the ELLIPSIS OF DOOM!!! (Be afraid. Be very afraid.)

If you're not an iPhone user, that meme may not make any sense to you.  But if you are, you know EXACTLY what it's saying, right?  In the same way that much of our technology today has created a planet full of instant gratification junkies, the iMessage application on an iOS device has this horrible, wonderful feature that I love/hate.  While the person you are texting to is typing back to you, you see an ellipsis (...) pop up (provided they also are on an iOS device).  It's like a little visual Pavlov's bell.  If you even remotely give a shit about what this person might say, instead of going about your business and doing whatever else it is you have to do at that moment, you are riveted to your little glowing screen, mouth watering, wondering, "what are they going to say!?" or "why is it taking them so long to respond?!" or, what Arnold is squinting about above, "WTF! Why didn't they respond yet? I saw the dots pop up so I know they were typing SOMETHING!!".  It can be maddening.  Especially when you realize how easily it can hook you in.  It's like a little hit of dopamine in your brain, and becomes very addicting.  Especially if this is somebody you are flirting with, or want to impress.  It creates an even higher level of anticipation, and some evil genius at Apple knew that and went there anyway.  Bastard.

I've decided to think of them as "the ellipsis of DOOM" from now on.

The "ellipsis of DOOM" are on my mind not just because I have completely fallen victim to them (which I have), but because it's an ever-present reminder of how I'm living in an anticipatory state instead of the present state.  I think this is me creating my own stress, and I really need to get a grip on it.

I have become aware of it because the same exact message has started popping up in random places.   Friends and family are saying it to me, it shows up multiple times in my facebook feed, Pinterest seems to have an abundance of that SAME message on every board I browse, my facialist (who barely speaks english) even says it to me.  Like, I know I can be stubborn, but ALRIGHT ALREADY, Universe I get it.  I'm supposed to

BE HERE NOW!!!

and

ENJOY THIS MOMENT! THIS ONE RIGHT HERE!

Blerg.  I'm exhausted from being beaten about the head and shoulders with this message. I'm doing my best.  That's all I got.  See, the problem is, I'm in flux in a bunch of different situations, and as exciting and fast-paced as everything is, I just don't like it.  It's uncomfortable.

What I'm learning about myself is that my comfort zone is either before something begins, like in the planning stages, or when it's complete and I can relax.  While the actual execution of the event is happening, it's a blur, I'm in 'action' mode, and can't seem to relax, much less take a deep breath and consciously enjoy.  Like hosting a party.  I love the planning stages - "this is going to be the best party EVAH!" and "OMG look at this menu!".  The actual party itself will be hectic, filled with trips to the kitchen and bar, making sure everyone is having a good time (apparently except myself, although being a good hostess makes me happy, ergo, a good time).  Then the post-party cleanup is a much less hectic pace, spent slowly cleaning and reviewing the good time CLEARLY had by all based on the party shrapnel left all around the house. 

Same could be said about running a 5k.  It's exciting to plan it, the running itself is kind of torturous, even though I know I'll feel awesome afterwards when all is done.

The problem is, I feel the same way about relationships and dating.  To put a finer point on it, I'm good at relationships - I have no problem making a commitment and sticking to it.  But I truly SUCK at dating.  That's right, I suck at it and admit it.  I don't like it, I'm not good at it, it makes me uncomfortable, and the whole process is a special kind of hell for me, even when the guy is A-ok.  Actually, the better the guy is, the worse the dating period is for me anytime we're not actually together.  My logical brain starts trying to organize this gelatinous, undefined mass of feelings and emotions and excitement into something it either isn't yet or might never be, and that's where I get myself into trouble.  It's called overthinking, and I really need to stop doing it. 

I'm most comfortable either completely single, with no attachments or love interest, or fully committed and comfortably inside the confines of a relationship, where the rules are clear.  There's at least two problems I have with the dating scenario.  One, is that everybody puts on their best personality to present to the other, instead of just being who they really are.  This takes energy, people.  Energy I don't have.  So instead, I choose to just be me, and I come across as a very intense, kind of scary, military trained, tool-wielding, loud-laughing crazy cat lady/biker chick/househead who likes to make your house look pretty and fix all your computer woes.  And uh, yeah...I scare 'em all away.  Go figure.  I know, that's no way to 'snag a man', but here's the thing...I'm not really trying to 'snag a man'.  I don't want a man that I have to trick into liking me.  (And NO, I don't consider the magic I perform with makeup every day to be trickery, dammit.  That's more of a public service.  Shut up.)  As a matter of fact, I'm ok without a man at all, hence my inability to give enough of a shit to work up the energy to do a soft-shoe around an awkward dinner date with someone I'm not even sure I want to bother to impress.  Harrumph.

