Ode to 46

 

Ode to 46...

In the spirit of honoring that which I know to be true at this squarely middle age, here are 46 truisms...at least for me.

• It is fucking hard to raise teenagers.  I'm currently raising two...Sam is 16 and Kate is 13.  Caught between living vicariously through them and honoring that they are their own beings who do not need a micromanaging, crazy ass mama controlling their game--we do our wobbly dance of love and expectations, struggle, apologize and repeat.
  

• Running is my favorite metaphor for life.  It hurts.  It's hard.  It breeds confidence, determination and the belief that with enough steps, over and over again, anything is possible.

• Do the work/honor the hustle.  Since owning my business, I've learned that half the battle is showing up, doing the work imperfectly, learning from my mistakes, treating the people I serve well and trying again tomorrow.  Success comes from consistency.  I know no one who lucked out.  You may have gotten the opportunity, but without the tireless follow-up and follow-through, there was no sustenance.

•  Be kind, even to the assholes.  It is free and important to be kind.  It isn't hard to say hello, smile and wish someone a great day.  And those words and that intention can be the difference in someone's willingness to see that it can be okay--and maybe that it is okay.
  

•  Move your body.  There really has never been a time I've wanted to run.  And there's never been a time after a run that I regretted going.  I can't seem to breathe and propel my body forward while miring in my own shitty thoughts.  Movement takes away the stories I've been telling myself about what will or won't work out, improves my mood, and reminds me that life is for the living.
  

• The story you're telling yourself isn't true.  I live in my head a lot.  I create wild tales about why someone thinks something about me and what the future will hold or why that thing happened in the past.  I analyze, over analyze, and then, cycle through again.  And 9 times out of 10, I'm wrong while simultaneously having wasted all that time--that I could have spent on calling a friend or drinking coffee-anything other than worrying.

• You're right where you're supposed to be.  This is probably my greatest lesson in 46 years of existence.  As much as I want to think that my time/opportunity has passed or that I'll never learn or that it's hopeless--something happens and I realize that I couldn't possibly have started my business then or ran the marathon in college or lived in Chicago--I am exactly where I'm meant to be today--growing where I'm planted.
  

• Nothing is for forever. I lied.  This may be my greatest learning.  In the moment, it feels so hard, so scary, so uncertain, so unfair, so not going to work out...and then one day, it doesn't.  I'm working on this with my kids.  There is nothing like black and white thinking when you're a kid.  Somebody sucks or they're a super hero.  Someone meant to hurt you or they're the bees knees.  The truth is--and I especially see this in mediation--rarely is the other out to get you or amazing--rarely is the relationship a failure forever (especially if you choose to work on it)--rarely is the situation permanent--because you are not a tree--you always have a choice to move.
  

• Your story is still unfolding.  The receptionist at our family dental office recently asked me, "What are you going to do when your kids go to college?  You're only a couple years away with Sam," to which I replied, "Breathe and sleep."  I will be in my 50's when all 3 of my children have flown the coop and all I know is that there will be another awakening, another emerging, another shift in my story--and that is exciting.  As such, I'm committed to owning the present for all it is.
  

• It isn't impossible.  My 10-year old daughter, Claire taught me this.  She's a bad ass taekwondo red belt.  I've watched her break boards and spar with kids and adults that hover over her--and she is not afraid.  She does archery, rides horses, writes books, and tells people to fuck off in her head (this was a new development she shared recently).  At the end of the day, she proclaimed, "If it lives in your heart, do it.  It's meant for you."  All too often, I won't attempt something because it seems ridiculous or for someone not like me i.e. an IronMan, and then, I remember Claire kicking the shit out of a competitor because she wants to, and I realize, it's only impossible in our heads.
  

• Always have a dream.  A few weeks ago, Kate, our soon to be freshman in high school came to the dinner table and said that she found her dream school--Amherst College.  Their acceptance rate is 11% and the tuition, fees, room and board in 2020-2021 are $76,800.  They have phenomenal design programs, a student body of 1850 and are situated in one of the most geographically beautiful communities in Massachusetts.  And this is Kate's dream.  She can tell you all of the reasons and she's chasing it. 
  

• Take time to be with the ones you love.  During the pandemic, every Sunday night at 7pm, my family gathered over Zoom to talk with my parents, siblings, nieces, nephews, aunt, uncle, and cousin.  We didn't realize how much it mattered, until we discovered that we knew more about each other because of this past year than we had from the previous.  Life is uncertain.  It isn't hard to call and connect with those you love.  And in the end, it's what you cherish.
  

• Every day, you get to choose.  This is one of my favorites.  I'm notorious for beating myself up over the things I did or should have done, until I remind myself that right here and now, I get to try again.  As long as you breathe, you get to pick.
  

