This feels like the story of my life, lately. The mystery of why I came into the kitchen (well, I might as well get a snack, while I’m in here) . . . . why am I looking at my calendar? Am I sure that I even wrote on my calendar, whatever it is that I am searching for? . . . . Oh no! Something smells mildew-y. I forgot to put the clothes in the dryer! . . . . Where are my glasses and phone? Oh, they’re on top of my head and next to my ear (frightening true story) . . . Did I already take my vitamins? . . .
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I am writing this on the pre-night of a serious competitive sporting event for my only daughter. I have a love/hate relationship with these kinds of events. Why do I have this twisted relationship with my kids’ sporting events, you ask? First of all, I personally stink at all activities that require any kind of coordination, so I have so much pride in having remarkably athletic children (that’s the love part), and secondly, I detest the person whom I become at these venues (that’s the hate part). “Sports Mom” is not a good look on me. And I detest all of the other parents at these affairs, because their behavior amplified, makes me reflect on the worst part of my own self. “Sports Mom Multiplied” is not a good look on any of us. The kids, on the other hand, are great. They are fun. They roll with the “ups and downs”, and they just enjoy the actions of doing their sport. However, usually, the rest of us “adults” decide that these events are for us to showcase our worst possible demons and traits, and to make the deeply flawed mistake of trying to live vicariously through our children. Today, I will do my best to “cheer quietly from my heart”, as my daughter, directly and enthusiastically requested from me. Today, I will try to keep things in perspective, and I will try to keep my ego in check. This will be a much more challenging task, than trying to physically win a States championship, or anything like that. I hope to prevail. My daughter hopes that I prevail, too. She’s rooting for me.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I recently read this quote attributed to Jon Sinclair: “Failure is a bruise, not a tattoo.” Whether you get the job at Phil’s Phine Dining or not, you are headed to your ultimate destination. In fact, scratch that, you are already living your destination: You are living the adventure of being a Hostess Cupcake. That’s it. That’s the goal. And you are doing just fine at it! If you don’t get this particular job, it may sting a little. The rejection may take a little bite out of you, but there will be many other jobs along the way. And you will look back at your beginning years so tenderly and fondly and compassionately. You will be so proud of each step of your journey. It will all make sense to you in the end (and sometimes even in lucent moments along the way), Cupcake. Trust that. Trust the journey. Always just be your delicious, truest, sweetest self, and know that everything is going to be okay. Everything is okay. Look inward. The best part of you is inside of you, Cupcake. It’s pure and clean and lovely, and all of the other Cupcakes have the same sweet inners, too. It’s easy to forget that fact with all the fancy icing we use to cover up the insides, but in the inside, we are all just sweet, mushy, fluffy love trying out this adventure called Life. Enjoy the ride, Cupcake!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
A friend and I were watching a girl on our tennis team play an opponent from another school.
“Damn, she’s such a five,” my friend said to me.
“What do you mean, “she’s a five”? I asked.
“She’s so even keel and unflappable, ” my friend said.
“Yeah, you’re right she doesn’t play emotionally. She keeps her composure. She never gets “too high with the highs, and too low with the lows”, I said.
“Exactly,” my friend said. “I’m Italian and I’m menopausal. I’m not a five. At all.”
“I’m not Italian and yet I’ve never been a five,” I said. “I’m a five until something sets me off, and then I go from five to ten in nanoseconds,” I said, not so proudly.
We watched the “five” girl, play her match. Her matches tend to be long and close, but she almost always wins them. She never tries too many fancy shots. She remains steady and even and reliable and determined and polite and kind and pleasant. She just stays focused on winning each point. Nothing seems to phase her.
When Five (I’ll call her that for now on) got off the court, I congratulated her on her long, hard-earned win and I relayed what my friend and I noticed about Five. “Is that your natural state? Do you have to work on being so calm, cool and collected? Are you always so self-possessed?” I peppered her with questions. I, a middle-aged Five-to-Ten-Rocket, was trying to learn skills from a young adult solid, locked-in Five.