The second problem, once we're past the whole "yeah, I'm a weirdo and I own it.  Oh, you're still here?" phase, is the lack of definition of terms once you're past the first few encounters.  I think this comes from my analytical, boolean computer-geek personality.  To my brain (and apparently, heart), things should be "on" or "off".  Easy to understand.  Even though I am contradictorily also a big fan of 'grey areas', I don't like to reside in them.  I like to view them from the safe, well-defined platform of either black or white and discuss them in theory.  But the longer I'm spending in this grey area, I'm starting to understand why it's necessary, and even good.  Time does reveal things.  Gives you a chance to get to know each other in various situations.  Space to think about whether you (and they) want to deal with the particular flavors of dysfunction, insecurity, and weirdness brought to the table by both parties.  Whereas when you're impulsive and jump into things quickly, you can sometimes find yourself in too deep, already sucked into the quicksand.  Bailing on the other person in there with you at that point would make you a bad human being, so you just go down in flames with them, stubbornly believing you made a sound decision and you just need to ride it out.  (Not that I'm speaking from experience here or anything.)

The thing is, it could be that at the time you made that decision, it WAS sound - based upon the evidence you had collected up to that point.  But if you only spent a few weeks  collecting that information, that's a mighty small collection to be basing important life decisions on.  Whereas a longer discovery period (as we call it in software sales) can lead to better qualified decisions.  Knowing for sure which opportunities to pursue, which juice might very well be worth the squeeze, and which ones to gently (or not) cull out of the dating pool (and/or block from FaceBook and your phone forever).

I had brunch with some very good friends the other day and we discussed this at length.  Some of my friends are single, some married, some divorced, others engaged, so it was a good round-table of different perspectives.  One of them reminded me of the saying that you have to go outside of your comfort zone to really experience anything truly amazing.  Funny how I always tell other people that, yet when I'm in my own 'discomfort zone', I just want to squirm and whine and stomp my feet and gnash my teeth until its over and I'm back to doing what I'm comfortable and experienced with.

In addition to being told to "BE HERE NOW" constantly, I have also heard "I wish I had your life, even if just for a few days" and "I live vicariously through you!" from no less than 5 close friends just in the past week.  Part of me is like, "what's up with THAT?"  But the smarter part of me is like, "wow.  That fucking ROCKS.  Drink it all in."  At which point I'm realizing that I am now telling myself to BE HERE NOW.  See? Can't get away from it.

It's difficult, what with the pace of everybody's lives, the travel, making time for fitness and friends, routine chores and maintenance, to just step back and breathe deep and look around and appreciate.  We always feel like we're not really living until we lose that last 10 lbs, or pay off that debt, or reach that next goal.  It may be cliche, but it's true:  it's the journey, not the destination that life is about.  All that hippie bullshit about being present in this moment is...well...not bullshit.  The same friend that offered me the excellent advice of going outside my comfort zone also reminded me that we never know what's going to happen next.  She recently lost a family member, and it was clearly devastating.  But every time I see her, she is smiling through her tears, and positively RADIATING with love for her friends and family.  She has fully embraced the "BE HERE NOW" that I'm struggling with, and is an amazing living example of how rewarding it can be, even if things don't go the way you want.  There is still much to appreciate and be thankful for and truly experience every moment you have to the fullest, since it can all go away in the blink of an eye.

For all I know, this present moment could be the last one I have, so I might as well enjoy the experience, and ignore the foreshadowing that the ellipsis of DOOM keeps hinting at, since all the worry in the world won't change whatever is coming next.  

...

Nana

The older I get, the more I seem able to accept some changes while at the same time becoming more resistant to others. Strangely, it's the big things in life, like moving, death of a loved one, relationship changes - that I seem to flow with and accept more readily than the small things. Morning routines, small creature comforts, etc. need to be the same or I find myself feeling out of whack.

