The Icing on the Cake

 “Mom, I think you're going to find the love of your life one day.” 

Son #3 and I went for a walk yesterday after school.  The walk is a new addition to our routine, and he has always been known for blurting things out.  These walks are designed to clear the cobwebs before homework time; they must also shake loose ideas he has floating around.  More often than not, his exclamations have granules or even cupfuls of truth.  Yesterday was no exception. 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yes, you’ll definitely find the love of your life…just not here in Georgia.”

Yes, that is precisely what he said.  And, I nearly fell over.  What proceeded from there was a conversation about the time that we have in life and the things we choose to do with it.  “Being in love,” as this twelve year-old understands it is what everyone is looking for.  Of course, there are plenty of 50 year-olds that think this, too.  If you don’t believe me, go have a look at match.com or okcupid.com or some other equally heinous website.  True enough that in middle school there is a lot of effort being put into being liked.  Wearing the right clothes and avoiding saying the wrong things – these are key to success in the middle grades.  Son’s thoughts on this no doubt swirl around his anticipation of his first ever middle school dance. 

We do spend a lot of our time looking for love or wanting to fall in love or wanting to fall back in love or some variant.  But, it’s really so unnecessary.  As I told son #3 yesterday, there are so many, many things to do and thoughts to think and books to read…and…he added: “Doctor Who episodes to watch” that looking for the “love of my life” is pretty low on my list right now.  He looked a little worried.  He assured me I could find someone.  I couldn’t tell him it’s not on my list at all because I think that the cats eating your corpse story if you die coupled with the cat lady jokes that son #2 and I bat around when talking about my future may have gotten to the youngest. 

If I could convince pre-teens, teenagers, and young adults (or all those folks on match.com) of one thing it would be this: searching for love and/or having lots of sex should not be your primary activity in life.  You are worth more.  Do not waste time, money, or tears on these activities.  Go and live your life.  Find things that are interesting to you that have nothing to do with finding a significant other.  Read.  Write. Dance. Sculpt. Compose music.  Eat food.  Have friends.  Have lots of friends.  Quit making Pinterest boards for a distant-future wedding.  Quit hooking up.  Do not spend time pining for the “love of your life” or “the one that got away” or even “the one that sleeps next to me but I don’t trust him or her enough to not go through his or her phone when he or she is asleep.”  Quit.  Go and live.  Find things that fascinate you.  Live life.

This is a hard pill to swallow and there are certainly hundreds of clichés and self-help books that lurk around this pill but here it is anyway:  Fall in love with yourself.  By doing this, you free yourself and your friends to love fully.  So many young people seem to believe that “needing” someone is equivalent to loving someone.  They convince themselves that they need someone to complete them, to insert in their Face Book relationship status bar, or to spend Saturday nights with.  If you fall in love with yourself, you free those around you.  This bit of dialogue from the 1985 movie Out of Africa illustrates:

Karen: But I do need you. You don't need me.

Denys: If I die will you die? You don't need me. You confuse need with want. You always have.

Sure, most people want love.  Someone to come home to.  A partner.  A wife.  A husband.  A “love of their lives,” but it is not a necessity.  You won’t die if you don’t have that someone.  You very likely will wither up and die if you neglect yourself.  It may sound selfish, but in the moment when you fall in love with yourself, you will find that you won’t need anyone else.  If someone else is in your life and you love each other, it’ll be icing, not the cake.

“Well, son, I’m pretty busy right now; I don’t really have time for anyone else.”

“Okay, but, Mom…at least you have me and the brothers.”

And that’s my icing.

An Attitude of Gratitude - Sort Of

A few weeks ago I was out with some friends for a drink and a snack.  During the course of this outing, everyone was on and off their phones – texting with absent spouses; responding to teen children who were out doing their own thing; or checking in with the babysitter of smaller children.   I was not above the obligatory phone check.  However, when I returned home, I was perusing Face Book, and I noticed that one of the friends who had been at our outing had updated her status:  “Having a great time with friends – love them all!”  The time stamp was in the middle of our time together.  Huh?  Why did she post this for others to see rather than putting the phone in her purse, and telling us all how much she was enjoying herself and how glad she was that we were all together?  I was flummoxed.  But, she is not alone. 