“I think that’s just how I am. I don’t see the point in getting upset about anything,” Five answered. Then she smiled at me sweetly and handed me a Snickers bar.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
This is my little Worry, Trouble doll. Don’t worry, she’s not in this terrible, tragic state of being because of trying to deal with all of my worries. I don’t have any more worries than anybody else. Plus, I have been working really hard at practicing what I preach – in short, “Don’t worry, be happy.” She used to have this adorable, colorful outfit with a headdress to match. That disappeared somewhere, never to be seen again, when I found her in the jaws of death, i.e. the mouth of our adolescent Boykin spaniel, named Trip. Imagine having the job of taking on other people’s worries, while fighting for every inch of your own life in the stinking, steamy mouth of an energetic, stubborn, enthusiastic chewer of a dog. Thankfully, Trip has a soft mouth, which most sporting breeds do, thus my darling little trouble doll, still wears that easy-going, calm, placid and serene expression on her darling little face. I didn’t have the heart to pitch her. If anything, her new crumbling state-of-being helps me to keep perspective, now, even more than ever. Any time that I take a new worry or concern to the worry doll, she doesn’t have to say the words. I look at her, and inevitably, my worry pales in comparison to the ordeal that she has been through. “Oh trouble doll, I’m worried about picking out some paint colors. There are just sooooo many greys to choose from! The horror of it all!!” She just gives me that look on her face. And it says it all:
What I think the Trouble/Worry doll’s expression is saying, “You know, dear, no worry is too small to give to me, and I’ll be sure your worries get to the Highest Authority who can do something about them, but really? REALLY? REALLY?!?!?! Can you please get a grip, girl?!? Can you step outside of your own 800 pairs of shoes, just for once, and imagine what it feels like to be Worry/Trouble doll?! Everybody dumps their daily dismal dialog on to you, and then afterwards, is otherwise careless with your own life, to the point that a Godzilla type creature lurks around, not caring to use your for the purpose for which you are intended, because let’s face it, Boykin spaniels don’t worry about jack sh$t. And honestly, being chewed up by Trip wasn’t nearly as bad as watching you let your stomach be all tied up in knots for endless hours, over many situations that almost always magically and easily worked themselves out when you really, finally and completely, let them go.”
Moral of the story: Don’t be a Trouble/ Worry Doll. It’s an awful gig. You’ll end up chewed up and spit out. Don’t let dramatic people dump all of their “problems” on to you. Trust that the Highest Authorities “got this” for all of us, and get on with your day. That’s what Boykin spaniels do, and their tails are always wagging.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Friends, it is with a heavy heart that I am announcing that this will be my last blog post. I have written a blog post for practically every single day since my eldest son officially left our family’s nest to start out in his “real” adult life in 2018. We have gone through so much together, my readers, and you have been with me every step of the way. I love you with all of my heart. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your support, and your validation. You have added so much meaning to my life and as much as I try, I do not have the words to fully convey the significance that this blog, and my readers hold in my life. Adulting – Second Half gives me a sense of purpose. It helps me to better understand myself, and others, while I am going through this very transitional stage of my life. The blog, in many ways, has been a lifesaver for me, in the sense of helping me to get back to “myself”, instead of just getting all of my identity from my various roles that I hold and I “play” in my life. I hope that you all have “a blog” in your lives, if not a literal blog, than a figurative one, which speaks to the deepest part of your being and to your most creative force. In some ways, I consider this blog to be one of my babies. And anyone who knows me well, knows how fiercely I love my babies.
Why is this my last blog post, you ask? Because it is April 1st. And in the words of Ashton Kutcher, you have just been “punk’d.” Do you honestly think that I would give up this blog and you, and everything which I just explained that it all means to me, without a major fight??? I’m a fire sign and my fire burns brightly. You aren’t getting rid of me anytime soon. Other than the part about today being my last blog post, everything else that I wrote about you, and about my blog, was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God. I adore Adulting -SecondHalf and I adore you. Happy April Fools Day! Don’t be angry. Just groan and giggle. See you tomorrow.