My grandmother passed away this morning. She had a massive stroke over a week ago that seems to have banished all of her identifying personality characteristics and struck her down to just a hollow shell of a human, left only with lizard-brain functions. Just enough to emulate an emotive person behind the seemingly sightless eyes and now silent mouth, but not enough to convince us she's still really there. It was a devastating thing to witness, but while we were all horrified at what she had to suffer through, I think our real horror is knowing that if she knew that we were seeing her like this, she'd be inconsolable. I know she doesn't want to be remembered that way. Nobody would. That wasn't her, it was just the remnants. As harsh as it sounds, as soon as I saw her so incapacitated, without her hair and lipstick done, all I could think was, "go to the light, Nana! You don't want to be here anymore!" I felt like there was nothing left here for her, and I wanted her suffering to end quickly. I'm surprised that I was so analytical and accepting about it, almost detached. But I think that's because I'm not going to be selfish and mourn MY loss of a grandmother, as much as I'm glad she's not suffering now, and is back with her parents, siblings and husband, whom she has dearly missed since each one departed this earth. 

So I'm going to write about how I will choose to remember her, and hope that with enough time and Malbec, I can maybe banish the memories of her last sad days from my memory forever and replace them with all of the good ones she gave me as a child.

Nana (as we called her) was trained as a hairdresser as a young lady. And make no mistake, she was a BEAUTIFUL girl anyway. All of the siblings (her 3 sisters and one brother) in that family were very good-looking, funny, and smart. I can't remember a time ever seeing Nana without her hair done perfectly. Lipstick on, when fancied up a bit for church, but never garish or attention-seeking. She was just a very proper lady. She loved to attend church, her vegetable and flower gardens, and she loved to sing. She always fostered my love of music. She loved her birds - she would watch for hours one she called "Jenny Wren" outside of her kitchen window, and tell me all about her comings and goings. Like everybody on that side of the family, along with the good sense of humor came a very stern Austrian disciplinarian side to balance it. There was to be absolutely no bs whatsoever when you were around her or her sisters. You behaved, 100% of the time. And if you didn't, you'd get a sharp word that stung, being delivered from the lips that so frequently praised and encouraged us instead. We would do anything to stay in the sunshine of their good graces. We were fortunate enough to have moved to a house right next door to Nana and Pupa when I was 6, just as my sister was being born. So I had a built-in babysitter who was family - the perfect arrangement. Or so it seemed to me, anyway. Her very opinionated personality sometimes clashed with my mother, who was always a free spirit. But this isn't exactly a newsflash, a mother-in-law not always getting along with a daughter-in-law, especially when grandchildren were involved.

One of the funniest memories (now) is how Nana would insist we kids spend the night at her house the night before school pictures were taken so she could do our hair. Remember, she was trained in styles and techniques that were about 40-50 years older than I was. Frequently, I'd end up with a frizzy perm, bowl cut, or baby bangs for my school pictures. Between the outdated, age-inappropriate hairstyles she gave us and the hippie remnant clothes my parents were still allowing me to dress in, those pictures are just stupendous. I still hide them from people some 35 years later. But she meant well and it clearly gave her great pleasure to do that for us. 

Another good memory was that on our birthdays, we'd always get a phone call and she would sing the entire "Happy Birthday" song to us. You knew if you answered that phone call on that day, you couldn't get a word in until she was done singing. Conversely, when we called her on her birthday, she fully expected us to do the same for her. (I learned not to call her when I was with friends I might not want to sing in front of.) I could tell she always cherished those calls and took a genuine interest in what was going on in my life. In her later years, when she became hard of hearing, I know it pained her to miss out on details of what we were saying, but she was too proud to admit it. So sometimes she would either pretend to have heard what I said, or would just cut me off completely and change the subject. While at first this was frustrating, once I realized where the behavior was coming from, it just made me sad. 

