Stuff About Life – Written from Somewhere Around its Midpoint

So I haven’t written here in well over a year. I can’t really say why – mostly I just didn’t have anything coherent to talk about. I have thirty-leven half-written posts that I would go back to finish a day or two after I started, and I’d be all, “Duuude. NO. That’s a journal entry, not a blog post. You do NOT want to share that.” Which means they’re REALLY incoherent, because anyone who’s ever read any of my stuff knows I’ll share just about anything.

Anyway. That probably tells you everything you need to know about the past year.

The last time I posted a blog, I was fixing to turn 45. Now I’m 46. That’s right – I’m 46. I blew right by #halfwayto90. There are some funny things about getting well into midlife.

I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I’ve aged like a fine wine. Changed? Oh, hell yes – in more ways than I can count. Matured? Meh. Probably somewhat, but it’s not like I’ve reached some sort of nirvana. Mostly I’m just happy if everybody makes it to the end of the day having brushed their teeth, eaten a little something, and gotten to all the places they needed to be.  But I’ve learned a few things about myself, about others, and about the world in general, some of which I manage to put into practice and some I just kind of goggle at. If I’m gonna come out of blogging semi-retirement, I might as well start with that – a very random, freewritten list of flotsam, with a little bit of jetsam mixed in.

• Everybody has a story. EVERYBODY. I used to think I had the most tragic, terrible story out of everyone I know. I don’t, not by a long, long shot. I have a public story. I have a sad story. I have a story that comes out pretty early after meeting new people, unless I want to flat out lie, and it’s a conversation stopper, at least around here. But the saddest? Not even. The hardest? Nope. And how incredibly self-centered I was for so many years to see it that way. So many people have a story that, if you take the time to listen when they’re ready to tell it, will knock you to your knees. If you don’t have a story yet, you’re a walking miracle. And you will. Give it time. Within and orbiting all around that story are usually hundreds more stories, many of which appear unrelated, but at their core mostly tie back to some part of the original story. Our stories are a big part of what shapes us, for better and for worse. Notice I said AND, not OR. That’s important.
• The most precious person in the world is the one who will hear your story and not judge you for it. They’ll let you go back to it as often as you need to, and they’ll pull you out of your story when they sense it’s not a good place for you to be right then, and they will never, ever shame you for needing to talk about it AGAIN. One of the saddest things in the universe is a story that never gets told – and the saddest people are the ones who never find anyone they feel safe telling their story to.
• It’s a very odd feeling to hug a child you gave birth to and realize the top of your head hits her chin. In fact, she loves to rest her chin on your head, just to remind you that she towers over you. It’s an even odder feeling to observe boys eyeing that child up when she walks around the pool in her (carefully vetted by her mother) bikini. I’ll just be over here in the corner, rocking back and forth while I suck my thumb.
• Between my daughters and their friends and the slightly older girls I work with, I’m around a lot of teenage girls. They tell me things sometimes. I listen hard. If you have one of your own, get clear on this: her world is not ours. The level of stress they operate under, their awareness of themselves and the world around them, how they process the constant influx of information they’re subjected to, the way they think and talk – girls who grew up in the 80s and 90s can’t even comprehend. I ache for them sometimes. But here’s the good news: the world isn’t really going to hell in a handbasket. There are some pretty amazing kids right here in front of us, and they’re watching our mistakes and our victories. They will change everything someday. I don’t know many boys, but I have faith in them too.
