Tag Archives: life

Be here NOW!!!

jennifer_aniston_hair_the_17kr07q-17kr07tThink about something you feel passionately about today. Now envision yourself 10 years from now. Do you feel the same way? Slightly different? Radically changed? A new study published in the January 4th journal, Science, asserts that most adults change significantly over a decade but when asked to predict their future selves, fail to recognize just how much change they will actually see. Huh?

According to an interview with Harvard psychology professor, Daniel Gilbert, in Health Day magazine, “People dramatically underestimate how different their future selves will be.” That got me thinking about my own life and how much I’ve changed over the last decade.

Ten years ago my political beliefs were strikingly…how to put this…different. But I think that has more to do with having and raising two children. Suddenly the whole “do what you feel” and “follow your bliss” approach to life seems to wither as you raise kids. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Or is it?

Teaching kids about right and wrong seems to make parents concretize their own belief systems in a way that’s hard to predict. The practicality of life, the ups and downs, the immense challenges that pop up unexpectedly, all of these change us, make us harder, less willing to trust the whimsical mysteries of nature. Well, not for everyone. But it’s worked that way for me.

I miss my more childlike view of the world. It was a view that allowed me to trust in the goodness of people, to always follow my heart, to imagine that a spiritual force greater than myself was guiding my every step. Nowadays I feel consumed by the violence in our streets, the senseless genocide occurring around the globe, the carelessness people exhibit towards their neighbors and family. But I sure didn’t see this coming. I thought I’d always be wide-eyed and open to the possibilities of life.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still a fairly positive gal. I still find ways to express my creative spirit each and every day. I try really hard to believe that life has a purpose and that somehow I’m on a path, albeit circuitous, towards discovering that purpose. But I feel a constant weight, a heaviness, that rests on my shoulders as I meander through life these days that wasn’t there a decade earlier. That makes me wonder about where I’m heading and what life will look like in the next ten years. Maybe I’ll make a total 180 degree personality swerve and end up more like the bohemian, free-spirited person I used to be. Or maybe I’ll do a full 360, grow a goatee and pursue my dormant dream of becoming a Krill fisherwoman in Antarctica.

Daniel Gilbert explains that people are just not very good at predicting who they’ll be in the future. He tells the New York Times, “Middle-aged people — like me — often look back on our teenage selves with some mixture of amusement and chagrin. What we never seem to realize is that our future selves will look back and think the very same thing about us. At every age we think we’re having the last laugh, and at every age we’re wrong.”

Kind of depressing, no? I mean I hate to think that in ten years I’ll look back with embarrassment over my funky fashion foibles or trendy hair coif. Because looking back now, I can see that the whole Jennifer Aniston Friends “do” wasn’t my best look. But at the time, I thought I was red-carpet ready.

So we can’t accurately project ourselves into the future and we’re pretty much assured to be horrified by who we were in the past. Sounds like a lose-lose for all of us. Guess that’s as good a reason as any to live in the present.

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Benign neglect

imgres-5I feel guilty. I mean for the past few years I’ve religiously written a weekly blog that happily gets sent out to hundreds of awesome subscribers. But I’ve been inundated with work deadlines, life, family responsibilities, etc…And I’ve neglected my blog. It’s actually painful to come back after this kind of inadvertent vacation.

It’s like that cousin you’ve been meaning to call for a few weeks, then a few months, then it’s like seven years and you’re estranged for no real reason other than the awkwardness of not wanting to call after a two week hiatus.

The truth is, I haven’t had any terribly impressive, prolific or provocative ideas in the past two weeks. And I am vehemently against anyone who blogs about the inane trivialities of day to day living. Like what’s with those people who send out five, six, even 10 new blogs or tweets every day? Really? Do they honestly believe anyone cares? Hey, bloggers, we are deleting your frickin’ posts before even reading them if you’re inundating us with multiple reminders of how banal your everyday life is.

