It Doesn't Have to be My Way!

I’m stealing this idea from my sister. It’s her recently adopted mantra. Every time she starts to get a little bunged up because something isn’t going the way she’d imagined it she repeats this phrase – “It doesn’t have to be my way.”

She shared this with me and I’ve begun to chant it to myself as well. It has a very nice rhythm and the refrain soothes the savage beast inside me that formerly insisted that it did indeed have to be my way.

What’s so wonderful about having installed this belief in my mind is that my brain is finally able to wrap itself around the idea that somebody else might have a better idea and even if they don’t it doesn’t really matter. How great is that?

I mean – does the centerpiece really have to be in the center of the table? Must the reports be stapled on the top left corner? Is it critical that Susan from Accounting sit next to Jemma from Human Resources or can the two of them be separated just this once? Is the sun going to wither and die if we don’t have the traditional cranberry sauce – the kind that slides out of a can with its own rings intact - this Thanksgiving?

At the next family gathering, sales meeting or planning event, when your mind begins to wander and you find yourself at the “Are these people idiots?” buffet, try switching off the mental agonizer and switching on the replay button for “It doesn’t have to be my way” and see if you don’t calm right down.

Suddenly, the planets align, harmony falls over the unruly crowd and a glimmer of hope begins to win out that the family will not end up in a verbal Armageddon or the sales meeting might actually come up with some new ideas. And even if the world isn’t completely perfect, you are no longer a part of the anguish.

There now, doesn’t that feel good?

Life in Three Stages

I believe most people would recognize that we live our lives in stages in many senses; each stage defined by sociologists, psychologists, our parents and their parents, basically the world outside our own selves.

I recently had an epiphany, which relieved my mind greatly. I was struck in a flash by the distinct stages of my own life as defined by myself.

I realized that if I were to divide my life so far, at the age of 59, into parts that were clearly on one path, it would divide fairly close to thirds. Until the age of thirty, I would say I had spent most of my life without direction, in pain and basically screwing up everything. This was my infancy.

From thirty to sixty- or 59 to be more exact - I have been in the process of finding myself, growing and becoming a personality that is individual. I am now clearly my own person, unafraid to declare my beliefs and more importantly, fearless in pursuing my one true passion – writing.

I’ve spent sometime beating myself up for taking so long to get here. But the truth is I wasn’t ready to write anything substantial until a few years ago. A story had to be about something other than what I knew because to write about what I know – as everyone says you must – I would have revealed too much of myself. Even to me.

So, now I’m set for the last third of my life, during which I plan to do what I do best – write – and pursue another great love in my life – travel. These are to be the top priorities as I cruise through the best stage life has to offer – what I’m calling my True Blue period.

We all develop differently. I am not a prodigy – that’s for sure. But I’m not a failure either, because I’m not yet done with trying to secure my success in the one thing that matters to me – writing. I guess I’m a late bloomer. Picturing myself as a bulb that’s been lying dormant for years, finally gathering enough nutrients and water to push through the ground and at last bloom into a beautiful tulip – my favorite flower – is somehow warming to my soul.

Whatever stage you’re in, may you soak up everything you can and enjoy as much of it as possible.

Never Enough

As I sit here listening to Willie Nelson and Norah Jones singing “Baby It’s Cold” outside, I find myself reflecting on how lucky I am. Very.

Why just the other day I found out I’m about to come into a windfall, admittedly small, but still something I hadn’t expected. My mind ranged over a couple of things I’d been meaning to take care of and I found that with the extra cash I could do one – not both. Isn’t it amazing how there’s never enough?

The truth is that this was just the right amount to do something for myself, and then share a little with my son and daughter. Just enough. But we are so conditioned to always be searching for the amount of money that will meet all our needs, and then all our wants, and then all our conceivable wants and needs into eternity!

Never enough. It never ends – the need for more and more – if you don’t stop it yourself. I think it’s in our DNA to collect, hoard and save, as a hedge against the future and to comfort ourselves that nothing could ever go wrong, because we have enough.