A similar phenomenon circulating on Face Book is appreciation memes.  Such stickers are a way of showing love or appreciation for someone in your life.  And they are almost as annoying as the if-I-can-get-one-million-likes-I-get-a-new-spleen-or-new-puppy memes.  To wit:

What?  How about if you love your daughter, call her have a meaningful chat?  If you love your son, take him to dinner?  Proofread his college app for him?  Take your daughter to the movies? I don’t believe my mom has ever posted this kind of thing, but I kind of hope she doesn’t.  I know my mom loves me, and I bet you do, too.  You don’t need this kind of cheesy virtual sign to remind you.  And, if this kind of sign is the first inkling you have of your mother’s love, there is something amiss. 

How about this one:

Hey, if you really love your husband, I bet I can think of a few actions he’d rather be the recipient of than your liking and sharing this.

Now, to add insult to injury, it is November again, and I have another thing to be curmudgeonly about:  thankfulness statuses on Face Book.  Some of my friends and many acquaintances will spend the next twenty-eight days posting one thing a day that they are thankful for.  They started out big yesterday:  “I’m thankful I’m a child of God” and “I’m so thankful for my wife and children; they are the lights of my life.”  But, these attitudes of gratitude will peter out by mid-month, and I may have to block some people: “So thankful for plastic grocery bags to scoop the poop into” and “Love that we have indoor plumbing.”

Before you label me a year-round Scrooge, let me clearly point out the problem here. We all need to be grateful in an on-going and active way, especially for the big things. If you are reading this, it is likely that you are educated, have a roof over your head, and reasonable nourishment for the foreseeable future.  You are better off than approximately 73% of the world’s population.  You need to act on your gratitude.  Why confine expressions of thankfulness to November? On Face Book?  And, how can one really sum up one’s love and gratitude in a four line status?  Are the recipients’ hearts warmed? Or do you simply feel better about the eleven months in which you take these people and things for granted?

I think electronic media has shrunk our ability to express ourselves in all different ways, and many of us have relegated expressions of gratitude and love to statuses and tweets.  Saying “I love you” is much safer through the bits and bytes that carry computerized messages than saying it face-to-face. Distance ameliorates the heartbreak of a non-response to proffered love. Furthermore, I have noticed that very few people – from the cashier at Target to my own children – don’t know how to say, “you’re welcome.”  If someone shoots them a “thanks” – that person may get back nothing, a grunt, or if they're very lucky, “no prob.”  Saying thank you should be a daily and face-to-face thing.

Now, you may argue that people move and fall out of touch.  These virtual messages are a great way to get back in touch, aren’t they?  Post a status about what a good friend he is and tag him in it, preferably with a funny throwback picture (bonus points if the picture is on a #throwbackThursday). A notification pops up on his phone; suddenly, you’re back in touch, right?  This computerized thankfulness seems to have degraded our communication skills and, seemingly, our real emotions.  It is also this kind of thing that encourages distance between people. 

If really want to thank you for something, I should come to you and thank you.  I should shake your hand.  Give you a hug.  At least write you a hand-written note. Bake you cookies? How about a sincere expression of real emotion? Shouldn’t I?  Has it become just too easy to fire off an email or a status an call it done?  Sure seems like it.

So, if you really feel you have to participate in the thankful status November thing, that’s fine. But it’s not enough.  Step out from behind the computer and actually thank people – in person.  And, when someone thanks you – say “you’re welcome” and mean it.  After all, love is an action, a verb, and it is out of love that gratitude springs.

Thank you.

On Being Normal

Where can you go to see people you normally don’t really want to see at all in various states of undress and dampness and relaxation and sandiness? 

I went to the beach today.  Despite the marketing ploy of the town in which I live – “three hours to the beach and three to the mountains!” -  I probably haven’t been to the beach in about three years. And, yeah, that marketing tool is basically spinning the fact that we are in the middle of nowhere.  But, I needed to see the ocean today.  We happen to be in Florida, and I happened to have a few hours to myself, so I went.

Let me just say that it wasn’t crowded.  It was hot and windy.  After I removed myself from the smallish crowd, I settled on a dune to watch the surf and contemplate.  As with many meditations, my undisciplined mind began to wander.  I took in the seagulls, two ships on the horizon, the white surf, the sway of the water.  And, then it happened.  People were walking by – running by – wading into the surf.  Having worked in high schools for the past twenty years, I am adept at tuning out the noise and movements of those around me.  However, it happened.  It was kind of like when you glance across a nighttime room, and you are really sure you just saw a moving shadow, but you know you’re home alone, so you try to convince yourself that nothing was there.  The beach version of this is when a larger lady is sporting an ill-fitting one piece, and she strolls by as you are staring out at the horizon.  And, just as she steps into your line of view, the edge of her bikini line pops out and greets you.  Not unlike a little ground hog popping its head out of the ground, glancing around, and then burrowing back down.   Larger ladies who may not fit well into conventional swimsuits need to check the body fit of their swim attire on a regular basis.  When we have some extra mass, our clothes can stretch in places we don’t always check.  I don’t care if you have rolls of fat, and I think you should wear whatever swimwear you are happy in, but I want it to cover your labia.  Sitting on the small dune and the sight line I had out to the ocean evidently created such an angle that my view was punctuated not once or twice but four times by four different ladies with this particular wardrobe malfunction.