Like that line from the Eagles' song "Desperado": "You're losin' all your highs and lows...". Is that what old age is? A steady, slow descent from possessing a full range of senses to that cone narrowing, giving you tunnel vision, selective hearing, and a fixation on those little things in life, like that one bird living outside your kitchen window? Is that what's happening to me already, at 41? Without my certain little rituals and routines, I feel "off"? And in a few years, maybe it will make me straight up cantankerous, and I'll start doing everything I can to avoid a disruption in my now-rigid routines?  Am I starting to lose my highs and lows from too-loud house music, or am I still hearing the full range of sound?  That stuff scares the hell out of me. I don't want to be like that. I don't want to be what others (including myself) think of as "old". But here I am, accepting the death of a grandparent, a major life event, without much of a ripple in my calm (sadness aside, of course). But I'm sure I'll manage to get bent out of shape over minor travel inconveniences on my way home for the funeral, like not being able to fly on my favorite carrier or not getting an aisle seat. Apparently that's just where I am in life now.

What many people don't know about my grandmother (because it really never gets mentioned, as if it's not a factor) is that she was born with a hip problem and one leg significantly shorter than the other. Her sisters told us tales of pulling her in a wagon to school because she couldn't keep up. She wore a shoe with a 'lift' - a huge platform heel - almost all of her life. She had multiple hip replacements. She walked with a very pronounced limp and frequently, a cane. And she NEVER complained. Not once. Not about the pain, not about the inconvenience, not about how 'unfair' it is to be born crippled, not about the probable ridicule she suffered at the hands of the other children, not about having to use orthopedic shoes, not about the surgeries. She complained about NOTHING. And she had far more to complain about than most, had she felt the need to indulge herself. But she never did. She was downright stoic when it came to bearing the load she'd been given in this life. She had a family who loved her, a husband who cherished her, children and grandchildren who needed her. So she was always there to hear our little whines and gripes, but never unburdened herself to anyone that I knew of. Maybe in her prayers, but I have a feeling she wouldn't even complain in private. She lived through the Great Depression, she saw her parents work hard to provide, and she was grateful for what she had. When I start feeling sorry for myself or want to complain about the banalities of life. I need to remind myself of the role model I had in her and maybe suck it up just a little bit since clearly she was way tougher than this army chick right here.

She may not have been a perfect human being, but none of us are. She was a very good grandmother, archetypal even, and we are so fortunate to have had her in our lives. She made the best after-school peanut butter, banana and honey sandwiches ever, and sometimes those little creature comfort routines really are the important things in life.

Rest in peace, Nana. I will see you in every bird that sings and flower that blooms.

dodging bullets

Have you ever felt like life was just an exercise in dodging bullets?  Metaphorical ones, of course (for most of us); the situations that come screaming at us too fast to fully analyze, but we're forced to choose a course of action and live with the consequences anyway?  Sometimes we don't even get a chance to make the choice; the gun is behind us, and by the time you hear the report of the shot echoing through the room, its path has already been carved through your life regardless of the plans you already had in place.

Sometimes when it happens, you can't believe your luck.  I mean, clearly, who wants to be shot, right?  You can see it right at the moment it happens, like a near miss in a car accident.  "Phew, glad I'm ok!"  But other times, that bullet might be disguised as something else, something actually desirable.  Something you might want to be hit with, like a tossed bouquet of flowers, some kind of love bomb.  You are all lined up to receive it, and BAM! some completely average-looking heifer leaps in front of you and intercepts YOUR bouquet.  You hate her for it, you are hurt and indignant and feel left out since you just *know* it had been destined to be all yours, not hers.  It's only after days (weeks, months) of tears and self-pity that you look in the rearview mirror and realize that the shrapnel and fallout from that love bomb would have messed you up so much more than you could have anticipated.  That "average-looking heifer" was your new BFF from the universe, taking a bullet for you because you didn't recognize it for what it was, so blinded you were from the glare coming off of its tip.