The truth is that there really is never enough to save us from poverty of life or spirit no matter what. There are still earthquakes, floods, tornados, heart attacks, aneurysms, Bernie Madoff, Wall Street crashes and all manner of thieves to steal away your safety nets.

There is only way true way for what you have to be enough. You must declare it so and mean it. You have to take stock and look around you and say, “I have enough for today and that may be all the time I have anyway. I’ll worry about tomorrow - tomorrow.”

I’m not saying you don’t responsibly plan for the future, just that you don’t let the future take you over. Enjoy what there is today – a downpour, jazz music filling your little space from your small (but good enough) radio, an onion bagel. Let the warmth of fuzzy socks soak into your soul and convince you that in the precious moment – that’s all you really need. Enough is enough.

As Thanksgiving Approaches

I’ve written editorials that espoused all the platitudes about gratitude and meant every word of them. But now it’s time to get a little down and dirty. Tell it like it is. Kick the euphemisms to the curb. Oh, yeah, baby!

Excuse me while I fan myself. I got a little overwrought there. But really, isn’t it time to be for real about gratitude. You want to know what I’m most grateful about this season? I give thanks everyday that we’re a nation at peace. Oh, wait! No, that’s not right. Well, at least we have universal health care. What? What’s that you say? Not exactly.

Let’s start over. I’m thrilled that I don’t have to be the one to hose off the guy who lives in the ratty RV next door when he accumulates too much filth. I’m even more thrilled that alcohol didn’t get me the way it got him.

I’m thankful to be the one trying to get donations for the food bank, instead of being one of those that need the food.

I’m happy that when I whine about how tough life is, I still have the ability to get outside of myself (after several minutes of intense whining) and see that I’m really a very lucky gal.

Every time I’m lonely, I can reach for the phone and call someone. Isn’t that something?

I’ve been given the gift of understanding how wonderful the internet is and it makes my life easier in so many ways that I’m eternally grateful and excited to see what’s next.

I get a paycheck twice a month. I have a roof over my head. I have a vehicle that gets me where I want to go. I have enough clothes to last two weeks comfortably without doing the wash! I have family who love me and I love back. I have…I have…I have.

Thank you, Universe, for everything I have. And thanks even more for letting me see that there are others who don’t have…don’t have…don’t have.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.

Dear Abby Needs an Update

This weekend, I was casually looking for the movie times, when I spied Dear Abby and was compelled to read it. When I was in my teens I used to read Ann Landers religiously, so I’m still drawn to advice columns. This one sadly disappointed me.

A newly-wed woman was complaining that her husband was happy to eat frozen pizzas and bagged salads every night saying the meals she cooked, with pleasure after a long day at work, were too expensive and too much trouble. Abby advised her to make him eat them anyway, because it was healthier and gave her pleasure. Hmmm.

There are so many things wrong with that answer, I don’t know where to start. First, she works herself, so she should feel free to cook for pleasure if she wants. Second, if he doesn’t want to eat what she cooks, she should take the leftovers for lunch the next day. Third, he’s an adult and is entitled to make his own food choices, healthy or not, and is capable of heating up his own pizza and pouring his salad from the bag. Fourth, who says a married couple must be blended together to such a degree that they must eat the same way?

The answer Abby gave leans on the tired old way of looking at marriage that I see around me everyday. This subject bugs me so much, that I may have mentioned it before in my blogs, but it bears repeating. Being married doesn’t equate to giving up oneself and becoming like the other.

I can immediately think of two couples where the wife is constantly saying things like, “We think…” Really? And when did your husband have his cloned (from yours) brain transplant? I’ve never heard a husband say the same thing. I think this is so horribly wrong.