The same goes for Facebook. I mean, come on. Who gives a crap what you ate for lunch or where you went with your family or how many times you’ve watched “It’s a Wonderful Life.” NOBODY is interested. I actually stopped going to FB because I have several “friends” who post incessantly about inane nonsense. Sure I could have “unfriended” or “defriended” them or whatever it’s called. But I’m even more opposed to confrontation than I am anti-triviality.

So I remain silently devoted to all of you. Forgive my temporary lapse in the epiphany arena. Surely the muse will attend to me at some point. Then, and only then, shall I pick up the pen (or rather strike the keyboard) to share my deep and philosophical revelations.

Happy Chanukah!

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Happiness is…

Happiness is…a warm puppy…or whatever you make it!

I heard something interesting on the radio the other day about happiness. Happiness, the philosophical talk show host explained, was different depending on your stage of life. He went on to say that when you are young, happiness comes mostly from thinking about your future. Then, in middle age, it comes largely from being in the moment and living life, often quite hectically, in the present. Old age finally, finds happiness predominately from memories of the past.

I haven’t been able to shake this concept. I find it sad and disturbing. Mostly because I think it’s true. I don’t want this part of my life, where I’m caught busily racing from present moment to present moment, to ever end. I am happy where I am. Yes, I’m stressed out, overwhelmed and run ragged 98% of the time. But I love my kids, my family, my husband, my work, my creative time. I’d like life to go on like this indefinitely. The thing is, I know it wont. I feel the present slipping away from me with each tick of the clock. Honestly, it’s a curse to be so hyper aware of time’s passage. My ardent attempts to suck every bit of marrow out of each passing moment often feels more like a futile attempt to build a lasting sand castle right in the middle of high tide. Try as I may, failure is inevitable.

I remember at the very end of my paternal grandfather’s life, we were all sitting around his bedside celebrating his birthday. He was very old and frail by then, a mere shell of his former self. As the cake emerged with a scattering of representative candles, my maternal grandmother, the only other elder remaining in our clan, posed this question defeatedly to my grandpa. “Oh, Irwin,” she sighed, “Where have all the good years gone?” He smiled weakly, looked around at his children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. and with the same sparkle we’d seen in his younger eyes said, “They’ve been replaced by better ones.”

I will never forget that moment. Somehow, my grandfather had managed to keep his consciousness focused on the beauty of what was right in front of him. He had escaped the trap of only living in the glory of the past. As we age, we can lose sight of the good that stands before us and idealize earlier times when we’d been untouched by loss, pain and trauma.

The truth is, there will always be moments of joy, beauty and wonder, no matter what our age. We just can’t ever stop looking for them.

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Chiropractic Care…well, sort of

Okay, so I broke down and went to a Chiropractor. Now I’ve been to Chiropractors before. In fact, I believe they do good work and can heal certain muscular, joint and alignment issues. But after my husband’s constant barrage of scientific studies citing all kinds of devastating chiropractic mishaps, I’d pretty much sworn off them entirely.

Until last week, when my writing partner practically insisted I go see his Chiropractor or else stop bitching about my constant back pain. I succumbed to the not so subtle peer pressure and made the appointment.

The Doctor had asked me to bring my MRI films, X-rays of my back, and any doctors’ records I might have about my herniated disc (L5 S1 in case you were wondering.) This sent me into a slight panic since I am, without doubt, the least organized woman on the planet. I spent the next two days dismantling my house in search of those damn films and records.

Miraculously, I found a thick, overstuffed manilla folder labeled “Healthcare – Debra” crammed into my disorderly file cabinet. A cursory perusal of the folder showed various films, radiology reports, and several detailed drawings of recommended physical therapy exercises. I proudly tucked the folder into my tote and headed out apprehensively to meet the bone-cracking doctor.

After a lengthy interview, during which Doctor John, as he’s called, took a lengthy history from me and explained why chiropractic care could help me enormously, he asked to see the films. I happily complied and turned over the entire packet.