• Coffee should be mainlined.  Jesus.  This goes without saying.  Good coffee is a super power.
  

• Tell the truth with your whole heart.  I have learned this most in marriage and parenting.  Cut the bull shit and share who you are and what you need.  Trust is built over being who you are and showing up to do the work honestly along the way.
  

• Write shit down.  God this is a big one.  I have journaled publicly and privately for most of my life.  One of the things I love best is going back and re-reading where I was when such and such was going down, how I felt about it all, and juxtaposing it to where I am today.  It's like being an investigative reporter of your life.  And, reflecting and writing is one of the cheapest forms of therapy and helps to get the fear and hope out of your being and into the world.  Can't encourage it enough.
  

• Say I love you...a lot.  If you know me, you know that I say I love you constantly because I do.  The words I love you are not ones to withhold ever.  To know that you are loved and have someone to lavish it on is what it means to be human and to be connected and to belong.  Say it--even more than you do now.
  

• Say I'm sorry over and over again.  Get good at apologizing--to your partner, your kids, your employees, your neighbor, your mom, your dog, and most importantly yourself.  The world is messy.  We behave poorly.  Our intentions don't match our actions.  Just accept what is, work to make amends and then, don't do it again.
  

• Tell your children they are loved, right now with no strings attached.  This is huge.  There should be one God blessed place in this world of uncertainty that children know they are accepted and that is with their parents and in their families.  For the love of God, love them up for the oily, quirky, mean, irritable, cranky, needy, little humans they are.  It's one of the most important jobs we have.
  

• Stop using your past as an excuse.  This has taken me some time.  It's seductive to stay trapped in the comfort of the old narrative until you realize that the thing that happened with the person was years ago and you are no longer living that life and it's time to stop using it as a crutch.  Live in the here and now.
  

• Breathe.  My work is to meet people in one of the worst times in their life.  Mediating divorces while parties navigate sharing their children is not for the faint of heart.  And when the shit is hitting the fan, I remind them and myself to breathe and that together, we can do hard things (to borrow a phrase from Glennon Doyle).
  

• Pray.  For me, prayer is stillness.  It is the quiet that I enter into and the space where I am open.  I share gratitude.  I plead.  Sometimes, I beg.  I hope.  I wonder.  I ask.  I remember.  I yearn.  But mostly, I believe that I am connected to something bigger than me, and I feel less alone.
  

• Dance.  I'm not very good at this--at all--but I like how I feel when I get out of my head and into my body.  My daughter Kate is a dancer and watching her reminds me that we were meant to move and to be free.
  

• The size of your house or bank account doesn't matter.  This one took a while--but I finally think I'm there.  I've learned that happiness isn't contingent on anything external.  It's something we choose for ourselves and own all on our own.  No one can give it to us or make us it--least of all material possessions.  How freeing is that.
  

•  Let it go.  At the end of the day, whatever you're worried about most likely doesn't matter, and if it does, with time, it will work itself out.  Surrender is one of the greatest gifts we can give ourselves.

• Get an education.  My children have been told since they could pull themselves up onto furniture that they will go to college, study abroad, go to graduate school, and not be allowed to marry until they're 30.  They mostly still believe this.  But I'm learning that an education is also mowing lawns, learning how to manage homework and tests, having a fight and resolving the issue, and keeping CPS from coming to your house because it's a pig sty.

• Travel.  Nobody loves the couch, a good book and Netflix as much as me, but the truth is that good things happen when you leave the house (according to Kelly Corrigan).  Have an adventure, so you can tell a story.
  

• Wear deodorant. For fuck sake.  Do your part.  And I'm not sure about these homemade shibangs.  I just think that part of my daily routine with my 16-year old son is, "Did you put on deodorant?" and the world thanks me for it.
  

• Leave it better than you found it.
• Stop complaining.
• Give the benefit of the doubt.
• Know when you've overstayed your welcome.
• Give hope.
• Get a dog.
• Smile at people when you walk by.
• Don't be a dick.
• Wash your dishes before you go to bed at night.
• Read.
• Send someone a text when you're thinking of them.
• Try not to hold a grudge.
• Drive a Honda.
• Do not teach your teen to drive.  Skip right to Driver's Ed.
• Decide what you believe in.
• Have the difficult conversation you've been putting off.
• Listen to the quiet yearning of your heart--it's not a coincidence.
• Remember that you are loved.

I didn't have the energy to write descriptions for the final 18--it made me realize that 46 is a lot--but I guess in a good way.  I've amassed some life and definitely some lessons.  I'm so grateful that I get to live this great experiment with people I love and who love me.  My prayer in this new year is more--more acceptance, more surrender, more hope, more connection, more love, more growth, more me.

Happy 46th...here's to it all.