June 2021 - Page 3 of 3 - Adulting: Second- Half

Random Thoughts Thursday

+I ended up at an estate sale the other day. I’ve written before that I don’t particularly love estate sales because it often feels too personal and intimate to rummage through someone’s things and collections and to poke through their “very every day life”, but this estate sale was occuring at an intriguing, unique looking house that I happened to ride by. I was too curious not to stop. I was not disappointed. The home was filled to the brim with collections of every kind. It was like being in a museum and stepping back in time. I made a remark to that affect and one of the women, who was working the sale, murmured in a disgusted tone, “Yep, if she liked it, she bought it.” That was the exact, a-ha moment when I decided that I really didn’t need the odd, yet interesting, olive green owl candle, with a slightly melted ear tuft. I put it back on the table and I headed back to my car for some deeply needed, self-reflection.

+Why is everything these days seemingly “infused with technology”? My shampoo, my moisturizers, my laundry detergent all have descriptions on them, that make them sound like mega computers. I am washing my hair with microchips, apparently. My skin creme has a “hydration complex”. (So now my beauty products have as many complexes as I do.) And we are only on the brink of this “artificial intelligence” revolution. These are actual words, (these are not words that I made up), from some of my ordinary, everyday products: “Zip-Up technology”, “Nanovasive technology”, “dirt and fade technologies.” It feels like all products fall into two categories these days: “All Natural/Organic/Self Sustaining/Renewable/High and Mighty Perfection” or “Advanced Applied Mechanical Engineering in Technological Liquid Form”. Maybe I should rebrand my blog. Adulting – Second Half is an organic, aged mix and essence of non-artificial hormones, and biotic and cellular emotion, transferred on to your screen with the help of Desperate to Spit It All Out in the Hopes of Making Some Sense of It All. (DSIAOHMSSIA technology)

+I am very proud of West Virginia’s New River Gorge being named a National Park this past December. If you have read my blog for a while, you know my affinity for America’s best kept, natural secret – West Virginia. If you want to have a fabulous, nature filled trip this summer, keep this national (Yay!) park on your short list. This beautiful place will remind you that God’s creations are more purely organic, and far surpass any kind of technological wonder than anything that we humans have ever made. You will rest in peaceful awe, as you take in the views of all of the natural wonders that make this gorge and its gorgeous surroundings, so worthy of its new designation.

+Finally, Happy Pride Month!!! In the words of Morgan Freeman: “I hate the word homophobia. It’s not a phobia. You’re not scared. You’re an asshole.”

And as a promised, added feature, here’s Throwback Thursday‘s previous blog post of mine, for today. This one is one of the most viewed posts from my blog:

Angry Tears

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Treats

I love summer and all of the good stuff that comes with summer, such as ice cream trucks. I saw this chart on the internet the other day which showed the typical ice cream novelties commonly available from ice cream trucks. It made me instantly happy. Who doesn’t have fond childhood memories of “the ice cream man”? My regular go-to is the Good Humor Strawberry Shortcake bar (even at the age of 50, I am not beyond having my heart flutter as I rush to my purse, when I hear the familiar sound of the ice cream truck’s twinkling tune, and then pretend that I was just out getting my mail, as I try to appear all casual-like, among the throngs of neighborhood children – “oh well, perhaps a little ice cream could be refreshing, you know, for nostalgia’s sake.”) I honestly have tried each and every one of these scrumptious offerings on the chart, over the years, except for the “Screw Ball”. I had to look it up. I had no idea what a Screw Ball was, so it intrigued me greatly. It turns out that a Screw Ball is a sherbert type concoction in a cone, with a gum ball at the very bottom of the cone. (And this is the part of my story when I envision you all nodding, and rolling your eyes and saying, “Duh! How could you not know what a Screw Ball is???”) I am still not quite curious enough to switch from my Strawberry Shortcake selection, to a Screw Ball, but if it were the last offering left, I wouldn’t say no.