So, I’ve been banished from my house today. I am writing this from a coffee spot. We are having some drywall work done in my home today, and I suppose I am somewhat of a pistol on days when my house is crawling with strangers. My husband and my daughter have been doing work/school from home since this time last year, and more than a few times I have cried from my victim chair that I don’t get any “alone time” anymore. Well, today they kicked me out. Okay, it was more like an insistent coax or a persistent, strong nudge, but clearly, together they decided that things would be more peaceful at the house today, without me whirling around like a stressball, sighing and complaining, wringing my hands, huffing and puffing, and working up my sensitive trio of dogs, like a frenzied entourage, behind me. I own my eccentricities. I get it. I’m getting what I asked for; I get alone time all day today. And honestly, it’s kind of delicious. I’ve missed me. It’s kind of nice to get reacquainted with me. And I hope to bring the refreshed, grateful, more centered and peaceful version of me, back home to my loving family. Sometimes my family knows what is best for me, even before I realize what I truly need. That’s called love.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
+ I have seen “Not all those who wander are lost” before, but I had never seen the whole verse, nor did I realize that it was written by J.R.R. Tolkien. I love it. I love all of it. I am a bit of a wanderer. I get bored easily. All this being shut in, is starting to make me want to burst. I sat next to the most colorful character at the nail salon the other day. We were all wearing masks of course, but this woman was also wearing a big, elaborate, flamboyant orange hat and her loyal, chubby little dachshund sat at her side, as still as a statue. Apparently, she had ties to Hollywood and whether true or not, her stories were entertaining and enthralling. I have often dubbed myself, “freak magnet,” which is not very nice of me at all. Honestly, I love the “freaks” in the world. I’m probably kind of freaky. I think we all have some “freak” in us, and the freer ones among us, let it fly. People tend to open up to me and tell me their fascinating, intimate stories, and I love it. The other day at the salon, I realized how much I miss that element of my life. Like the flowers starting to bloom, my fascinating encounters with interesting strangers are soon coming back into play as more and more of us get vaccinated, this I hope. Hope springs eternal.
+My word of the day from Word Genius was “amuse-gueule” which means, “a small savory item of food served as an appetizer before a meal.” It struck me that this is the first time I have seen “savory” used in a positive way, in a long, long time. Usually it’s used in an emphasized negative form – “He’s such an unsavory character,” or “That’s not a savory place to go.” It must really suck to be a positive word, always used in a negative way. Savory is going, “Geesh, I’m supposed to mean delicious, and scrumptious. Let’s keep it positive, guys!” (See, I told you that I’m kind of freaky. Words don’t really talk.)
+I took a little Ted talk lesson this morning on “The Dunning-Krueger effect”. That’ll bring you down to earth, real fast. The Dunning-Krueger effect speaks to the idea that most of us think we are better at most things, than any of us really are, at doing anything. In short, all of us think that we are above average humans, which is statistically impossible. Apparently, we are all amazing drivers on the road. HA! The supposed remedy to this damn humbling rule of humanity is 1.) Keep learning and 2.) Be willing to ask for, and to consider constructive criticism. Oh, fun. HA! On this note, I have a new favorite phone game which I will tell you about on Favorite Things Friday. It is called Redecor. I love the game, in an obsessive, stalky way, but like a friend full of brutal candor, Redecor has helped me to discover that “The Dunning-Krueger effect”, is indeed a real thing. A couple of 9th places out of 10, will do that to you.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
These are called Pup-Cakes. They are almost too cute to eat. But on a Monday, these wouldn’t last until my second cup of morning coffee.
Speaking of food, I saw this on a sign the other day:
“Be soul food, not eye candy.”
I think it is okay to be both, but soul food is the preference. Soul food is much more nourishing. I’m wishing for all of us, the best Monday that we have ever had in our lives. (I’m setting the bar low.) See you tomorrow!
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
This couldn’t be more apropos to where I live right now. My neighbors drove by the other day and I thought they got a new car. I was wrong; the pollen made their black car look grey.
When I first moved to Florida and I ended up at the doctor’s office every two months for sinus infections, my doctor told me that I live in one of the two worst states for allergies. Hawaii and Florida are the worst states for allergies because something is blooming, all of the time, all year long. She also mentioned that by driving a convertible, it was like I was driving in a giant vacuum cleaner, sucking up all the pollen as I drive along. (I decided that the inconvenience of sneezing and wheezing was worth the freedom of toplessness.)
There are few things more embarrassing than having an allergy attack during this pandemic. I feel like wearing a sign saying, “Chill. It’s allergies!” I watched this poor woman struggling in the grocery store the other day. She was sneezing and sneezing and sneezing, right into her mask. Blech! Poor thing.
Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