I missed a big one last week, .50 caliber at least.  My company had a RIF (Reduction in Force), and a rather large one at that.  After years of acquisitions, we had a lot of duplication of roles and were becoming top-heavy.  Cuts had to be made to keep us running in a lean and efficient manner, and management emphasized that those cuts were not a reflection on individual performance.  While I understand the need for these types of actions, and have survived dozens of them in my career, each one is like a tremor that cracks the foundation you are standing on.  I have left companies in the past because even though I knew I was a valued contributor, watching good friends (including some who I felt did a better job than me) lose their jobs in a seemingly arbitrary manner was creating some kind of corporate PTSD in me that I just couldn't live with. (See earlier blog post about this very thing here.)  Paranoia enters, which is the best fertilizer for growing self doubt.  Once you are doubting your security, you become hyper-aware of every nuance of your coworkers:  did my boss just surreptitiously roll his eyes at me?  Did that salesweasel who hates me because I have ovaries throw me under the bus?  Did my coworker rat me out because I don't have a decade of experience with our product?  Am I going to be cut because I'm "geographically undesirable"?  Next thing you know, you're sporting new baggage under your eyes and are too tired to work because you're losing sleep due to all the insecurities the situation has created.  Now you really ARE in danger of being cut, RIF or not, because your performance is slipping.  It's a negative cycle that I'd like to avoid, but this seems impossible to do in corporate America, particularly in software companies where the ebb and flow of industry trends, acquisitions and mergers, and the whim of seemingly capricious upper-level management all combine to control the next tremor.

This was the first major action of its kind since I've been at this company for the past 3.5 years.  The only thing I know for sure at this point is that it won't be the last.  The smartest thing I could do is have a fallback plan, just in case, but the mere thought of opening that particular pandora's box is exhausting - polishing up the resume, fielding calls and emails from scads of recruiters...ugh.  I'm just not motivated.  I'll be having lunch with my boss tomorrow, and I'm sure he'll be as reassuring as possible whilst not going too far and outright lying to me about job security.  One of the things we plan on discussing is a possible plan for me to spend more time in the beltway to be more accessible to the team.  My idea, not his.  (Although they have been haranguing me to relocate back to the area since my divorce, I've put them off every time.  After this RIF, I'm suddenly more willing to entertain the idea...)  

Lately I've been wondering if the universe isn't conspiring to somehow pull me back to the beltway for some future event or situation not yet on my radar.  After escaping my second shitty marriage (both of which I consider to be bullets I took the full force of but recovered from, stronger and wiser), I pulled some Matrix shit and dodged a few more, and the universe definitely helped me out there.  Some I was smart enough to dodge on my own, others, I had to be shoved roughly out of the way of, scraping my knees and elbows on the way down and taking one hell of a bruise on the ego to avoid.  But it worked.  I'm currently bullet-free, left only with some scar tissue and lessons learned to protect me from future shooting sprees.  Not only am I bullet-free, I'm just FREE.  Single.    Unfettered.  Unattached to anything except the house and financial responsibilities I'm tied to in Jacksonville.  It feels good!  It's been a long time since those major winds of change blew in my direction, and spurred me to put on my gypsy outfit and start thinking about what I really want and where I really want to go/be/do.  That particular breeze is definitely back, blowing my hair back and ruffling my skirt.  Feels good to be restless again, and so fitting that it always seems to happen in Spring, when nature herself is already changing things for the better.

The last time I lived in the beltway started out as a rough time in my life, became one of the BEST times in my life, then ended without fanfare as I moved to Miami with my starter husband, onto bigger and better (well, at least warmer) things.  Despite it all, I really have nothing but fond memories of my time in DC.  It's an amazing, dynamic city.  Over the past few years, I have also been fortunate enough to continue to travel there for work and maintain my friendships with some very important people in my life, and even make new friendships I'd like to explore and possibly develop further.  Is this why work has been pressuring me so much?  I need to be there for next steps to happen for my career or personal life?  Or is Jacksonville, although geographically the largest city in the U.S., just too backwater to contain me?  (Wow, that sounded pompous.  Sorry, but after living in two major markets, there's really no other way to express that thought.)

Of course I don't have those answers yet, and I won't pretend to.  What I've learned up to now is the best thing I can do is pursue opportunities when they are presented to me, even if they seem difficult or unlikely to pan out.  The only regrets I have are the things I haven't done or given a chance, and I don't want to start having those now.  

Gotta go, I have a suitcase to pack.  My plane leaves in a few hours, and I want to be prepared for whatever comes out of the firing chamber next.

        

  

oh, horoscope.