Speaking of gum, I bought four packets of Cinnamon Extra gum at my local Walgreens the other day. They were on clearance for fifteen cents each. When the kind and friendly young man behind the counter was ringing me out, I asked him if he liked gum. “Oh, I like gum,” he said. “Well, take one of these for yourself,” I said on a whim.

Friends, you would have thought I had handed the clerk, a gold bar or a Bitcoin token. His grateful and joyous and sincere reaction kind of bewildered me. He was so overwhelmingly thankful, that part of me was desperate to rummage through my purse for something more, like a hundred dollar bill in order to truly warrant his thankfulness (which I would not have found, because I don’t honestly carry around a lot of cash in my purse these days, and nor did I figure that he would want a used tube of lipstick). I started to sadly wonder if this young man hadn’t received many gifts in his life. Still, the experience, made me feel great. And it obviously seemed to make the clerk feel good, too. This fifteen cent, clearance gum is the most satisfying gum which I have ever purchased in my life, for myself or for anybody else, and I haven’t even taken the cellophane wrapper off of it yet. I suppose that there really is truth to the old adage, “It’s the thought that counts.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Tortured Artists

“Putting a creation into the world is asking to be understood and loved. The answer is not always yes.” – Allison Moorer

Allison Moorer is a country singer and song writer, but she is also an amazing memoirist. Shelby Lynne, also a country singer, is her sister. I recently read Allison Moorer’s memoir, Blood, which describes the tragedy of her alcoholic father shooting the girls’ mother, and then himself, in their front yard, when both ladies were still teenagers. It was a hard, emotional read, but Moorer’s writing is so pure and fearless and insightful. I enjoyed the book, immensely, despite its devastating content.

In an interview, Moorer claims that she would have been an artist, even if she hadn’t come from such a dysfunctional background, but the art would have been different. She says this: “I don’t think my art would have had as many teeth as it does. I don’t think you have to necessarily suffer to make great art, but the truth is that most great art is born of it.”

It is Aldous Huxley, the author of A Brave New World, who is credited with the idea that all great art is born of suffering. And there are so many examples to support that idea. When I was in college, I took an Art History class. The professor kept us enticed, by promising the class, that if we first paid attention to the artists’ various styles, techniques and designs, she promised to give us the dish on their crazy, dramatic, and often depressing life stories. The stories which she told us, about the various artists’ lives were much more interesting, than any soap opera that we were hoping to hurry home to watch. As Mark Twain said, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

I have given this idea of great art being tied to suffering, a lot of thought. There is no one whom I know, who has never suffered any heartache. There might be degrees of heartache, different levels of heaviness which we could put up for debate, but in the end, pain is pain. And pain is a part of living a life. It seems to me, that many artists, whether fearless or compulsive, have a drive to explore their pain, in order to make something beautiful and meaningful, come out of it. I don’t think that the great artists, and singers, and writers and other creatives necessarily suffer more than anyone else does. It’s just that they aren’t afraid to explore that suffering. When we open ourselves up to reach in and to pull out our deepest creativity, we also offer up to the world, our most profound vulnerability. And that is terrifying. What is more naked than the total baring of your soul?

I have painful experiences which have occurred in my life that I don’t choose to write about. They’re too hot to the touch. I may never write about certain elements of my life and that’s okay. But I’d be incredibly naive to think that my writing, my expressing, and my overall “being” doesn’t have any sparks and tears and echoes of all of my own life’s experiences, even the heaviest, heartbreaking ones.

I don’t think that all great artists can be lumped in as hypersensitive, addiction-riddled depressives, with wrecked up lives. I honestly think that our greatest artists are among the bravest people in the world. They aren’t afraid of the truth. They have nothing to prove to anyone. Oftentimes, great artists are alchemists who go full into their pain, with a strong desire to make something beautiful, enduring, and universally understood, out of their own deepest, inner turmoil. And we all benefit greatly from their courageous attempt to transform their pain into love, as a gift from themselves that they generously and boldly share with the world. We have museums, and libraries, and record charts, and theaters filled with people’s deepest expressions of their fullest selves, and we treasure these gifts. These treasures are reminders of the force of creativity, that is the true essence of all that is.