He paged through the documents carefully, offering a few compulsory, “mmm hmms,” and nodding thoughtfully. Then he pulled out the stack of films and began to inspect them one by one. I admit that his befuddled look was slightly alarming to me. I worried that perhaps he’d discovered something even more serious as he examined the magnetic images of my spine. Too fearful to ask, I simply sat, perched on the edge of my chair, awaiting his assessment.

He held up the final film, looked at me directly and said with a delivery as deadpan as Bob Newhart’s, “Thank you for bringing me your mammogram pictures. But I don’t think they’re going to be terribly helpful in relieving your back pain.”

I was mortified. OMG, how did I do that? What an idiot! He offered a few comic, yet tasteful comments about how we women always seem to work our mammary glands into any situation. But even his lighthearted, affable tone couldn’t minimize my embarrassment. After a while, I did regain my composure and we moved through the exam and treatment uneventfully.

I like this Doctor. I do. And I’m going back. Despite the fact that I’m certain to be the butt of humor at his next Chiropractic convention, and will forevermore be shorthanded in the office as the “breast lady.” I suppose it could be worse. I could have brought him a colonoscopy report.

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Finding my way

You are here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I seem to get lost everywhere, even when I know where I’m going.” I said to my friend yesterday while hopelessly searching for 3rd avenue and Alamedia in downtown Phoenix. As the words spilled out of my mouth, I realized the depth and significance of that statement. I’m not necessarily one of those people who find meaning in every traffic light, rainstorm and fender bender. I used to be. I used to believe that the “universe” stopped me at a red light to make me 5 minutes late for an important appointment in order to protect me from some impending car crash that awaited me just a few feet beyond the intersection. I never balked at flight cancellations. Surely it was the “supreme being’s” way of saving me and a host of other passengers from an in-flight disaster. When I did back up into a parking lot pole, the message was clear; I needed to move forward in my life while always keeping my eye on the past so as not to encounter some unseen impediment from bygone years.

This philosophy managed to keep me from lamenting my tardiness. It bolstered me when disaster struck. It even made me almost laid back, which I assure you is no easy task. Believing that everything happens for a reason creates an inner, contemplative life in which self-reflection rules above all else. When one can find meaning in every popped button and split seam, no event, no matter how outwardly insignificant, occurs without at least a limited amount of thoughtfulness and attention.

But we mature. We “grow up.” We have children. And we run out of time; time for inner contemplation, time for “what ifs,” time for attention to the little things in life. We deem introspection to be self indulgent. We run through the weeks not knowing how Monday morning morphed into Friday afternoon in what seemed like a nano-second. We stop wasting time looking for life’s deeper meanings and neglect to excavate the profound beneath the trivial that inhabits our lives. And that’s a shame.

I do get lost a lot. As my son likes to say, “I couldn’t navigate myself out of a paper bag.” And I think that’s significant. My lack of directional sense frustrates me. But perhaps it’s there for a reason, and until I acknowledge and pay attention to it, I am destined to continue my cycle of navigational chaos.

A lot of times I get lost because I don’t trust myself. I question my ability to find my way when, in reality, I know where I’m headed. Back in January, my son was in a play out in Chandler and I had to drive him to rehearsals several times a week. I mindlessly followed my GPS time and time again. There was no mindfulness in my driving. I was too busy multi-tasking to pay attention to where we were going. One night, my son, who was tired of listening to the same robotic voice commands over and over, challenged me to turn off the GPS and try to get to rehearsal myself. “I bet you can’t do it,” he snipped. I was irritated by his tone and blatant disdain. “Oh yeah?” I said. “Well, here goes.” We got there without incident. There were several occasions when I scanned the horizon and recognized nothing. But I kept my doubts to myself and continued driving.

I think it all boils down to what you believe. Like they teach in my youngest’s Karate class; “Whether you think you can or you can’t, you’re right.” So maybe I get lost because I stop believing I know where I am. Hmmm…now there’s something to ponder.

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Go live with a car battery…

I love you...I love you not.

