Tag: empty nest

We’ll Be Okay

Driving my daughter to school this morning, Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” came on and she and I sang it, at the top of our lungs. It felt so good. It felt so simple. It felt so right. I said to her, “I don’t know what to write about in my blog this morning, so I think that I’ll just write out the lyrics to this song.” She looked puzzled and said, “That’s it?” Like it was a cop-out. Because it kind of is.

It is a wonderful world, but it is also sometimes a painful world. It is a wonderful world, but it also sometimes a confusing world. It is a wonderful world, but it is often a complicated world and not as simple as we would like it to be.

I just binge-watched Amazon Prime’s Fleabag, both seasons, these last two days. There is a lot there to digest. The writing is superb. If you can take off your moralistic, judgment cap and get past some of the overt sexuality of the show (if you want to), there are parts of Fleabag that you will rewind and watch again and again, until the deeper meaning and feelings sink in, get under your skin and have you itching, yet fearful, to get to the source of wherever you have been touched. (there are also hilarious parts that will have you laughing until you cry, and they are fun to watch again and again, too)

There is one scene (spoiler alert) in Season 2, where Kristin Scott Thomas’ character Belinda is discussing her “Best Woman in Business” award. This is how she describes menopause:

“I’ve been longing to say this out loud. Women are born with pain built in. It’s our physical destiny – period pains, sore boobs, childbirth. We carry it within ourselves throughout our lives. Men don’t. They have to seek it out. They invent all these gods and demons so they can feel guilty about things, which is something we do very well on our own. And then they create wars so they can feel things and touch each other and when there aren’t any wars they can play rugby. We have it all going on in here, inside. We have pain on a cycle for years and years and years, and then just when you feel you are making peace with it all, what happens? The menopause comes. The fucking menopause comes and it is the most wonderful fucking thing in the world. Yes, your entire pelvic floor crumbles and you get fucking hot and no one cares, but then you’re free. No longer a slave, no longer a machine with parts. You’re just a person. In business.”

It’s a lot to be a woman. It’s wonderful. It’s also sometimes painful, confusing and complicated. When other women can put into words what the rest of us experience, I find that connection awe-striking and overwhelming. It’s one of my favorite experiences that I sometimes get with other women – that “thank you for understanding me and knowing me and feeling me, and hearing me, and making me feel less alone” in this wonderful, wonderful, world.

“And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.” – Louis Armstrong

“Come on! Buck up! Smiles! Charm! Off we go! We’ll be okay.” – Fleabag

It Was Just a Dream

Two of my children had terrible dreams about me recently, within days of one another, one about the mangling of my limbs and the other one, my unfortunate demise. And my children shared their dreams with me, in vivid detail. I have always championed open, authentic, vulnerable communication within our family. I do not care to have distant, facade-y relationships with the people who I love more than life itself. Still, this is information that took my breath away and made me question whether “at arm’s length” relationships are, perhaps, the safer way to go in life. The nightmare-shares also had me running to Google (as fast as my legs could carry me), trying to find a positive dream translation/slant that resonated enough with me, in order to still my quickened, strongly, beating heart. (Omg! The dreams were a premonition. Heart attack. So this is how it ends . . . )

Actually, I am obviously still alive. And my heart did slow down as I pieced together some dream translations, both from on-line sources and my own innate in-soul sources, and I decided (I’m a good self soother, even if it takes a dose of delusion) that I had figured out why these terrible dreams had come into being. Both of my dreamers, are on the cusp of particularly big, life changes. My son is embarking on the upcoming daunting task of taking the MCAT and applying to medical schools. My daughter is getting more and more proficient at driving as she gets closer and closer to the date when she can take her driving test and earn her driver’s license. My babies are taking larger steps than their usual smaller steps towards more independence and freedom away from our once seemingly unyielding, impenetrable family unit. They have witnessed their other siblings rolling off into their own directions, as well, loosening up our family’s tightly bound ball of string into a more spread, slackened, loosened pile of twine. Further, I think that my children can sense my own loosening, and my allowing for the opening and spreading of wings, for them and for me. My children may sense my own searching for neglected parts of myself. (My husband questioned this part of the dream translation until I reminded him that these children grew in my body – the intimacy that pregnancy creates often allows mothers and children to communicate without words, sometimes for the rest of our lives.) And while all of this unbinding is needed for our each of our own individual growths, and while that doesn’t, at all, mean that we won’t always be deeply connected in some shape or form, the fears of the unknown creep in. And if we don’t face the fears consciously, they show up in our dreams.