255 DUTCH ARTISTS ideas | dutch artists, art, dutch painters

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Monday Fun-Day

(credit: Rex Masters Twitter)

We had taken down some artwork when we switched around our bedrooms this past spring. There was a print that had been hanging in my daughter’s room, which I had always liked, but she considered it too childish for her evolving teenage tastes. The print had been done by an artist from the past, named H. Willebeek Lemair. Lemair was a Dutch artist who later changed her name to “Saida.” Her artwork mostly depicts women and children and has a fanciful, cartoonish quality.

The wonderful thing about the internet, is that it is like having an art gallery right in the palm of your hands. The picture inspired me to peruse the internet for other pieces of Lemair’s art, which lead me to artists who had similar styles of painting, to hers. I started printing out any pictures which I really liked, to paste into my calendar and into my inspirational notebooks. In the end, I had a little pile of about ten pictures that moved me. What turned out to be the biggest surprise of my little exercise, was the insight which I received when I looked through the pictures that I had printed out. I thought that I had printed the artwork, with no real rhyme or reason. They were just individual pictures that had visually moved me, more than any others which I had perused. Interestingly, it turns out that the majority of the paintings (created by a variety of artists), depicted young women reading books. All but one of the pictures, had at least one book as a focal point in the painting. Unbeknownst to the conscious part of me, there was a real, true “theme” to my collection.

I think that our passions and purposes, pop out of us, every which way they can. Our passions are hard to contain, even when we try to tamp them down or to change them. The deepest part of ourselves sends hints to us, all of the time, if we take the time to be “self sleuths.” I have read that if you are having trouble figuring out your deepest passions and motivations, try to remember what you most liked to do as a child. When we were children, we were less conditioned by our experiences and the world around us. Our passions played more innocently on the surface, when we were young kids. Follow what really grasps your attention during your daily activities, and ask yourself “why?” and then, take your time to explore the answer. Keep a dream journal. Our subconscious is quiet, but persistent. It begs to be noticed, if we look for the clues.

Finding Yourself Is Not Really How It Works - Tiny Buddha | Inspirational quotes, Spiritual quotes, Life quotes

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Soul Sunday

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Trees Poem Print Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see | Etsy

Good morning, soulmates. As my regular readers know, Sunday is devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. Poems are soultalk. Poems evoke more emotion and wonder and intimacy than your average prose. Write a poem today. Share it in my Comments, if you like. On Sundays, sometimes I write a poem and sometimes I share a poem. Today I will try to do both. The above poem, “Trees”, by Joyce Kilmer is a classic, and it is wonderful. Incidentally, Joyce Kilmer was an American man and sadly, he was killed in action, during World War I. Here is my poem for the day:

“The Seekers”

Two treasure hunters scour the fruitful land,

Eager to see what bounty they can command.

They dredge the sea, for ancient coins, and brilliant jewels.

One seeker is single minded with his vision and his tools.

He fills his ornate box with plenty of wealth and weight.

His overspilling bounty is his focused life’s work’s fate.

The other seeker is easily distracted by the beauty all around him,

Often instead of searching in waters, he chooses to softly swim.

He takes time to nourish the creatures that share his borrowed space.

He stares at the starry skies, in wonder of this magical place.

Who in the end, ends up with the greatest treasure?

I suppose it all depends on how you choose to measure.

Seeker one is tethered to a heavy, worldly treasure, with which is hard to part,

Whereas seeker two, is much lighter. His wondrous treasure is stored within his heart.