• Social media is one of the most incredibly mixed blessings ever invented. Never has there been a more useful tool for pulling people together and tearing them apart. I can’t count the affairs that have started, the marriages that have ended, the private family struggles that became nastily public, the envy fostered, the emotional complexes created – all by a freaking façade. Because it’s fake. It’s all fake. Yet most of us – me included – contribute our portion of the façade, and continue to believe everyone else leads the perfect life with a husband who sends flowers just because, kids who never, ever wear their best clothes on the dirty trampoline, a beautiful, CLEAN house with white walls and furniture that somehow stay that way (probably because of the perfect husband and kids – you know they mop too), dinner at Jeff Ruby’s with everyone but me, vacations every six weeks to St. Bart’s or Hawaii or wherever … and I’m sitting on my couch buried in laundry that needs folded, with the Bachelorette on mute and a tub of gelato I’m pretty much eating with my tongue, looking at the trail of wet clothes my kids left between the pool and their rooms, wondering where I went wrong. I’m convinced most of us were happier when we didn’t have a constant open window into everyone else’s carefully curated lives. Can we just not buy into it anymore? I’ll try if you will.
• Here, I’ll start with a confession: I am a great big, messy mess. I’m the awkwardest awkward who ever awkwarded. I can put on a good front for a while, but if the stakes are high, I am insecure and needy and anxious – in my world, everyone either leaves or dies, and that’s how I cope with my irrational fear. I hate it. I hate the panic that rises in my chest when I’m afraid someone is leaving and I hate how I usually can’t stop myself from letting it manifest. I know all the coping mechanisms – I understand where it comes from – I beat myself to death when it shows up and I apologize to the point that I just make things ten times worse – and somehow it’s still part of me. But here’s what I finally learned over the past year: I am worth it. If you can stick around long enough to let me work through that anxiety, or learn how to handle me while I’m dealing, you’ll find yourself with a friend who is loyal, passionate, funny (ok, so that one’s debatable), reasonably bright, always up for an adventure, and will try so very hard not to let you down. We all have our crazy. Mine comes out early, and then you get a pretty decent person. I don’t cheat, I’m a crappy liar, and I love with my whole heart. Other people’s crazy comes out later, but it’s far more toxic. Be patient with people like me – you may have to put in a little effort to help us trust you, but we’re worth the effort.
• Years and years ago, a good friend managed baggage for Comair. He oversaw hundreds of people of all ages. After one particularly difficult night at work, he told me something I’ve never forgotten. It went kinda like this: “When I was a kid, I figured people just grew up naturally. I assumed that as you got older, you learned more, experienced more, and you matured, like a process. I was totally wrong – the truth is, if you’re an asshole when you’re 16, you’re most likely an even bigger asshole when you’re 65. Same thing the other way – if you’re a pretty good kid, you’re probably going to be an adult worth knowing.” Here’s something I’ve learned since hitting midlife – he was right. (John – if you’re in London reading this, you finally heard me say you’re right about something. You’re welcome. Come home, please.)
• I’ve said this before, but it’s worth saying again: the things people say and do that hurt me most often have far more to do with them than with me. And vice versa. At this age, we’re all paying penance for someone else’s sins. The best we can do is try to give each other a little grace. Grace wins, most of the time. And when it doesn’t, at least you know you tried. For me anyway, knowing I tried helps.
• God is everywhere. EVERYWHERE. He’s in that song that appeared on your playlist right when you needed it. He’s in the sweet text that showed up at the exact moment you hit the end of your rope. He’s in the little girl teetering on the brink of adolescence who still insists you lie down and say prayers with her at bedtime. He’s in the box of Gigi’s cupcakes that mysteriously appears in the kitchen on a tough day. He’s in the familiar smell of your dad’s aftershave, the hug of an old friend (or a new one), the beloved hymns that take you back to your mom’s kitchen 25 years after you buried her. He’s in the summer sky on a clear night when you can take a picture of Jupiter right next to the moon with your iPhone. He’s in the chance encounters and people who just fit, even when it makes no sense whatsoever. EVERYWHERE. Don’t miss Him, and don’t ignore it when He shows Himself.

So there ya go. A little flotsam, a little jetsam, and a whole lot of opinions that should be taken with the grain of salt that accompanies them. Welcome back to Confessions of a Fairly Merry Widow. I’m gonna change that name – because that’s not me anymore.