In the end, however, some things never change. In my best calming, comforting tones, I reminded my children that everything is alright. I will always Love them, for all of eternity, no matter what. And my darlings, “It was just a dream.”

Live For Moments

“Acting is all about honesty. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.” – George Burns

“When real music comes to me – the music of the spheres, the music that surpasses understanding – that has nothing to do with me, ’cause I’m just the channel. The joy for me is for it to be given to me, and to transcribe it like a medium… those moments are what I live for.”
– John Lennon

Creative arts is all about authenticity, vulnerability, and channeling Greater Forces. That is why we all respond to these artistic outputs, in their highest form. A beautiful painting, a breath-catching photograph, a soul-searing poem, touch us and connect us to the deepest part of ourselves like nothing else can. And then, when we look around and catch a glimmer of that same awestruck feeling that we are feeling, also in the faces of the other observers/experiencers, that’s when we feel the least alone. That is when we feel the silver web of connection that we often forget is there, holding all of us together, creating an amazing, gorgeous tapestry of Life and Love. That’s when gratitude washes over us and cleanses us to our cores, reminding us of what we are all really made of, at our purest form of passionate energy.

My friend turned me on to Lizzo yesterday. Her college-aged daughter introduced her to Lizzo and I earned a lot of “cool mom points” when I picked up my daughter from the high school yesterday, playing Lizzo, at high volume. My daughter knew all of the words already. Lizzo is a female rapper and most of her songs speak of empowerment. Lizzo sings/says a song called “Truth Hurts.” When I looked the song up on Youtube, I saw this comment, about the song, that made me smile:

“this song makes me feel like a strong independent woman.. and i’m a guy.” – Foreign Warren

My favorite line in Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” is this:

“Why men great ’til they gotta be great?”

If we’re going to talk about equality and empowerment, that line applies to all of us – male and female and everything else in between, doesn’t it? We lose the connection and the channel to our deepest, most creative inspirations, when we start focusing on the response to our output versus the joy of creating (an co-creating) the output. When we start aiming in on how many likes and views and notes of approval from others that we’re hoping to get, the connection to what the Universe is really trying to do with our lives, gets static-y and sometimes even gets disconnected. And we feel lost and confused and disappointed and sometimes, empty. We need to be refilled with what really keeps us connected. And the rub is, what keeps us connected is not anything applauding us on the outside, but moreso, what is deep, and profound, rising up inside of us, just wanting to burst through, in all of its glory.

John Lennon is arguably one of the greatest musicians of our lifetime and “those moments are what I live for” were the moments that he was gifted to “transcribe” what the Universe wanted the rest of us to enjoy, and to relate to and to sing along to, sometimes at the top of our lungs. He didn’t talk about sold-out concerts, or how many people were in his fan club, or his NYC penthouse. Lennon’s “live for moments” were during the creative process, with his juices flowing, and his open heart just taking in everything and transcribing the Love that was meant to touch all of our hearts, every time we listened to one of Lennon’s songs.

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Sing Us a Song

Last night, I attended a wonderful concert, in which a 71-year-old musician, an old-time rocker, had us all up on our feet. He was still a great showman, changing costumes, running across the stage and yelling out a primal scream that at my age of 48, I don’t think that I have in me anymore. I imagine that this performer will be a showman until the day that he dies.

I love musicians. If there is anyone who lives their lives on their sleeves, it is them. Anyone who can turn raw emotion into a song that keeps the rest of us humming along in life, is a true alchemist. Watching a band in the middle of a set, is watching pure life and happiness flow out of its human forms to congregate and make beautiful sound and rhythm and harmony, that the rest of us catch and bring into our souls, as we sing and dance along. There is no wonder why musicians capture our awe and adoration. They remind us what pure life sounds like and feels like in reverberation. What a gift that has been bestowed upon them, in the form of a talent that is only best understood when it is shared. Music is Love whispered, shouted, sung, and hummed and strummed, reminding us of the vibration of our own very hearts, way beyond just the physical beats.

“Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination and life to everything.” ― Plato

Cacophony

Yesterday, we were perusing a really cool, modern, city bike shop. While making our purchases, sitting right by the cash register, I noticed a little display, of tiny bike bells, guaranteed to make the loudest, longest ringing sound that a bike bell has ever made. So like any mature middle-aged person, I rang one of the bells. Sure enough, the advertisements were not a lie. There were several different colors of bells on the display, so without really thinking, more on impulse, I guess, I decided to try every color at once (as if the color of the metal was going to make any difference in the sound). It was like a little bell symphony – a loud and annoying and never-ending one.

The clerk had a wincing look on her face and a tight smile as she wrapped up our purchases.

