there is always someone out to cheat you in this world.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away may sound trite to our sophisticated, modern ears, but in fact, it was a reminder that fruits and vegetables are the way to stay healthy. (Turns out those old people weren't so dumb after all.) It is more fun to keep the doctor away than to simply eat your fruits and vegetables, don't you think? The old fashioned food pyramid was not only more entertaining, it was a lot easier to remember.
As a parent, I have repeated ad nauseum (which means until my kids want to throw up or run away from home) the phrase, "Two wrongs don't make a right." This goes along beautifully with the idea that "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." Even in the Bible, cliches ring out with truth and clarity, "You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." That is a fancy way of saying, fix your own flaws before you start working on someone else's! (That is Matthew 7:5, by the way.)
Mostly, it seems, cliches center on behavior or attitude, things you can control and change, if you really want to. Love is blind, actions speak louder than words, misery loves company, it takes two to tango, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; all are about the way we deal with the world around us, and what life throws our way.
So, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. In that case, you need to shape up or ship out. After all, life is not a bowl of cherries. (Unless you bite into a pit and break your tooth. My own addition to the lexicon of cliche-speak.)
Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Of course, easy come, easy go, so perhaps you won't hang on to it, if you didn't work for it. In the end, what goes around, comes around, and you don't want to be on the wrong side of Karma.
I have heard it said that the Christmas letter itself is a cliche, and that no one cares about them any more. If that is true, then Hallmark has made a serious marketing mistake, and I don't think they have spent millions of dollars on market research to make mistakes. The holiday stationary is already flooding the stores, and the post office has printed their holiday stamps, which will go on millions of envelopes in an effort to connect in an old fashioned, tangible way with those we love and care about.
I think, in fact, most people do enjoy Christmas letters, well written or not, because, in spite of the ability to be constantly in touch with e-mail, texting, cell phones and IM, people are less connected today than ever. In our harried, hurried culture, we rarely take the time to share what matters to us, or to let people into our lives in a meaningful way. And in spite of the jokes and criticisms, most of us want to know both the good and the bad that have happened in the lives of those we care about.
I think that cliches, also, have a valued place in our personal dialogue. If you really pay attention to the cliches, you will have a useful handbook on living life well. You will certainly learn about the pitfalls in life, and to laugh at yourself when things go wrong. After all, laughter is the best medicine!
I have a whole arsenal of cliches, ready at any moment, which I can use with deadly accuracy to remind my family that they are not the first person to have ever done, thought, or felt any given experience. I think it's important to remember that when it comes to being human, we really do have more in common than not, even with people on the other side of the world.
Each culture has its own unique cliches which are used to express their common experiences. For example, a penny for your thoughts would not make any sense in Qatar, where they don't use pennies. But I'll bet they have something similar to show that the person asking values you enough to want to know what you are thinking. (Of course, a penny was worth a lot more back when this one came into being. These days, it's more of an insult, so use it sparingly.)
As a sidelight, isn't it interesting how we will give someone else a penny for their thoughts, but we want to give our own two cents worth? Does this indicate that most people feel what they have to say is twice as important as what anyone else has to offer? I think that is something worth asking ourselves whenever we give an unsolicited opinion.
(I suspect my own children wish I would take that advice more seriously. They seem to value my life experience a lot less highly than I do, for some reason. I guess they don't realize that practice makes perfect.)
Cliches come and go, of course. Don't take any wooden nickels isn't a line you hear often any more, although it was quite the catch phrase back in the early part of the 20th Century. And yet, the advice contained in the adage is solid gold - don't be gullible. That is advice that we need in every time, because there is always someone out to cheat you in this world.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away may sound trite to our sophisticated, modern ears, but in fact, it was a reminder that fruits and vegetables are the way to stay healthy. (Turns out those old people weren't so dumb after all.) It is more fun to keep the doctor away than to simply eat your fruits and vegetables, don't you think? The old fashioned food pyramid was not only more entertaining, it was a lot easier to remember.
As a parent, I have repeated ad nauseum (which means until my kids want to throw up or run away from home) the phrase, "Two wrongs don't make a right." This goes along beautifully with the idea that "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones." Even in the Bible, cliches ring out with truth and clarity, "You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." That is a fancy way of saying, fix your own flaws before you start working on someone else's! (That is Matthew 7:5, by the way.)
