Tell Them You’re Fabulous

It’s a standard greeting – How are you? You’ll hear it in the morning when you step through the doors of your place of employment and all through the day as you progress through your list of chores.

Well, I recently had an encounter with a grocery clerk that made me realize just how rote the whole thing has become and how easy it is to turn that around.

A young man, probably 25 or so, was checking me out at the local Trader Joes and asked how I was. I replied, “I’m fabulous.” The checker took a second look at me and proceeded into a lengthy conversation that was both interesting and uplifting. We were left with that instant bond you sometimes feel with a perfect stranger, knowing that you both just shared a moment, never to be returned to, but valuable in itself.

I have often told people I’m fabulous, in answer to that proverbial question, with varying degrees of emphasis on the “fabulous.” It often floats right over some people’s heads, but frequently causes others to stop for a moment and ask themselves why. What does this woman have to be so happy about? Why is she fabulous and I’m not feeling it so much?

Sometimes it lightens the other person’s day, but it almost always lightens mine because as the words leave my mouth, I suddenly feel fabulous. The word itself brings a certain “over-the-top” sensation with it. Not okay, not fine, not good, not even great, but fabulous!

Terrific would work. So would “absolutely wonderful!” As long as the sense of joy in life, being at the top of your game and at one with the Universe is projected, it’s all good.

For those days when you’re not feeling fabulous, few as they may be, ever heard of the expression “Fake it until you make it”? Pretending you’re fabulous may just get you there.

Things Change, But Not Really

I left Arizona in March and my daughter, Vanessa, stayed behind. Just this past weekend she came to visit for the first time. That six-month period was our first separation. At the age of 24, I guess it was probably time for Vanessa, but I'm not sure there's ever a right time for a parent.

The time apart was pure agony for me. I realized when I picked her up at the airport why. Somewhere in the back of my head I was afraid of losing her. I can remember having the same feelings when my son left me for the Marines at 4:30 a.m. one morning years ago.

The minute Vanessa got in the car I realized I hadn't lost a thing. Everything felt the same, and the months fell away in an instant.

I think that people resist change primarily because they are afraid of loss. What could be lost varies depending on the individual and their circumstances. The greater the value of what is at risk, the greater the resistance to change becomes. For me, the loss of my child, on any level, was really tough and frankly I'm surprised I finally left Arizona.

Because of the heat, I was always miserable six months out of the year in that state. I know others who love the heat, but I actually suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder, which usually occurs in cold, harsh winter climates like the Northeast. It was ultimately that dissatisfaction with the weather that drove me back to California, my home state.

But really, was the heat enough of a problem for me to give up regular contact with my only daughter? Apparently, it was. Anyone who has read my posts regularly knows I believe in the mysterious workings of the Universe and so I find myself wondering if the Universe was looking out for me or both of us. Vanessa has had to deal with her car being melted by a car that caught on fire while parked next to hers, moving from her own apartment into a house shared with three other young women and finally losing a job and starting a new one. Perhaps, she was meant to work through these things on her own.

Don't get me wrong. We talk. We talk all the time. But it's not the same as having your family around to hang out with, collect hugs from when needed or simply give you the assurance that you're not alone.

I miss her again already and hope that someday we'll be in at least the same state. However, one thing I know now that I didn't realize over the past six months - Things change, but not really.

Security Is An Illusion

Adults know when they see children clutching a tattered old blanket that what we call a security blanket actually offers no real security for the child. It is simply an illusion that we are willing to allow the child to hold on to up to a certain age, then we struggle to take away their security blanket, ostensibly because they are old enough to do without.

Strangely enough, in my experience, most adults also cling to security blankets, although they are called a "good job", 401 K, pension plans and the like. Even more often, having been in one place for so that the employee believes there are no more unknowns he or she is lured into a false sense of security. Then there's the earnest conviction that all the horrible things that hit the newspapers and television "couldn't possibly happen to me."

That's what makes it so devastating when someone's pension plan is cut from $180,000 per year to $21,000 or they lose their job based on a false accusation from another employee. What? Why? How?

I've learned the lesson of "false security" three times in my life, and I still occasionally grasp at something that feels secure and relax. There's nothing wrong with relaxing, but it should be because you accept that things change and nothing is ever forever.

Let me explain. My family and I lived through the Northridge earthquake in California, and as an aftermath, I found myself living in fear of the next one. While our apartment rolled as if we were on the deck of a small ship in a stormy sea, the reality of what was happening shook me to the core. There was nothing I could do except wait for it to pass. We tried to walk to the front door, but were knocked down. Even when it stopped, we were trapped until some neighbors broke down our front door. I had absolutely no control over anything that early January morning. There was no such thing as security at that point.

Then my husband, Pete, passed away at 51 from a combination of heart disease and diabetes. Nothing we tried helped, and after a year of angst I accepted the fact that he was going to die. He did and my partner, whom I had planned to live with until we were both old and feeble, left me alone. I had no sense of security anymore. Whatever was to be in the future, would be without my rock, my friend, my husband.

Finally, when 9/11 happened any remnants of a security blanket I might have clung to evaporated in the explosions of the Twin Towers. I was not alone. Many struggled to find something to hold on to.

But our memories are so short in many ways, thankfully, and we begin to build our lives again and hold on to nonsense. Acceptance that things will change no matter what we plan on is, in my opinion, the best way to get through life. It allows you to live in the now, because in truth, the moment is all we are guaranteed. This moment, right now. Nothing else.

Why did I think this was important to express? Because all around me people are dealing with lost jobs, lost homes, lost partners, all things in which at one time they felt secure. It is a lovely illusion, but only that.

So, instead treasure the unexpected smile or the peace and quiet of a summer morning. Live in the moment, as much as you can. It will pay off big dividends in the end.

Postscript: I found this wonderful quote today and just had to add it to this post. Helen Keller said, "Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing."