All You Need is....

There is a superstition I have on road trips of making a wish when I cross over a state line.  For added measure, I will also kiss my hand and tap the ceiling of the car.  I am not entirely sure where this superstition came from, maybe from watching a friend or family member do something similar, but it is something that my daughter now does too.  I cannot speak to her wish, but mine is always the same: “Health, Wealth, Happiness, Love.” 

Lest you worry that these things won’t come true if I share this wish with you, don’t.  After all, they haven’t yet.  But as we are in a period of reflection at the start of a new year, maybe this is the perfect time to re-evaluate this wish. 

HEALTH

Although I have managed thus far to stave off any major illnesses or injuries, there is a certain level of physical and mental disintegration that I have endured within this last year (and by year, I really mean decade).  Anxiety, depression, physical and mental exhaustion…these are my normal states of being now—so much so that I find it difficult to even sit and write. I need to recharge my battery, fill my cup, whatever it is that will help.  And I have no idea what will help.  It’s certainly not the hormonal imbalances that have started to affect this “woman of a certain age”. 

WEALTH

We've heard it said that “money is the root of all evil”…but not having it doesn’t bode well either.  I will tell you something that not many people know:  I have never been so effing broke in my entire life.  Perhaps it just seems that way because I am working multiple (low-paying) jobs, the creditors (and bankruptcy) are hounding me, rent has doubled in the last three years and I am a single mom to a teenaged daughter.  Due to unfortunate circumstances, what was supposed to be a second job, has become the first job.  Ain’t no one can live on minimum wage, my friend.  Yes, I traveled to England this past August, but was only able to do so because my ex gave me airline miles to go pick my daughter up from camp (which he also paid for) and an angel of a friend let us stay with her.  In reality, I only had $700 at the time, garnered from the meager tips I’d collected for months of working as a barista at Starbucks…and I was stressed out the entire trip that I wouldn’t have enough to make it back home.

HAPPINESS

Not gonna lie…working as a barista is the worst job I’ve ever had.  Oh, I suppose the job itself is fine, but I have never seen such awful, entitled people in my entire life (and I’ve worked A LOT of customer service jobs).  It’s like dealing with a bunch of toddlers who have been deprived of snacks and naps. 

But there is one advantage to working at Starbucks:  tuition reimbursement.  Even with all of the school I’ve attended, I’d never completed my bachelor’s degree (just an associate degree).  Strangely, I really love going to school and this job will help pay for it.  If I can just keep it together for a little while longer, I will have a nice shiny degree to show for it.  Not sure why I need this degree so much, other than knowing I can allegedly get a higher paying job because of it.  If nothing else, hey, I love going to school.  Lol. 

LOVE

Um…I got nothing.  OK, not nothing.  I theoretically have my daughter, friends, and family.  But I also have an overwhelming sense of loneliness—which probably explains all of those online streaming services (like Netflix, not porn, people), my two cats (crazy cat lady here I come!) and the cocoon-like piles of laundry on my bed (who needs a boyfriend pillow or a weighted blanket?  Not me!).  Most of my close friends are married or in committed relationships so I rarely see them.  Instead, I’ve resorted to crawling into my hobbit hole rather than seeking out companionship (romantic or otherwise) because it’s, well, easier.  The older I get, the more I understand that I am no longer an extrovert.  I don’t prefer to be around people—especially after slinging coffee for the assholes of the world.  It also becomes harder and harder for me to reach out to others for fear that I am bothering them.  I am exhausted by trying to live my best life and not feeling that I have the resources to do so.

Le big sigh. 

So, where does that leave me for 2020?  Finding a new wish?  Not taking any more road trips.  No, of course not.  But perhaps the way to achieving what I want isn’t just in wishing for these four things for myself, but for others as well.  I resolve, therefore, to endeavor to spread the positivity this year. 

May you find Health, Wealth, Happiness and Love, fellow humans.  Don’t forget to spread it around.

Until next time, my Lovelies….

On the Eighth Day of Christmas...

ON THE EIGHTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It’s the first day of 2019 and my Facebook feed is (not surprisingly) filled with reflections of the past year.  So many people hoping for a better year than the last.  

The realist in me, however, wonders whether we aren’t putting too much pressure on ourselves—and on the end of the year.  Although it is a convenient, seemingly monumental changing of the date, there really is no reason to wait for the rollover of the year.  Change can happen any day. 

I am a big proponent of making change happen.  Although there is always the question of whether certain things are meant to happen (i.e. destiny), I still like to believe that we have control over our futures.  Even amidst the chaos in which we sometimes find ourselves, we can still better our lives and our situations.  Maybe we have to wait a little longer to see the results, but don’t we at least have to try?

That’s not to say I haven’t been struck down mid-stride with what seems like a pile of shitty situations.  Of course I have.  If I know one thing about myself, however, it’s I am a fighter.  I know I’ve survived before.  I will do so again.  And yes, I am writing that as a reminder to myself as well. 