The Vibe

The state of my mind, and thus the state of my writing, is all over the map, these last few days. Perhaps it is because a new season is starting, and we (my family and I) haven’t settled into our latest routines, yet. My middle son is home this weekend. He will move to another city, in a couple of months to start medical school. He, myself and my husband were out to dinner last night, and he was telling us about how he is more than ready to get started on a structured routine again. My daughter was on a date last night, and has a few graduation parties to attend tonight. She is eagerly waiting to hear back from some job applications. When I asked her the details of her parties, she rolled her eyes and sighed, “So much social time!” I smiled knowingly. I hate when the equilibrium my daily life feels out of kilter, and heavily leaning towards one activity, versus towards all of the other things, which I also want to do. I think this is just part of our human nature. We crave structure, and then we start to crave a break from our self-made structures. Finding that happy, healthy balance between regimented, systematic, in-control living, plus free-wheeling, up-for-anything, creative leisure time, seems to be a challenge for everyone who I know – young and old.

What’s your “vibe” these days, readers? Are you feeling a little unsettled as “normal” life opens up more possibilities to us every day, and our routines are changing? If nothing else, the pandemic really simplified our lives down the bare studs, didn’t it? Incidentally, the word “vibe” seems to be making a revival. A friend of mine had a job interview the other day, and the young, millennial manager wanted my friend to come into the workplace to see if she would “fit into the vibe.” Our group of friends (all from older generations), of course, got a lot of giggles out of the wording, and “vibe” became the joke word of the night. Of course, that same night, my 17-year-old daughter texted me to let me know that she was just driving around, “vibing” with her friends. They say that “your vibe attracts your tribe.” I like my tribe. They’re a great tribe. So, I guess my vibe is pretty good. Valencia (Twitter) recently tweeted, “Vibing with people who have the same goofy humor as you, is so therapeutic.” I giggled to myself when I read that quote. I was thinking about the fact that my tribe and I, made at least 67 jokes about the word “vibe,” when my friend told us about her interview story. And we laughed hysterically at all 67 goofy “vibe” jokes, as they seemed to get better and better, as the night went on. And Valencia was right, vibing with my tribe, who share my same goofy humor, and laughing hysterically, truly was, much-needed and amazing therapy.

37 Good Vibes Quotes With Images for a Happy Life - Darling Quote

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Calamity Friday

(The Cure – of course, it is actually Friday that is the cure for everything, correct?)

Hello to my friends and readers! Thank you for supporting my blog. Thank you for showing up for me and my art (writing). It means the world to this middle-aged gal, trying to blaze new trails for myself. I’ve gotten a few new subscribers this week. Woo-hoo and welcome!! I was trying to do a new feature on my Thursday blog post called “Throwback Thursday” in which I highlight old blog posts that have been among the most popular ones which I have written over the years. Of course, I immediately forgot to do that yesterday, so for my new readers, I am going to point you to this previous post of mine. It explains my writing process, and also why you probably won’t get the typo/mistake free, mostly smoothly worded version of my blog in your inbox. Still, I am beyond honored that any of you want a daily email from me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Housekeeping

My regular readers know that Fridays are devoted to the fluff in life. I love fluffy Fridays!!! On Fridays, I discuss three songs, books, websites, apps, beauty products etc. that have made my own life a little more sensory, and fun, and I strongly encourage you to add your own favorites to my Comments. Also, please check out previous Friday posts for more good stuff. Here are my favorites for today:

Calamityware – This porcelain china is awesome. From a distance, it looks like fine, expensive, Blue Willow china (that ornate blue and white, antique dinnerware that has an Asian quality to it), however when you look real closely, the patterns actually show all sorts of crazy fiascos happening in the scenery depicted. Dinosaurs, flying monkeys, aliens, sharks etc. are all doing their crazy antics on fine dinner plates and teacups. The irony of this, just tickles me! My favorite pieces are the soup bowls with flies painted at the bottom of them. Years ago I was gifted “Dirty Dishes” from Fishs Eddy. The “Dirty Dishes” depict topless women, lazily lounging all around the rim. I also have a martini glass ornament that is decorated with ornate swear words. It’s called the “dirty martini glass.” I love this kind of stuff. Calamityware is made by a cheeky Polish artist, and his website is a such a pleasure to peruse (a perfect activity for a Friday). Check it out and at least get yourself a mug from the “Things Could Be Worse” series. Get your laughs wherever you can (I think perhaps, that the best laughs come from the most unlikely of places. Unexpected laughs are really, really good for the soul).