These instances were not in quick succession, and after each, um, greeting, I had to readjust my sight, search around for a shell or two, breathe in the ocean air, and generally cleanse myself.  I found my thoughts reaching to what was “normal.”  The beach, as well as amusement parks, state fairs, and children’s birthday parties challenge what any of the participants might view as normal.  I did not grow up around beaches, and so I do not have a standard for a “normal” day at the beach.  Perhaps my experience today is just that.  I did not grow up near the mountains, so I have no idea what a “normal” day hiking would entail.  Sure, I did these things, but on vacation.  And, vacation is – most often – not normal.  I know what a “normal” school day is; I can define a “normal” work day for you; I might even endeavor to tell you what a “normal” birthday celebration entails.  But wait.

No, no I can’t.  There is no such thing as normal.  (Normal, Illinois notwithstanding.)  I have my experiences.  That is all.  I know what traditions I grew up with.  I know what traditions I tried to instill in my family life when the boys were young.  I remember the one time I desperately tried to squeeze a husband into my preconceived notions of what a family New Year’s Eve should be.  (That failed, and the following year I bought him a New Year’s hunting trip so I wouldn’t be reminded of my failure.)  I used to have a sign in my classroom that read “Tradition should be a guide not a jailer.”  Indeed.  Over the past four years, I have gradually and intentionally thrown out such traditions and expectations and normals in order to more fully embrace opportunities as they present themselves.  My middle son’s 18^th birthday brought us to Florida this weekend.  Back in June a friend offered to sell me tickets to a two-day multi-band concert; he had bought them, but his plans had since changed.  So, my son and a friend are at an all-day concert, and I have time.  Not a normal celebration, but a wonderful one.  He and his friend are having fun; I’m not at home moping about the crumbling bathroom or broken truck.  Neither am I doing the normal Saturday mowing and cleaning.  I’m in Florida, visiting the beach, having a glass of wine, writing.  Normal might just be over-rated. 

I recently had a conversation with a male friend which eventually turned to dating.  I stated that I do not date any more.  He was aghast.  “That’s not normal.  That’s not healthy,” he asserted.  I assured him that, in fact, it is quite normal and very healthy.  He went on to tell me that I needed to find someone to grow old with otherwise I’d be alone and – you guessed it – “that’s not normal.”  He has a point.  I believe that not wanting to be alone in old age is part of the impetus for marrying; at least it was for me.  But, I embraced that “normal” without actually examining all the parts of it, and the results were less than satisfying.  That “normal” doesn’t fit me any better than the women’s swimsuits fit them today. 

In high school and afterwards, I wanted nothing more than to “fit in” and “be normal” all the while being different.  I created a paradox for myself.  I took Russian to be different.  I wanted to be a spy to be different.  I got married to be normal.  I taught Russian to be different while fitting in.  Such paradoxes we can create for ourselves!  My eldest son wants to have a life not unlike the one his grandfather lives – materially comfortable, respectable, and generous.  At the same time he wants to travel, speak different languages, and date just about anyone who walks through the door. What’s a person to do?  My youngest son craves peer acceptance because, well, what’s middle school for if it’s not for gaining popularity and being regarded as cool?  At the same time, he still sleeps with his teddy bear and watches Dr. Who.  Perhaps we are all some version of this middle school dilemma:  “I want people to like me, but I want to do my own thing.”  It can be a horrific tug-of-war that can last far too long.

Now, I’m contemplating earning another graduate degree, selling my house, cancelling TV service; getting ready to send my middle son to college; watching my eldest son on his last two laps of undergrad before going into the army.  The truth is that I spent time and tears trying to fit into a normal that never fit quite right.  My children are doing this all much better than I ever did.  It is my hope that they already know that life does not have to be a paint-by-numbers kit.  The best lives are freehand, out of whack, and a little messy.  