“Ugh. I’m sorry about my lack of impulse control,” I said. “You probably hate these bells. It’s like the stores that keep their animated holiday decorations right by the register. While the rest of us are all kind of enchanted by the bobbing Elvis Christmas dog belting out “I’ll Have a Blue Christmas” with just a press of its cute little paw in a mitten, the cashier is ready to beat anyone black and blue with the mechanical Elvis dog, because she or he has already seen and heard the dog’s little song and dance, 18,942 times and it isn’t even Halloween yet.”

“Exactly,” she said with a fatigued look on her face, watching my hands very closely, just daring me to make the unfortunate decision to ring yet another bell.

I just smiled, thanked her, took my package and left. I’m a mature woman. Plus, I think that being pelted by a box of metal bike bells would be very painful.

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Where is the love, y’all??

“Here’s the thing – I’m friends with George Bush. 

“In fact, I’m friends with a lot of people who don’t share the same beliefs that I have. We’re all different, and I think we’ve forgotten that that’s okay, that we’re all different.”

The presenter used the example that while she wishes people didn’t wear real fur, she has a lot of friends who do.

“But just because I don’t agree with someone on everything, doesn’t mean that I’m not going to be friends with them,” DeGeneres said. 

-From the Ellen Degeneres show, after the fallout of her sitting next to George W. Bush during a football game

You know that I have sidestepped and tried to stay away from controversy, for the most part, in my blog. I don’t like politics (nor politicians, frankly), I believe that there are many paths to God, and I certainly don’t care to have people cram their opinions and “shoulds” down my throat. Further, if I just don’t agree with the other person’s opinion, I don’t care to be made out as an “idiot” or even worse, a “villian.” I respect everyone’s right to their own viewpoint, and I expect the same respect in return. No harm, no foul.

What I was trying to get across in my blog that I wrote on Tuesday (Love. Spirit. Life.) was that if we can’t have honest discourse and questioning with each other about our differences, if we have to feel fearful of admitting our conflicted thoughts and feelings and beliefs, all that have arisen from our own unique and personal experiences – these very experiences that have helped shape our own lifetime perspectives, how are we ever going to evolve and move forward to a more enlightened, cohesive state of being, as a whole? How are we ever going to feel that we are leaving a good world for our children and our grandchildren, when we pick divisiveness and exclusivity in our “clubs of thought” over our love for the whole of humanity?

If I were to only choose to associate with people who felt the exact same way as I do about all things, than I wouldn’t have one single friend. In fact, the six people who I love the most in this world, my immediate family, would no longer be able to associate with each other. In the last presidential election, the voting members of our family of six, effectively cancelled each others’ votes out.

We all complain about the horrifying polarization of our current society (that seems like the one thing most of us agree about), yet we start out with the assumption that anyone who doesn’t see things the way that we do, is evil or stupid – people to be feared and ostracized. How are we ever going to experience empathy, understanding and compromise, if we are made to feel that we can’t even express our own viewpoints for fear of being excommunicated from our communities, our churches, our friend groups, perhaps even our own families?!? What is our highest law? Shouldn’t it be Love?!? Does Love behave this way?!?

We all complain about the horrific statements made anonymously on the internet. Still, even with these forums, we have gotten so “careful” that I have even seen anonymous Comments, start off with, “I’m probably going to be skewered for this, but here goes . . . .”

We will never be entirely unified with anyone about everything. But if we choose to only communicate and commune with people who are close enough to “being just like us”, we will never, ever bridge these ever widening gaps. We will just add more suspicion, paranoia and make assumptions about other people, without ever trying to see them as most importantly, other people who likely have the very same deepest, core concerns as us. (love, safety, health, security, and peace for our families and our friends, our communities, and our world)

I am always amused when people tell me I’m so “honest” in my blog. Why shouldn’t we all be “honest”? I’m not saying cruel, and thoughtless and blunt. (which unfortunately, I have been these things, as well, and I am not proud of that fact) Why do we fear having open, authentic discourse? I think it is because the new way of communicating seems to be more “cram my righteous thoughts, ‘my holier than thou beliefs’ down your throat” and if you don’t agree with me, I will attack you with name-calling, bullying, shaming and ganging up on you, and then I will never speak to you (or anyone who you associate with) again.”

What ever happened to really hearing each other, trying to understand where the other person is coming from? What every happened to saying, “This is how I am seeing and experiencing and processing what is going on. Tell me your thoughts. Where am I wrong? What am I missing?” Whatever happened to the belief that in the end, we are so much better off looking for our connections, than staying in our far corners of disconnect??