Mostly, it seems, cliches center on behavior or attitude, things you can control and change, if you really want to. Love is blind, actions speak louder than words, misery loves company, it takes two to tango, beauty is in the eye of the beholder; all are about the way we deal with the world around us, and what life throws our way.
So, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. In that case, you need to shape up or ship out. After all, life is not a bowl of cherries. (Unless you bite into a pit and break your tooth. My own addition to the lexicon of cliche-speak.)
Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it. Of course, easy come, easy go, so perhaps you won't hang on to it, if you didn't work for it. In the end, what goes around, comes around, and you don't want to be on the wrong side of Karma.
I have heard it said that the Christmas letter itself is a cliche, and that no one cares about them any more. If that is true, then Hallmark has made a serious marketing mistake, and I don't think they have spent millions of dollars on market research to make mistakes. The holiday stationary is already flooding the stores, and the post office has printed their holiday stamps, which will go on millions of envelopes in an effort to connect in an old fashioned, tangible way with those we love and care about.
I think, in fact, most people do enjoy Christmas letters, well written or not, because, in spite of the ability to be constantly in touch with e-mail, texting, cell phones and IM, people are less connected today than ever. In our harried, hurried culture, we rarely take the time to share what matters to us, or to let people into our lives in a meaningful way. And in spite of the jokes and criticisms, most of us want to know both the good and the bad that have happened in the lives of those we care about.
I think that cliches, also, have a valued place in our personal dialogue. If you really pay attention to the cliches, you will have a useful handbook on living life well. You will certainly learn about the pitfalls in life, and to laugh at yourself when things go wrong. After all, laughter is the best medicine!
Saturday, October 16, 2010
House beautiful....
Humor is, in my world, as essential an element of life as air or food. Without laughter, life would be dull and miserable. Therefore, I try to find a reason to laugh about everything.
Some things aren't funny until much later, but eventually, almost everything is funny. Even divorce, which wasn't at all funny at the time, but I find my ex-husband hilarious now that I'm not related to him any more. Or cleaning house, which, from my point of view, is almost as bad. It is also something which I am seeing from the perspective of up close and personal these last few weeks.
I'm going to make a confession here, in case you don't know me well. For years, I have blamed my children for the shoddy condition of my home. It is not because I am an atrocious housekeeper - it is because I am a parent that I am so domestically challenged.
I have complained, often and loudly, that my offspring have never learned how to move a light switch to the off position, despite the ability to move it to on, even if they are just passing through. The television apparently only has an on switch, because it has never been turned off as long as they have been alive. They have never put anything away. Ever. They do not know where any wastebasket is located, despite wastebaskets being strategically placed throughout the house, including their own rooms.
How can I possibly keep a clean house with them following behind me to mess it right up again, I ask you? It's an impossible dream, and I don't have Richard Kiley around to sing about it. (If you don't know who he is, Google it, and you will have had your educational moment of the day. If you do know, feel superior that you are so smart, and find something else to learn today!)
So I gave it up as a lost cause a long time ago. As I have been fond of telling people, I can either have my children, or I can have a clean house, but I can't have both.
Fast forward about 15 years, (that is about the time I lost control of the whole situation,) and here we are, A-Day. Which stands for Alone in the House and No More Excuses Day. The baby left for college this fall, and I knew the moment of truth was upon me. Now we would see whether or not the source of the problem was them or me, and I was a little nervous about the answer.
Between wallowing in fear for a couple of weeks, followed by being so overwhelmed by the scope of the problem that I didn't know where to start for a couple more, I was sort of paralyzed by inaction the first month or so. Then I thought I would just pitch in and do one room at time, which, after spending an entire weekend on one small room, became apparent was not going to be a working solution.
Ultimately, I came up with the strategy which I've employed the last couple of weeks, and which has resulted in spectacular results. (There will be humor, I swear, but I am also passing along a cleaning tip or two here. This is a multi-purpose blog, providing both form and function for your reading pleasure. But seriously. Talk about shock and awe. This is it. Me offering cleaning advice is something none of us ever thought we would see!)