These same two couples are not able to function separately in their lives away from work. The wives can only go shopping by themselves, never to a girls’ night out or a solo weekend retreat. The husbands seem to whine a lot and mope when left on their own, one of them choosing to starve until his wife returns to feed him. I don’t know which is sadder, being held captive against your will or willingly building your own prison walls.

Anyway, Abby, this isn’t the first half of the 20th century when the sole responsibility for health and happiness (and cooking) was in the wife’s hands. This is an age where two adults supposedly come together out of love, most of the time sharing responsibilities for income and household. It’s not necessary for the poor schmuck to eat her dinners to make her happy or him healthier. It is necessary for both to wake up to the reality that they are different entities and truly blend their preferences in a way that neither gives up the way they want to live; or not. In which case, they’re not long for the married state.

Professionalism is Highly Over-rated

I nearly didn’t go to see the movie Morning Glory this weekend because of a review that bemoaned the handling of the subject – hard news versus entertainment. The reviewer likened it to 1987’s Broadcast News, which pitted looks against talent in the news biz and was filled with lots of angst. Except, said this reviewer, Morning Glory’s characters had given up fighting the good fight. Bunk!

I did go see the movie, which was basically a cute romp through a morning news show, starring a curmudgeonly Harrison Ford, who hangs on to his highly regarded reputation as a tough news man, against the wishes of Rachel McAdams’ character, a producer who needs him to lighten up and do a few fluff pieces; the basic professionalism versus fun dilemma.

First of all, the movie wasn’t great, but it was likable. A lot like the premise of the story.

I’ve always had a problem with the term “professionalism.” It means many things to many people, but the one that bugs me the most is the idea that professionalism is the key to good business, profits, etc. Bunk!

Let’s look at this rationally. You go to a restaurant – coffee shop or gourmet eatery, it doesn’t matter – and sit down. Your waitperson is highly competent, asking all the right questions, bringing everything at exactly the right time. However, he is completely without warmth or personality. Most people are going to go away unsatisfied. Why? Because, although he acted completely professional, we want to enjoy our interactions with service people and this waiter didn’t fill the bill.

In fact, this is true in every business that exists in this world. We expect to have some level of human contact that goes beyond professionalism and THAT is the key to good business, profits, etc. Let me give a few examples.

Medicine – yes, we want competent doctors and nurses, but just as importantly, we want to feel comforted, connected. Sales – we want the best deal wrapped up in a feeling that we are more to this salesperson than just a number (whether that’s true or not, studies show that the feeling is extremely important to whether we buy or not). Accountants and attorneys really have to go deeper than professionalism to truly win our trust, if nothing else to counteract their “professional” reputations as stiffs or sharks.

Rather than touting professionalism as the Holy Grail, why don’t we, as a society, acknowledge that it is the skill of highlighting our humanity that is the true key to success in business? In Morning Glory, it is when Ford’s character shows us his humanity that he wins over his new audience. I know it’s just a movie, but I think it makes its point very well. Professionalism is highly over-rated.

I Hate Facebook

Okay, I don’t really hate it, but it can be truly annoying. I think what pushed me over the top was being “friended” by a co-worker, whose first and immediate message to me was a criticism of my politics.

Really?

But the overriding factor here is the inane nature of this thing 90% of the time. If it was being used for true communication I have no problem with it, but I’ll never want to tell people I had enchiladas for dinner and it didn’t sit well with me. Nor do I want to be so informed of anyone else’s similar travails.

Perhaps part of the issue is that unlike My Space, which was mainly inhabited by the very young, this social media encompasses everyone – all ages – and what seems so ridiculous to someone my age may be ultra-important to someone much younger. So, I admit to old-fogeyness.

I also admit that Facebook can be a great tool to communicate larger issues, promote events and stay in touch with people you may not see regularly.

I’m just too busy (or, in truth, I just don’t want to be bothered) for the trivia. It feels a lot like having to answer the door at 9 am on a Sunday morning in my bathroom to a neighbor I barely know asking to borrow a cup of clothes washing soap.

Really?