My husband is moody. This bothers me a great deal; especially because his darker moods are the ones that often accompany him home after a hard day of pleasantries and professionalism. But I’ve realized something huge about this. You see, my husband was raised in a loving, nurturing environment. His parents loved him unconditionally. But this, I’ve come to realize, is the crux of the problem.

You see, unconditional love is a crock of shit, and I want to officially declare: it doesn’t work. In fact, it accomplishes the exact opposite of what it promises to deliver. Which poses a substantial problem for those of us raising little ones today.

Think about this: my son is loved unconditionally by me and his father. We love him when he’s kind. We love him when he’s cruel. We love every inch of him, even when he’s at his worst. If he grows up believing that he is, and always will be, 100% lovable, how, I ask you, is he going to treat the people who are unlucky enough to end up living with him?

Unconditional love is the culprit of all rotten behavior. Do you think your husband would yell at you for spending too much money if he thought you might just pack a bag and exit the premises the next time his voice raised to a certain decibel? Would he really forget to bring you flowers on Valentine’s day if the possibility existed that he’d be spending all future cherub-related holidays on his own, taking care of the kids, or nursing a Stella all by his lonesome self on a bar stool in a smokey gin joint? Of course not.

But instead we parents lavish our children with so much unconditional love it’s like a recipe for future marital disaster. We’re practically asking our kids to treat the people they love with disdain. The message is crystal. No matter how thoughtless, insensitive, moody or just plain mean you are, those closest to you will love you unconditionally so don’t bother putting any effort at all into those relationships.

Sure people get divorced. But most marrieds don’t walk around thinking that each day may be the last day of blissful couplehood. However, if they did, they might end up treating each other a whole lot better. Husbands might choose not to expend an audible sigh coupled with that ever annoying eye roll when asked to take out the garbage, for instance. Wives might decide that continued nagging over the unseparated whites and colors might not be worth spending eternity with a naked ring finger and sole custody of three hormonal teenagers.

The truth is, we need to impart a bit of fear and insecurity into the hearts of our children. “No, Johnny, mommy might not love you if you don’t eat all your vegetables.” Keep them on their toes. Reward good behavior with overflowing amounts of love, warmth and admiration. But we must stop reinforcing their vicious tantrums, irrational melt-downs and mean-spirited remarks with the promise to love them, warts and all, for all eternity.

Only by refusing to love without question will we raise children who can be civil to their spouses, gentle with their own children and careful with all the people in their lives. So I urge you to stop loving your kids absolutely. Instead, teach them to treat those around them with kindness, honor and respect by instilling a sense of insecurity and fearfulness. If they are not loving, you may not stick around. That’s the message you want to impart. It may sound cruel, but it’s really the best way to prepare them for a happy, fulfilling life with a partner. Just like the wise and thoughtful Erma Bombeck once said, “Marriage has no guarantees. If that’s what you’re looking for, go live with a car battery.”

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A bird in the hand…

My ducks in a row...

Do you ever just get tired?

Tired of cleaning up, settling in, watering down?

I do.

Today I’m tired.

I’m tired of cutting back, reigning in, buckling down.

I’m tired of home-making, meal-planning, car-pooling.

I’m tired of managing money, making ends meet, paying through my nose.

I’m tired of missing the trees, seeing the forest, carrying too much baggage.

I’m tired of thinking ahead, missing the mark, walking on eggshells.

I’m tired of asking the right questions, smelling the roses, wishing on stars.

I’m tired of beating around bushes, meeting people half way, putting my nose to the grindstone.

I’m tired of digging in, making waves, going with the flow.

I’m tired of burning bridges, grinding axes, knocking on wood.

I’m tired of last straws, bowls of cherries and keeping my head above water.

I’m tired of spinning my wheels, turning my cheek, and running as fast as I can.

Some days you just want to give up, give in, give it a rest.

Maybe I’ll feel better in the morning.

Doubtless the sun’ll come up tomorrow.

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