Broken Hearts and Hope

Well, ladies and gentlemen, in the halls of your local high school it has begun.  The subtle hand-holding despite the rules against PDA; the kisses snuck in the parking lot or near the stadium before the game; the too long telephone calls and too many text messages.  I had my first “I can’t live without him” discussion with one of my students early last week.  I told her that in fact, despite what she thinks, she can, indeed live without him and live well at that.  Those of you who know me, know that I have had my share of this sort of thing: being the dumpee and also being the counselor to the dumpees (both male and female).  High school can be cruel in the area of relationships, but so can life. 

One can make arguments for never letting one’s children date.  I had a rule:  you must be sixteen and able to drive.  Reasons?  I don’t drive people on dates.  And sixteen is a good arbitrary number.  And I’m the Mom.  Eldest son never fussed about this rule.  As the eldest, he accepted his fate at the object of parenting experiments, and, anyway, he was always happier with a book or LOTR marathon.  Middle son insisted he had a girlfriend in middle school.  He was wrong.  He argued.  I won.  Youngest son thinks he has had a girlfriend since kindergarten.  He is also wrong.  I will win. 

Still, whenever the New Year starts, I think it is natural to want to have that special someone to share it with.  To go to dances with.  To hold hands in the hallway with.  And, those of us single adults want the adult equivalents.  Our school has various events throughout the year, and we must RSVP for ourselves and our guest.  I always RSVP with a grin, “I’m coming, and maybe, if the planets align, I will bring someone.”  I go alone or with my dear friends. I do think that the events coordinator would fall over in a fit if I ever showed up with a “someone.”

All of these football, homecoming dance, and relationship ponderings of my students reminded me of a sketch I wrote at one of the summer writing sessions.  I offer it here for your consideration.  And, I hope that no matter what your relationship status that you are well loved and thoughtfully cared for.

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Tears.  Mutterings and awkward hand holding.  He is clearly breaking up with her.  She is the kind of girl boys break up with.  Especially when the boys in question are 20 and shallow and lack forethought.  Her hair is not brown neither blonde nor red – an indeterminate color and her eyes are pale and washed with the pain of never yet being the dumper – always the dumpee.  It is not a fun place to be for her.  In fairness, he is not comfortable, either.  Trying to stroke her hand and bring comfort to a place he just made ultimately uncomfortable.  Did she give her virginity to him?  He to her?  Has he realized that she is too self-centered or too controlling or too interested in marriage?  Maybe she realized those same things about him long ago and chose to overlook them in favor of being with someone rather than being alone.  She looks away, wipes her eyes, willing the tears to flow or to stop.  He looks at the ground, shifts restlessly, and glances at his phone, checking the time or the text message that he would really like to get but hasn’t yet.

We have all been there.  We have begged someone whom we knew not to be the right person to stay with us.  Why?  Because being with someone – even a sub-par someone is better than being alone.  In this culture of couples – it is hard to have the resolve to be alone.  Alone.  Not lonely.  Just alone.  There’s a difference.  I was dumped at 20 – at 17, too.  And, again at 23.  I’m sure there are other times – we all can mark a few of them.  We shed the tears or we created the tears.  Or a little of both.  We have been uncomfortably waiting for the text that never comes.  We have gone home to our dog, our childhood blanket, and a pint of Rocky Road.  We have drunk one too many shots of whiskey and almost called.  Or we did call.  Or we texted.  And it wasn’t good. 

About two months ago I got a call from one of those sweepstakes things you fill out at the annual home and garden show.  The kind where you get a 4 night-5 day stay somewhere fabulous as long as you agree to hear the sales pitch and fill out some questionnaires.  They are good deals, if you have no money to invest or the willpower to say “No, thanks.”  After a few preliminary questions, the gentleman with a lisp on the other end of the line asked me who I might bring with me on such an excursion.  I said, “Hmm. Maybe my son.”  He then proceeded to ask me if I were married, if I lived with someone, or if I had a partner.  No. No. No.  He said this offer was only for those in relationships. He promised to call back with a different promotion for singles.  I don’t expect to hear from him.

In a culture that smacks of marriage-worship, it can be hard to be alone.   And, when you’re young and you haven’t yet had your first job, bought your first house, or had your first child, and you’re ever so slightly afraid of really living by yourself, it’s even harder to be singular.  I sympathize with that girl – even if she knew he was all wrong for her.  And I sympathize with that boy – even if he had a new girl lined up.  This isn’t the last time they will be alone, but my hope is that they can embrace the peace that is found in solitude in order to find the meaning that can be in a relationship.