The Libra horoscope for today (according to my iphone app) says: 

"If love is forever, how can it be that people who were once deeply in love can grow apart and stop loving each other after many years together?  You may now be pondering whether you truly love someone, or whether someone truly loves you.  If a relationship ends, was it never for real?  That question cannot be answered in this small space, or perhaps in any way for certain.  Just know this, Libra:  Love is a living thing.  To keep it going you must feed it and nurture it.  To keep focusing on whether it's real or not will only frustrate you.  Do your best to keep it alive, and if it dies anyway, then take your love someplace where it can flourish."

Hmmmm.

Interesting and very apropos topic for me these days.  Things have been getting much better for me on the 'love' front recently.  Just the lack of pain and disappointment has been a refreshing change and I quite like it.  The old "time heals all wounds" thing, I suppose.  Also, distance from a situation gives perspective.  I have been thinking about past failed relationships a lot lately, even discussing and analyzing some of them quite openly with a friend, at the risk of being judged by him as unfit for future dating.  We were both being brutally honest about the mistakes we've made in the past, and not necessarily looking to judge each other but I think instead show that we can acknowledge that we're not perfect and take responsibility for the less-than-awesome things we've done to other human beings as a result of love gone somehow wrong.  As if to say, "see?  I've done THIS before, and I can learn a lesson...I won't do it again, I promise."  

But is that really true?  I mean, I have no doubt that as humans, our intent is good.  Nobody enters into a new relationship WANTING it to slide into boring complacency, or plummet into resentful jealousy.  It just *happens*.  So what's the magic sauce to keep that from occurring...again?  Just happening to find the right partner?  Enough experience on the parts of both partners to have made the big mistakes in the past, and we've run out of heinous fuck-ups to commit against each other this time?  Or just so much chemistry and attraction, and being on the same wavelength, with similar goals and values, that it never runs out of steam?  

I hate to say that I've seen more failed relationships than successful ones, but sadly, it is true.  Mathematically, it kind of makes sense, the whole 'you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince' thing.  But I will say that for those relationships that seem to stand the test of time, it's inspiring.  I know some couples whose attraction for each other is still palpable even after 10+ years.  Others who still pal around like best friends, with decades of inside jokes between them.  I'll be honest - I want that.  I want the jokes, the glances, the shared Sunday morning routines, the comforting embraces in rough times.  But more than that, I think I just want to know that sometimes relationships actually work - that those happy couples really ARE happy after all that time.  No, everything isn't perfect, of course, life is difficult and shit happens frequently.  But it would be tremendously comforting to know for sure that after years of getting it wrong, we can finally find that one person who is right for us.

But is there only one person for each of us?  I don't know if I believe that.  I don't know that I ever did.  It's kind of a Disneyesque concept that I never really bought into.  I always say, "there's a lid for every pot, and sometimes more than one."  But any cook can tell ya, there's a lot of lids that you THINK fit your pot until things really get boiling, then the leaks show.  Steam seeps out around the ill-fitting edges.  Your stovetop ends up a mess from all the drips.  It just isn't working towards the end the way it did in the beginning.  And there's no way to know it's going to fall apart until you heat things up to a boil and test it, I guess.  Which means taking the risk.  Taking the chance on that new lid, knowing that your cooktop could be sullied and stained, perhaps permanently.  Stains and scars both fade away, but not completely.  Some of them will always leave a shadow reminder of how it got there, perhaps as a reminder not to do it that way again.  Until they fade away it feels like a reminder not to do it again at all.  

But time heals those scars and fades those stains, and the once-again clean slate compels us to try yet another lid.  I think that's the very essence of human nature, knowing the likelihood of failure is high, based on past experience, but doing it again anyway.

Not to be defeatist, but I have kind of concluded that it might not be reasonable for me to think, yet again, "THIS IS THE ONE!" and expect it to last for the rest of my life, when Mr. Wonderful appears in my life.  Is it more realistic of me to just think, "ok, I'm gonna give it another try, and go all in (as I am wont to do), but if it crests then plummets noticeably as other relationships in the past have, just be thankful for the good time we did have together, cut bait, and call it a day"? Is that jaded?  And am I really "all in" if I don't fully have the expectation to stick with it forever?  