Flip Flop Feet Planter – My husband found me this at Ace Hardware. It was the last one left because they were so popular with the customers. Apparently you can also get these cuties at Walmart. These whimsical pieces are not the highest of quality. They are made out of some sort of light plastic. Hence, including the plant, the Flip Flop Feet Planters only cost around 10 dollars. What an inexpensive way to get a smile every time you look at it! It’s like a dimestore mannequin with a bushy little plant body. Wow, okay – I promise that the planter is not nearly as weird and creepy, as my description sounds.

Dog Poop Bag Holders – These are another super cheap, “must buy” for anyone who has a dog, and walks their dog. We have three dogs, who prefer to “save up” and do all of their elimination on our walks. We are also good, considerate neighbors, so we always pick up after our dogs. And we take long walks. And we live in sweltering Florida. It is not fun to walk around for miles, in sweltering Florida, holding a swinging bag of poop. It just isn’t. Trust me on this. These holders are little plastic clips that you attach to the dog leash, which allow you to tie the bag up, slide it on the clip, and the clip then allows the bag to dangle far, far away from any of your bodily parts, until you happily arrive at a trash can. Make sure that you attach the clip to the top of the leash. My husband accidentally attached Josie’s (our lovely collie) clip too low, and being the priss that she is, she was absolutely mortified when she was thumped with a bag of the three dogs’ excrement. (Understandable. We may have to get her therapy.) I got a set of two dog poop bag holders, on Amazon, for around 6 or 7 dollars. Worth every cent.

Have a great weekend, friends! I’ll give you the advice which I often give to my adult children: “Live it up, but don’t eff it up.”

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

Faux is French for Fake

I was perusing some online shopping outlets and I looked at a “faux” shearling jacket. I live in Florida, thus I don’t need too many jackets, and I certainly do not need too many warm jackets. Therefore, I passed on buying the jacket. Still, I paused on the description page, and I felt a tad nostalgic and wistful. Having grown up in Pennsylvania, there are two things that I miss about living in the north, these things being fall leaves and winter clothes. Certainly, I don’t miss having to wear winter clothes to ward off frigid temperatures and snow, but I do love the look of winter clothes. Winter clothes have more texture, and comfortability, and richness of quality to them, than summer clothes do. Winter clothes beg to be layered. And the biggest plus about winter clothes, is that they are so much more forgiving than summer clothes. They’re like make-up/masks/disguises for your body, whereas a bathing suit is like that giant magnifying glass at your dermatologist’s office.

Reading the description of the jacket, I had to giggle at the word “faux.” The French have a way of making everything sound lovely and sophisticated, don’t they? What if the description kept it all in the same language and said, “Fake Shearling Jacket.” Yep, it’s fake. Do ya still wannit? I wonder if the word “faux” is as off-putting to the French, as the word “fake” is to us. Do they change “faux” to the word “fake” in their descriptions of things, to give their products a more exotic, foreign appeal? I have my doubts. I’ve read that a lot of Europeans like to buy American western wear here. Do their catalogs advertising “vegan leather” (ha!) cowboy boots read, “Fake cuir des bottes de cowboy”? Maybe using the word “fake” gives the boots a charming, Americana twang to the description?

There are so many word comparisons like this, that seem to accentuate our American down-home flavor, versus the French air of sophistication:

biscuit/croissant

swagger/savoir-faire

really good/par excellence

fancy clothes/haute-couture

friendliness/bonhomie

one-on-one/tête-à-tête

“the bomb”/crème de la crème

get together/rendez-vous

presto!/voila!