I don’t like rants. I just wrote one. I am only human. Aren’t we all???

“Discussions are always better than arguments, because an argument is to find out WHO is right, and a discussion is to find our WHAT is right.” – unknown

Brought Him Back

I’m headed out to see my eldest son’s new digs this weekend for the first time. I am going to see his life in reality, not just how he describes it to me. I have my expectations set correctly. He has always leaned heavily towards the Oscar side of things, versus Felix. I can’t wait to see him, of course, but I also can’t wait to have an accurate visual of him hiking around the neighborhood lake, the placid lake that he always talks about while he talks to us, his short commute to his office building and I can’t wait to see his beloved local grocery store, supposedly filled with fabulous, unique delicacies, the likes that we’ve never seen.

My daughter and I were talking about what it is like to see something or someone in reality, that apparition which you have conjured up in your mind, for a very long time. When I read a good, engrossing novel, before long, I have a very detailed image in my mind, of what the characters look like, and their mannerisms and their voices. When Hollywood gets it “wrong” in the movie version, I just want to scream. Sometimes, I can’t even finish watching the film.

Also interesting are the times that I have seen celebrities, in person. That experience is always a tad disconcerting, too. The celebrities always seem like such teeny people to me. Perhaps, because in our minds, famous people seem so much larger than life, so when we see them in person, they are shockingly normal sized. They are amazingly, just people, and not the exaggerated, dynamos of energy, announcing their presence like The Great Wizard of Oz. The real person part of them is the human wizard who lives behind the curtain, behind the facade of their illustrious acting or singing or sporting personas. When the superstars are not bolstered up, and blown up by the spotlights and the limelight, they shrink back to size, like a puff pastry, taken out of the hot oven, to cool down.

Regardless, while curiosity killed the cat, I’ve always liked the part of the proverb that reminds us that “satisfaction brought him back.” I love having my curiosity satisfied. It is one of my greatest pleasures in life. Even if whatever I have been anticipating disappoints or is 180 degrees different than what I have been anticipating, at least I am now, “in the know.” There is no nebulous about that particular person, place or thing, swirling around in my mind, lost in wonder and fog and exaggeration. The hazy, imagined concept, constantly being stirred and conjured and changed up in my imagination, finally solidifies to form to a concrete vision – a hard chunk of reality, and my life and my visions and my sensibility feels more solid again. I’ve got my feet on the ground again, and the comfort of the accuracy of my experience versus the ambiguity of an idea with no true, real physical form, has the tendency to give my soul some solace and my mind some peace.

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Jumping to Conclusions

If you really want to test how positive or optimistic a person that you really are, watch your reaction to someone, who you love, not texting you back quickly, or not showing up immediately to a planned get-together.

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My friends and I had a hilarious discussion about our overreactions to everything. I have very smart, creative, imaginative friends, but like all things, being smart and creative and imaginative, can be a blessing and a curse. A friend of ours was meeting a mutual friend, but when she showed up, the friend wasn’t there. She texted the rest of us and said that the friend wasn’t responding to texts or calls. We all started reassuring our friend for about three minutes, but then the texting wildly veered into questions of car accidents, heart attacks, amnesia, early onset Alzheimer’s, passive-aggressive behavior from someone who secretly doesn’t like you, etc. etc. . . . . Turns out, a few minutes later, there was a text back to my friend and it was all just a very explainable miscommunication. Yawn.

Why do we go to over-reactions so often? Any time that I lose something and I can’t find it, before you know it, I am convinced that a very stealthy, clever robber (who probably lives in my attic) has stolen it. It never fails, I find the nail clippers or the pizza cutter, soon after my mind goes to crazy-land. In this particular situation, I know why I over-react. I’ve conditioned myself to believe that when I start blaming other people (real or fictitious) for my own foibles, the Universe will send me a lesson. I’ll find my object (yay!), but I will have the right dose of guilt and shame to punish myself for believing that someone is out to harm me. It’s a lesson that I’ve never fully learned and digested, because I do it to myself, again and again and again.

I wonder if we over-react for the adrenaline rush – the excitement, the flush the that comes to our cheeks, with our hearts pounding. I wonder if we do it to ourselves, because our otherwise normal, day-to-day life seems somewhat routine, dull, and boring. If we over-react, our lives are seemingly filled with mystery, intrigue and diabolical characters, just like the movies.