And so, here we are at the start of the New Year.  Although the pragmatist knows there may be rough times ahead, the optimist knows we will all get through whatever is thrown our way.  She also wishes everyone the best as they strive for what they deem as “better”.  We’ll be OK, my darlings. 

Until Next Time, Lovelies…

On the Sixth Day of Christmas....

ON THE SIXTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...AN APOLOGY

I’ve recently been dealing with the potential loss of a close friend.  The details of our row are not important, but suffice it to say he had not acted in accordance to what I consider the number one rule of human interaction of “Don’t be a Dick.”  I felt like my patience and resources had been used and abused.  Although he claimed to love (platonically) and respect me, I felt neither of those things.  Better to rid oneself of the head and heart ache by severing ties with a “friend” like that.  I was absolutely prepared to walk away from the friendship.  

And so I began, unbeknownst to him, of course, the process of dealing with the emotional wreckage.  I distanced myself from him, unfollowing him on Facebook and maintaining radio silence.  I only succumbed to the occasional sobbing-in-the-shower jag.  I was doing fine.

I really only "had my mad on" for a few days, when, lo and behold, he sought me out, wanting to allegedly apologize and to make amends.  At first, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet with him and was, in fact, even cautioned against it by some of my other friends.  I do try, however, to give people the benefit of the doubt...and, hell yeah, I felt I did deserve an apology.  I acquiesced and we met for coffee.

In the tearful, exhausting hour and a half that followed, he did indeed apologize.  Not just the casual, reactionary  and innocuous maybe-not-really sorry type of apology either (Oh, you know the ones I mean…like, “I’m sorry you’re mad” or “I’m sorry we’re fighting” or, worse, “I’m sorry for the outcome of my actions, but not really the actions themselves.”).  No, this was a genuine, heartfelt apology with an actual, coherent grasp both of the situation and my feelings.  Honestly, it was the only thing that would have worked to repair.  OK, maybe a little John Cusack with a boombox action would have too...although I don't know of any songs for healing a friendship that wouldn't come off as too romantic.  Ha ha. 

And while it is the ensuing actions that will determine the course of our friendship in the future, for now, I can only hope that we are on the mend—and that our friendship will indeed be stronger for it.  I will try, therefore, to keep both my heart and mind open enough to allow the healing to continue.  A girl needs all the friends she can get sometimes. 

Until next time, Lovelies…. 

On the Third Day of Christmas....

ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS, MY TRUE LOVE GAVE TO ME...HARD CANDY CHRISTMAS.

On Christmas Day I was listening to a “Throwback Thursday” Christmas list on Spotify.  Not really a fan of most traditional holiday music, I tend to be drawn more to updated remakes or quirky, original songs (like “Christmas Wrapping” by the Waitresses, my absolute favorite Holiday song).  On this list happened to be a song I don’t remember hearing before called “Hard Candy Christmas” by Dolly Parton. 

Sweet and winsome, the song was originally written by Carol Hall for the stage musical The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (the movie version of which also spawned a second hit with “I Will Always Love You”.  Yes, that song also popularized by Whitney Houston.).   About a group of girls leaving their working home to go into the world, “Hard Candy Christmas” relates to those who are down on their luck trying to overcome the hard times.  Sometimes criticized for being “not really a Christmas song”, the song is nevertheless a beautiful song of hope as the girls discuss what their lives will bring.  “Hard Candy Christmas” also speaks to the idea that even if the gifts and opportunities we have in life are meager, there can still be joy.

OK, not going to lie, when I heard this song I started to cry.  While the version I heard was by Dolly Parton (without the other girls from the show singing), it has also been covered by Cyndi Lauper, June Carter Cash, LeAnn Rhimes, Reba McEntire and even RuPaul.  It struck me, as some songs often do, right to the core.  It’s wasn’t just the vocals by the incomparable Dolly, but the feeling instilled into the lyrics—and the feelings those same lyrics brought up in me.  In that first hearing I realized how much that song really summed up this year.  Shit, it’s summed up every year since my divorce.  I have (still) been working so hard to just get by, that I have been in perpetual survivor mode for almost a decade now.  I’ve made changes, both large and small, but still I keep on keepin’ on, my little brave face presented to the world. 

It’s funny, one of my boss’s clients at the salon recently said to me, “Wow, you just smile all the time, don’t you?”  I suppose this was true once, but instead I (laughingly, mind you) responded, “Sure, until I go home and sob in my shower.”  I did not go into the fact that some days I am barely holding my shit together, because why would I?  I’ve never believed that others need to be subjected to my bad mood (unless of course they took part in creating that bad mood).  Often only those closest to me will even pick up on anything being wrong until I speak up.  So, yes, I smile all the time.  Thank you for noticing.  I work hard at it. 

Which may be true for most of us—and may well serve as a reminder to us all to be a bit kinder to each other.  We never really know what another person is going through, do we? 