I love being American. I’ve been to France once, and it was nice. The French were actually much kinder to us than they are reported to be. In fact, they sure were super friendly! 😉 I think that the French people, who we met, must have felt my joie de vivre, being on a fabulous trip. Truth be told, I don’t speak French at all. I took five years of Latin for my foreign language requirement. There are so many stories and sub-stories from this experience, (my erratic and dramatic Latin instructor was also my hyper-competitive high school Forensics coach, and his wife, alarmingly looked exactly like a human version of Betty Boop), but these stories are for another blog post, some day.

Reading over this post, I see how “off track” I tend to get, and how rambling it is. It’s been a crazy week. Pardon, my la divigation, s’il vous plaît. Thank you, kindly! Merci!

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

M. and B.

The other night we attended a large graduation party for one of my daughter’s tennis team members. The party was held in a big banquet hall, and it was the size of a medium wedding reception. We knew the graduate, my daughter, a few of my daughter’s friends, the graduate’s parents and one other mother attending. That’s it. In a hall of at least a hundred people, we knew about eight of them, and four of those people who we knew were kids who, understandably, had no interest whatsoever, in hanging out with parents. We had been having work done on our house that day, so in waiting for the workers to finish up for the day, my husband and I ended up arriving to the party, a little later than most. Our daughter was already ensconced in some corner tables with a bunch of her friends, and was fully engaged with talking and laughing with them. The graduate and her parents were being excellent hosts, going from table to table, talking to everyone. I nodded “hello” to the one other mother who I knew at the party, who was sitting at a table, with all of the seats already taken. I could feel a little social anxiety creeping into my gut, especially with being so out of practice, from dealing with the pandemic shutdown, for over a year.

But then, my eyes glommed on to the buffet tables, which were overflowing with incredible delicacies (all handmade by the graduate’s mother). The graduate’s mom is Italian, and so it naturally follows that she is an amazing cook. It’s just in their genes. I have never had an Italian friend who wasn’t an incredible chef. I don’t mean to stereotype, but this has been my divine experience, and I have my fair share of Italian friends. Seeing the delightful spread, I got over my sinking feeling of not knowing anybody, and I got right to the task of filling up my plate, as high as it could go. My husband followed suit.

With my mountainous, overfilled plate, I started scanning my seating options. What appeared was several full tables of people laughing, and enjoying each other’s familiar company. There were also two empty tables, which I started to make a beeline towards, but then the table with M. and B. appeared. M. and B. (keeping their names private), were two older ladies sitting by themselves at a table, quietly eating their food. To get to the empty tables, I would have had to walk right past M. and B.’s table, but my arm was getting heavy with my food (and my husband was at the buffet, still filling up his plate), and plus, my mama taught me good manners. “Are these seats taken?” I asked M. and B politely, with a frozen smile on my face. “Oh no, please take a seat!” they both exclaimed.

Okay, this is the part of the story in which I admit that I am an ASS. As the saying goes, “When you assume, you make an ASS out of U and ME.” I had already made a bunch of assumptions. I assumed M. and B. were elderly family members. (wrong, they were neighbors of the graduate and her family) I then assumed M. and B. were a lesbian couple. (wrong again, they lived on either side of the graduate’s family and they were both widows. They did get a charge out of the question, though. M. looked at B. with her eyebrow raised and said, “Well, I never considered that before . . . ” B. just laughed) The biggest assumption which I had made is that I was going to be bored to tears, making polite, careful conversation with two senior citizens. Ha! M. and B. were a blast! They were interesting, inspiring, witty, edgy, and funny as hell. They teased and flirted with my husband, who teased and flirted right back. Before long, we had become “the raucous table”. I wasn’t even getting to gorging on my delicious food, because I was having so much fun. We were creating so much merriment, that the other mother, who we knew, noticed, grabbed her purse, and excused herself from her own table (full of boring, dull people of our own age, according to her) and joined and added to the merriment. I was sick when M. and B. said it was time for them to leave. We were having such a good time.

It turns out that M. was 83 and B. was 79. We were all shocked. Besides the teens, M. and B. were the most lively, fun-loving, vivacious people at the party. (on an aside, shocked to learn their ages, my friend asked them what creams they used on their faces. “Oh you know, that stuff in a red jar,” M. said, which I assume is Olay and I am not surprised.)