I always feel stupid and annoyed with myself when I realized I pushed my own panic button. I preach to myself (and to others, if I am honest) to stay in the moment, live in the now, deal with things as they come, but actions speak louder than word, right? I am also annoyed with how my mind always goes to the worst case scenario. Maybe, as a self-professed optimist, I need to take baby steps. I’ll allow myself to still over-think, and to over-hypothesize, but this creative over-reaction must always lean to the positive.

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Shiitake on Gossip

On the way to school this morning, my daughter and I were discussing one of her classes that bores her to tears. She said, “You know, Mom, I just don’t give a shiitake mushroom about it.” That got us into a fit of giggling. I think that captures the Monday morning sentiment for most of us. My husband wondered aloud this morning, “I wonder how many people consider Monday their favorite day of the week.” We all agreed that these people would have to be very rare birds. (or mushrooms)

As you know, I am not above perusing gossip columns. (at least I own it) I check out Perez Hilton, radaronline, TMZ, etc. once in a blue moon, or if I am honest, once in a moon of any shape, size or color. I look at these websites to stay light and bemused (and probably to scoff in a tone of superiority – “Why are these people so famous? This is ridiculous” and then I say to myself, “Well, it could be because even middle-aged people like you, who can’t put a name to most of these young celebrities, read these stupid columns for ?!fun?!”). I, of course, go into my reading of the gossip, with a cynical mindset. My shadow side likes to read the Comments to the gossip the best, for the snarky, witty amusements. I, of course, never expect to glean any wise insights from these Comments which more often than not, take any stupid Hollywood gossip straight to the dark, divided road of political and racial issues. So, anyway, imagine my surprise when I actually found the need to write a Comment to a gossip story down in my special, precious wisdom notebook, to ponder myself, and to share with you, my friends and readers.

The story in question which I was perusing this weekend, was gossip about Justin Bieber’s and Hailey Baldwin’s upcoming nuptials. Now I, like a lot of the world, thought that these two were already married, but honestly, I don’t care enough to find out the true backstory. (as if finding out a true story about anything is actually even possible these days – it’s funny to me, that at a day and age of information onslaught, when nothing is seemingly secret or sacred, we know less truth about anything than ever before, but that’s for another blog) The Comments section about this Buzzfeed story, was abuzz with wiseacres putting bets on to whether this relationship would last more than two years. Some romantics really like these two celebrities, and were hoping that the Baldwin/Bieber marriage would last “forever.” Here’s where the wisdom popped out of the Comments section, like a huge gold nugget, in a gold pan otherwise filled with useless silt (or shiitakes gone bad). It was written by the sage user named “violinfemmes” (no “t” on purpose, I guess) Violinfemmes wrote:

“A word to the wise: When you focus on forever, you forget about now, and in a marriage, when you forget about now, you lose your chance at forever.”

Damn. I should ask violinfemmes to be my guest blogger. I believe that this astutely written wisdom, applies not only just to marriage, but to life in general. Damn. Do you know what I took from this experience? I am proud that I take the time to read the gossip. It is like panning for gold, and deeply challenging panning, at that. You know, in the end, I guess that I give a shiitake mushroom about what’s happening in this crazy world around us. Shiitake can be very appetizing and satisfying to devour. Frankly, I’ve always been the weirdo who loves mushrooms.

Not So Dull

When you have a rough start to your week, when everything feels a little bit off the track, getting back to the mundane, “dull” routine, feels wonderful. Laundry, sorting mail, dusting shelves, watering plants, driving to tennis lessons, walking the dogs, planning meals – all of these things are actually a delicious relief and activities to look forward to doing and to completing. When I am emotional, I tend to want to chuck it all, bring it all back to ground zero, quitting everything extraneous and just cling to the basic necessities. That says something about the “necessities” right? Despite considering myself a spontaneous person, I love the structure of my life. I love to scratch things off of my to-do list. Perhaps that is the main point of life’s little emergencies. Perhaps they are nothing more than reminders that the ordinary days are not as banal, and meaningless and non-stimulating as they feel sometimes.

I’ve mentioned before that my new TV addiction is Outlander. In almost every episode, the major characters face huge, yet unique “life versus death” obstacles, suffer major injustices and devastating losses; they go through and yet prevail from serious abuses of power, and at the end of it all, they still manage to look gorgeous and to celebrate with a delicious romp in the bed with each other, making all the right moves and saying all the right words to each other, after experiencing more troubles in just one episode, than anyone in real life, can expect to face in one lifetime. Why do I like the show so much? You would think it would bring up serious questions of my inadequacy. Or maybe getting lost in the fantasy of it all is part of my delicious, conventional, everyday routine? I’m not sure. But for the rest of this week, I am sure that vicarious thrills are quite enough.

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