The magical answer for me has been to spend 15 minutes a day on cleaning. No more, no less, usually on my lunch hour, although 15 minutes after work is acceptable, too. In addition, I do one load of laundry a day, washing, drying, and putting away, which, with only one load, takes a total of about ten minutes of my time. I throw in the load first thing in the morning, I throw it into the dryer at lunch time, and I fold and put away after work. Simplicity itself, and I always seem to have whatever I want to wear, which is like having a whole new wardrobe at my disposal.
I have been amazed at how beautiful my house can look, when I spend only 15 minutes a day on it, and don't have anyone else coming behind to mess things up again!
The answer is in. It's not me! It really IS them! Thus, the humor. I love being right. Every time I walk through my house and see how put together it looks, my heart soars at the sheer pleasure of it all.
A bit much? Okay. But it is nice to not be embarrassed to have someone come unexpectedly to the door, at least.
So the next time you look around your house and you feel like giving up, take heart. At the most, you have 18 years until you, too, can have house beautiful. Or at least house the way you always wanted it! And in my world, that's all I need.
Wishing you a clean week!
Some things aren't funny until much later, but eventually, almost everything is funny. Even divorce, which wasn't at all funny at the time, but I find my ex-husband hilarious now that I'm not related to him any more. Or cleaning house, which, from my point of view, is almost as bad. It is also something which I am seeing from the perspective of up close and personal these last few weeks.
I'm going to make a confession here, in case you don't know me well. For years, I have blamed my children for the shoddy condition of my home. It is not because I am an atrocious housekeeper - it is because I am a parent that I am so domestically challenged.
I have complained, often and loudly, that my offspring have never learned how to move a light switch to the off position, despite the ability to move it to on, even if they are just passing through. The television apparently only has an on switch, because it has never been turned off as long as they have been alive. They have never put anything away. Ever. They do not know where any wastebasket is located, despite wastebaskets being strategically placed throughout the house, including their own rooms.
How can I possibly keep a clean house with them following behind me to mess it right up again, I ask you? It's an impossible dream, and I don't have Richard Kiley around to sing about it. (If you don't know who he is, Google it, and you will have had your educational moment of the day. If you do know, feel superior that you are so smart, and find something else to learn today!)
So I gave it up as a lost cause a long time ago. As I have been fond of telling people, I can either have my children, or I can have a clean house, but I can't have both.
Fast forward about 15 years, (that is about the time I lost control of the whole situation,) and here we are, A-Day. Which stands for Alone in the House and No More Excuses Day. The baby left for college this fall, and I knew the moment of truth was upon me. Now we would see whether or not the source of the problem was them or me, and I was a little nervous about the answer.
Between wallowing in fear for a couple of weeks, followed by being so overwhelmed by the scope of the problem that I didn't know where to start for a couple more, I was sort of paralyzed by inaction the first month or so. Then I thought I would just pitch in and do one room at time, which, after spending an entire weekend on one small room, became apparent was not going to be a working solution.
Ultimately, I came up with the strategy which I've employed the last couple of weeks, and which has resulted in spectacular results. (There will be humor, I swear, but I am also passing along a cleaning tip or two here. This is a multi-purpose blog, providing both form and function for your reading pleasure. But seriously. Talk about shock and awe. This is it. Me offering cleaning advice is something none of us ever thought we would see!)
The magical answer for me has been to spend 15 minutes a day on cleaning. No more, no less, usually on my lunch hour, although 15 minutes after work is acceptable, too. In addition, I do one load of laundry a day, washing, drying, and putting away, which, with only one load, takes a total of about ten minutes of my time. I throw in the load first thing in the morning, I throw it into the dryer at lunch time, and I fold and put away after work. Simplicity itself, and I always seem to have whatever I want to wear, which is like having a whole new wardrobe at my disposal.
I have been amazed at how beautiful my house can look, when I spend only 15 minutes a day on it, and don't have anyone else coming behind to mess things up again!
The answer is in. It's not me! It really IS them! Thus, the humor. I love being right. Every time I walk through my house and see how put together it looks, my heart soars at the sheer pleasure of it all.
A bit much? Okay. But it is nice to not be embarrassed to have someone come unexpectedly to the door, at least.
So the next time you look around your house and you feel like giving up, take heart. At the most, you have 18 years until you, too, can have house beautiful. Or at least house the way you always wanted it! And in my world, that's all I need.
Wishing you a clean week!
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