Maybe I just rushed things in the past.  (As I am also wont to do.  Always.)  Ok, let me call myself out on that - I (well, WE) definitely rushed things in the past.  Not out of desperation of any sort, frequently it was a combination of situational factors and lack of experience that led to a hasty commitment.  Didn't let the pot get to a full boil before committing to that particular lid.  

As much as I always want to jump in with both feet (no matter how hot I know the water to be), I do learn from experience, and I have learned that when something looks SO promising, like an incredibly tempting fluffy dessert, it's so much sweeter when you wait for it.  Make sure it has the exact flavors you're craving, and you're fully primed to appreciate it before digging in greedily.  Stand back and look at it, create an unforgettable visual imprint.  Smell it, inspect it from every angle, turning it around slowly.  Not to find fault in it and criticize it, but rather to appreciate it for exactly what it is before savoring it slowly, and realizing that it not only meets but exceeds all expectations, because you made sure it was exactly the right one for you right now.

I suddenly want cake...

but I guess I'll wait this time. 





    

well, well, well.

Look who we have here, growing again.

Yup, those are bright green baby leaves that are shooting out of Pandora's plant.  The one I so mercilessly yet tearfully sawed down.  A bright-green metaphor that took over my life last fall.  And it's back. 

Toldja so.

thanks! ...I think?

In my usual fit of Sunday night procrastination, I decided that grocery shopping and cooking more food than I could (or should) possibly eat would be an appropriate activity rather than boring expense reports or paying bills.  So I was milling around in the wine aisle of Publix near closing time, when a cute, young guy working there stopped buffing the floors long enough to advise me that "you know, you need to be at least 21 to drink."  I laughed and for lack of anything better to say, responded with, "Thanks, I'm working on that."  

On the surface, that seems like an innocuous, mildly flirty compliment.  So at first I was all, "awww, that was cute/sweet/kind!"  But then, that *other* part of my brain was all, "Kind?  Yeah.  That's because he instantly pegged you as someone old enough to want a compliment about how young she is."  Ouch.  That part of my brain pulls no punches.  

This happened roughly 24 hours after I was seriously macked on in a bar by a VERY young looking sailor, who allegedly thought I couldn't possibly be "older than 25".  (Okay, it was pretty dark in there.)  Now, I'm not saying I believe every line I hear, but he was literally gobsmacked when I told him my actual age.  Jaw dropped open and everything.  He even took a step closer to inspect this fossil of a woman trying to pass herself off as a much younger person, such was his disbelief.  

Thing is, I'm NOT trying to pass myself off as a 25-year-old.  That would be impossible, first of all.  Also useless.  I have no use whatsoever for a 20-something man-child, unless he feels like helping me rearrange heavy furniture or cleaning my garage.  We'd have nothing in common, and one or both of us would get bored with the other rather quickly.    I have recently spent some quality time with folks about 10 years younger than me - that seems to be about the outer limit.  We manage to have things in common, understand most of the same humorous references in pop culture, and even share musical tastes.  But even with only a decade between us, we're already at different stages of life, and one party always ends up feeling not accomplished enough, or too established to start over, creating an imbalance that would prevent any kind of serious relationship from ever developing.  Or so I suspect.  (Haven't tried yet, just not in that frame of mind right now.)  What I'm trying to say is that I don't even WANT to be 25 again.  

I was an asshole at 25.  Even at 30.  I don't like who I was then.  I was not very introspective or self-aware.  I was still so outwardly focused that I didn't take responsibility for the impact my behaviors had on those around me.  The blame was always squarely laid on others.  Whereas now, at 41 (yeah, I said it. I own that shit.), I try first to look at myself before I assign the blame for anything on anyone else.  I try to make sure I'm not "that annoying person" who just blasts through life completely unaware of their flaws and bad habits, spewing them everywhere and not caring about the result. I'm now fully aware (I think) of most of them.  I know I'll talk your damn ear off if you let me.  I can dominate a conversation, given the opportunity.  The difference now is, I know that I do these things and am fully aware of when I am doing them.  I try to only let that side of me loose when I know it will be useful - for example, to help others avoid awkward situations or silences.  I consider conversation to be one of my gifts (as well as curses), so I try to use it as one and not bludgeon people with it.  I try to be entertaining and share anecdotes about the crazier things in my life if I think it will uplift someone or make them feel better about what they are experiencing.  I have been thanked many times just for sharing what I write about here in my blog, which I find to be all the reward and encouragement I need to continue.