As for me, though:

I'll be fine and dandy
Lord it's like a hard candy Christmas
I'm barely getting through tomorrow
But still I won't let
Sorrow bring me way down

'Cause I'll be fine
(I'll be fine)
Oh, I'll be fine

Until next time, Lovelies….

The Perils of Adulthood

(OR:  It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets Bashed in the Eye)

I used to be fearless.  Sometime in the last few years, however, I realized this wasn’t the case anymore.  Perhaps fear set in because of garnered experience or from knowing too much about the dangers of this world—or because I have my own child and therefore must think about my mortality as it would affect her.  Whatever the reason, I think this fearlessness is what I miss most about my childhood. 

In 2010, I went to France with my now ex-husband.  We were on a tour of a quaint little church/clock tower in Northern France.  Part of the tour included a walk around the outside of the steeple, allowing a 360-degree view of the city below.  Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me, but as we made our way around the very narrow walkway, separated from certain death by only a chest high glass partition (I’m 5’2”), the wind whipping violently past, I discovered my very real fear of heights.  I shamefully admit that I freaked out.  Clutching the side of the building in terror, I scuttled sideways like a crab, my heart thudding and my breathing shallow, barely making it back inside to safety.  I couldn’t even fully enjoy the glorious view. 

I honestly don’t know where this fear of heights came from.  I’d been dealing with some bouts of vertigo (perhaps brought on by and preventing further skating of roller derby), but had never quite experienced the panic I’d had that afternoon. 

I have since challenged this fear of heights multiple times in the last few years:  exploring the rain-soaked Cliffs of Moher, kissing the Blarney Stone (which one must hang both backward and upside down to reach), zip-lining, a trapeze lesson…

Each time, I experienced heart-pounding terror, self-doubt and a tarnished self-image.  In most cases, however, I managed to escape without physical injury. 

Until an obstacle course at a trampoline park recently got the better of me. 

Let me set the scene:  I was at my daughter’s twelfth birthday party.  Already awkward because I do not particularly care to be in the same room as the ex-husband, I am also not overly fond of bounce houses or trampolines (due to an ill-fated special event in which I got trapped in one while dressed as a chipmunk…but that’s a story for another time).  In an effort to join in on the festivities, I decided I would attempt the obstacle course.  Because it was positioned along the ceiling, all the obstacles were to be completed over an open net (under which the other patrons and the employees could walk). 

I will spare you most of the details, but suffice it to say, I only made it a quarter of the way through.  After climbing between platforms almost too far apart for my stubby legs, balancing on a tightrope and moving across a staggered, moving balance beam, I was faced with four Wooden Swings of Doom.  Made up of large square posts (8” x 8” and about 5’ long I think?) fastened to the ceiling with large eye screws, the swings had wooden pegs as footholds.  The goal was to clutch onto the post (think monkey style) and swing to the next, using the footholds for balance.  Already panicked from the height, I could not figure out how to get past this part of the course.  I watched as countless kids (including my daughter) did it, but I just couldn’t get my body to do what it needed to do.  Finally, I pulled the post toward me and grabbed on.  As I was reaching for the second post, however, I fell into the net below—at which point the post swung back and bashed me in the face, right above my brow. 

I could feel the goose egg forming immediately.  Lying face down in the net, sobbing, I saw my daughter walking under me.  I called out to her, telling her that I had fallen and that I needed some ice.  She (in her typical 12-year-old way) argued with me about where to get the ice.  I told her, “I don’t care where you get it.  Just get me some ice.”

I then had to figure out how to get out of the obstacle course.  Because it was suspended from the ceiling, there was no way out except to complete the course or to go back.  There was no way in hell I was completing it.  With my eyebrow swollen and tears streaming down my face, I had to go back to the beginning, still terrified and now injured.  I made it to the start (joking with the people I passed, “Watch out for the swings.  They’re doozies!”), where my daughter was waiting with the ice.

I spent the rest of the birthday party sitting at the table with an ice pack on my head.  My eye didn’t start to blacken until later that night.  I hadn’t had a black eye since I was six years old (obtained from an equally clumsy incident with playground equipment), not even while playing roller derby.    

Sadly, my lack of physical prowess and ability to participate in birthday parties are not the only indications that I am no longer fearless.  As I sat bemoaning my idiocy, I started thinking about how fear has affected me.  Often plagued with indecision, it is much harder for me to jump into anything without worrying it to death. I sometimes find it difficult to plan, because my brain immediately goes to several contingency plans—even though they rarely work out.  I am frequently exhausted before I even begin anything.  Although I try to trust that everything will be as it is “should”, I also know that my failures, emotional and otherwise, are often more difficult to handle.  It takes me longer to heal.  I am not as resilient.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t keep trying.  I am nothing, if not stubborn.  Although I doubt I’ll be back on that obstacle course any time soon.  I’ve already told my daughter her next birthday party is going to be a tea party.  Unless I suddenly develop an aversion to cucumber sandwiches and teacups, that is.  Ha ha. 

Until next time, my Lovelies….