Whenever I start into a new decade (I turned fifty last December), I find myself looking at the generations older than me. I am goal oriented. I like to look ahead to be inspired to be who and what I want to be, when I become of the next age subset. When I am in my eighties, I want to be young. I want to be lighthearted. I want to get a kick out of living, no matter what I am doing. I want to be M. and B. I want to pleasantly surprise the hell out of a fifty-year-old woman, who almost walked right past me, full of her dumb assumptions. And I want to have good skin, so I am going to run out to Walgreens, after I post this, and get some Olay.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.

In the Beginning

13 Uplifting Quotes About New Beginnings

I love new beginnings. Today feels so fresh and new. It is the first day of the month, and the first day of summer (in a calendar sense). Over the weekend, we did things like going to see a movie (at a theater!) and we ate at a couple of restaurants (inside, no masks). It feels so good to get reacquainted with “normal life” again. It is, perhaps, a hidden blessing which the pandemic brought to us. We get to experience all of our old stuff, like it is new, with a more wide-eyed and open-hearted appreciation for everything that before, at times, seemed dull and routine.

I am watching the latest Naomi Osaka story with a keen interest. I am trying to stay detached from having any strong opinions about the story. Naomi Osaka, a Japanese tennis player, is one of the best tennis players ever to play the game. She withdrew from the French Open, after she experienced quite a lot of pressure and fines and criticism, for choosing not to speak to the French media, which is considered an obligation of the players. (Sports is a big business, after all – as is, just about everything) Osaka cites being an introvert and suffering from depression, as her reasons for not wanting to speak with the press. She is putting the priority on her mental health, by choosing to withdraw from the French Open.

My daughter is a competitive tennis player. She has a lot natural talent and athleticism and she could have chosen to take her tennis experience to much higher level, if that was her goal. In sports, having the raw talent is a necessary component, but to really succeed at the highest levels, it requires a single-minded devotion to the sport. It takes a focus and a passion, that makes all decisions about anything in your life, always to be hinging on the highest and utmost priority of succeeding at your sport. (what to eat, when to sleep, how to fit in your schooling, spending money on trainers, conducting your relationships etc. etc.) It can often lead to a one-dimensional life. It is not for the faint of heart.

I’m 50, so I have, quite frankly, laughed at “the snowflake” jokes and the memes that say that our younger generations are “soft.” Each older generation thinks that we are so much “tougher” and wiser and more resilient than the generations that come after us. And that may be true, in some regards. We older people have a lot more experiences in life, under our belts, and the old adage, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”, often rings true. However, in my life’s experience, my strongest, bravest moments rarely came from “toughing out” something miserable. It did take bravery to hold on through negative, painful experiences, but it took even more bravery, to ask for help. The moments that I had to muster up my greatest courage, usually were the moments when I said to myself and to others, “I can’t endure this any longer. I don’t want to feel this misery anymore. I must be true to myself.” My bravest moments were times when I “bucked the system”, because the system no longer rang true to me – to the deepest part of myself. My most heroic moments in my life’s experience, have come from the times when I no longer cared what other people thought (sometimes masses of people), and I stayed clear on what was truly important to me. It takes a hell of a lot of gumption to be true to yourself. It is not for the faint of heart.

I have a deep sense that we are at a “new beginnings” stage in so many factions of our lives. There is a lot more vibrant re-considering of the status quo, going on, and perhaps because of social media, and so many more public news outlets, this questioning is being brazenly played out, on a world stage. In the case of Naomi Osaka, what some may see as a weak moment, may well be the most defining, brave moment of her life. It may be the most inspiring thing which she has ever done for herself, and for her fans. As I said in my opening sentence, “I love new beginnings.” I have learned to embrace them. New beginnings happen all of the time, every moment of every day. And they are good. They are what leads to a brave, new world.

Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.