But back to the matter at hand - aging.  MY aging, to be specific.  To be honest, I don't feel like I look 'old' per se.  I don't even think I look my age.  But who does!?  I am told repeatedly that I look significantly younger than 41, which of course feeds my ego.  I don't begrudge my ego that snack - it's been starved, beaten, and abused over the years, and could use a good meal every now and then.  So I do try to accept a compliment when it is given.  But I don't necessarily buy into it.  Many people have their own reasons for giving compliments.  Like our little squidly friend from last night, for example...I'm sure he had a particular goal in mind, so even if his compliment was 100% honest, he was still working towards *something*. 

What I'm questioning these days is my own behavior though, not the motivations of the people who are complimenting me.  Anyone who knows me is aware that I spend a significant portion of my free time working out.  Zumba, running, belly dance, kickboxing, pole fitness...I am always finding something new to challenge myself with and get my body to my goal weight.  Hasn't happened yet, but I will say that I feel better about where I'm at now than where I was 10 years ago.  I work harder at it now.  I have to.  But I'm also more motivated. 

I also try to pamper myself more.  True, I am in a better position financially to do that than I was 10 years ago.  Massages, facials, high-end hair salons...I feel like I work hard enough to deserve those things.  I don't do them regularly, I have to force myself to take the time out to take care of me.  But sometimes I take it even one step further than that, and I'm borderline concerned about where it's going to stop.  This is another thing my close friends know about me: I'm a Groupon WHORE.  Yes, WHORE.  I'm not just a customer or casual user.  I'm a full-on HO for a good deal on a service I wouldn't normally pay full price for.  And I don't limit myself to Groupon.  I also have Living Social, Deal Chicken, Amazon Local...the list goes on.  And what these mass discount coupons have seemingly encouraged me to do is try anything I think might improve my self-confidence even a smidgen.  

For example, we might be talking about a weight-loss program that involves weird infra-red light waves and a pulsating thing that allegedly shakes the fat right out of your cells (yeah, sounds stupid to me now, too).  Or maybe a laser facial?  (Lasers + tender facial skin...not sure why I didn't realize there would be a pain factor with that one.)  Laser hair removal?  YES PLEASE.  Hair extensions?  Sure, I'll rock a weave.  (And I did.)  Eyelash extensions?  Yeah, I went there.  Two days ago.  Still getting used to being able to stab and/or fan people with a blink of my ridiculously long, doll-like lashes.  Everybody I look at thinks I'm flirting with them now.  They're a little over-the-top, and yet, I kind of appreciate anything that I feel boosts me to the 'next level'.  Meaning the 'next level' of prettiness, or youthfulness, or healthfulness.  Whichever.  

What's freaking me out is that I'm only 41 and I'm already trying all of these things to improve my game.  Am I still going to be so hung up on my outward appearance 5 or 10 years from now?  Quite frankly, it's exhausting.  I have so many other things I should be focusing on, and yet a good amount of my bandwidth is sucked up by trying to look good.  Will I ever be able to age gracefully?  Stop wearing the Chuck Taylor high-tops of my youth and shopping in trendy stores I have no real right to peruse (AHEM, Forever 21, I'm looking at YOU!)?  I just don't feel like I'm ready for that yet.  I'm wondering how much of this is self-acceptance vs. the acceptance of others.  Namely, a significant other.  If I were in a loving, committed relationship, would I just 'give up'?  Or rather than making it sound like defeat, would I just age gracefully and accept the inherent lack of attention and lack of coolness that comes with middle age?  I doubt it.  I know myself, and although I don't feel outwardly competitive with anyone in particular, I don't want to become an invisible middle-aged woman either.

I don't have an answer to this one yet.  I just wanted to put it out there.  And NO, I'm NOT fishing for compliments about how young I look.  So please don't post them here.  (I love you for even considering doing it, though.)  I'd be more interested in hearing from other women of various ages how they feel they are/have been perceived at various ages in their life and how much of an effect they feel their looks have on their lives, as well as how much emphasis they put on it.

I have to go now.  My magnifying mirror is calling me.              

     

Wow. Just wow.

THIS completely blows me away.