Becoming Something

The delightful thing about aging

Getting older sucks in many ways:  slower metabolism, more wirey hair, sagging skin, fading memory, maybe the need for more fibre?

But a delightful trade-off is the acceptance you find for all the things you tried to change about yourself to fit the portrait you composed in your mind in reaction to all the embarrassing moments, all the incidents of insecurity.

I used to be embarrassed by how terrible I am at retelling stories, telling jokes, or even reiterating something I have myself written.

When I retell anything that has a beginning, middle and end, there's a lot of,

"Wait. I can't remember."

and

"Oh!"

and

"Wait, wait. Okay, I remember. First... THEN..."

and

"Then I said something like... uh..."

And always the listener has a patient look upon his or her face and I know they're like that doctor on Scrubs, you know, the really cynical, mean doctor who tunes people out and goes to his happy ocean place and then when he's done he tells them he wasn't listening to them?  What's his name?  Well, they're like him only they wouldn't be so rude as to tell me they were busy at the ocean while I was trying to piece together a story that's getting more and more un-funny by the second.

When I sit at the computer, I can usually just write something and there's not a lot of pausing.  Usually my thoughts come to me clearly and strongly.  But talk to me in person or on the phone and I sound like a 13-year-old who's been sniffing permanent markers.  Not always.  Only a lot of the time. 

I used to feel self-conscious about this and I'd try to measure my words, giving myself more time to think.  Then, later I'd go over in my mind all the ways I sounded stupid and I'd resolve to do better next time.

Now?  I call it "quirky and adorable".  It's been my mantra-like self-definition for a while, instead of "weird and annoying".  There's always two sides to every coin, right?  

I used to think it was a sign that I was deep and intelligent that I didn't give away my laughs too readily.  (Really, I was depressed and when I'm depressed I'm really critical.)

Now, I'm so easy.  I noticed a couple of weeks ago that I preface an awful lot of comments on Facebook and Twitter with "LOL".  Once I noticed I, well, LOLed because it occurred to me how ditzy it looks.  For a nanosecond I was embarrassed but I really am laughing when write "LOL", if not an outward, "Heh" then at least an inward giggle.  So, it's just the honest truth. (Well, except for the "out loud" part.)

I giggle at lot.  I giggle at so much of what Jude says. Tonight, we went to see All About Steve with Sandra Bullock and Bradley Cooper and we laughed a ton, which probably makes us very uncool.  At one point I noticed that while other people were chuckling, we were laughing REALLY loud.  And I thought that at least one person in the theatre was probably thinking, "Hey, dummies.  It's not THAT funny."  Then I giggled some more on the short drive home, at things Jude said, at things I said.  I really amuse myself. 

But you know what?  I'm just really, really happy.  Most of the time, not all of the time.  I'm in love: with my husband, my kids, my friends, my music, and the nuances of life.  I'm... giddy.  And the best part is that I feel calm about it, not manic.  It's a happy way to be!

I think what I liked most about All About Steve was that even though otherwise brilliant Mary (Sandra's character) was annoying, didn't know when to shut up, and probably had Non-verbal Learning Disability, if not Asperger's, she found people who loved her the way she was.  Jude and I felt a bit gushy about these characters, they were just so sincere and weird.  And at the end Mary realises it's no great achievement to be "normal".

I have a few friends who love me the way I am.  They accept that I'm ditzy some days and I ramble on and on and I'll tell them, "Just one more thing!" before hanging up on the phone;  I'm arrogant some days and argumentative;  I'm a lot of seemingly conflicting things and they still love me!  I think.  I'm pretty sure.  They put on a good show.  It's fantastic! 

I think the older we get, the more accepting we get.  That's why the last child gets away with more than his or her siblings did.  We don't sweat the small stuff in ourselves and others.  We panic less about what things mean;  we need fewer definitions;  we can live happily in the greys.

The lines on my face I really don't mind so much.  I hate the sagging around my mouth.  I love that swine flu was the best thing that ever happened to my fat face.  I'm not particularly fond of the double eyelid I have from my sagging eyebrows.  I hate that I can't remember phone numbers and statistics like I used to.

But I laugh more. I make myself laugh more.  And I don't mind saying so.

Daily Gratitudes

1. It's a beautiful, sunny, zero-snow day.
2. Jude is bringing home a surprise for me from the town he's visiting briefly to drop our daughter off at an activity.  I hope it's food.  Or a hot British celebrity. 
3. I'm liking the Christmas decorations.
4. Debbie-who-I-wish-was-my-friend invited me to her house to learn together how to put genealogy on the Family Search website.
5. I'm so happy!

♥ ☀ ☻

(Check out the swine flu weight loss.  The first yucky photo is from August.  I pranced about Lampeter, Wales with no make-up and nothing done to my hair, despite knowing there'd be a lot of photos taken.  When I was 18, I wouldn't have even ventured to the gas station without make-up.  Partly because I didn't have a driver's license but that's a story for another day.  The next photos are from this week.  Note:  Cheek bones!  No double chin!  And also, I can so totally raise one solitary eyebrow.  That was a bit of goal of mine.)

 

CMB Post: Fighting the disease of entitlement-- just let me keep my iMac

Most children struggle with learning gratitude and applying it to their lives but one of my children struggles more than most. She's working on it, though. She's recently started prefacing her admissions of coveting with such reassurances as, "I'm not asking for this, Mom...." or "I know we can't go there but I'm just saying...." Although, this might just be a sophisticated effort at manipulation. Reverse psychology and all that. Hmmm....

Kidding aside, I'm actually very concerned about the entitlement that kids and teens everyone seems to have "these days". I don't believe this is a new phenomenon but I do think that it's become worse with a greater emphasis on design and material gain on television shows (like Oprah, Martha, and Extreme Home Makeover), and with more such magazines in print than ever before in history.

When I was a kid, the design of someone's dish soap dispenser was not a hot topic. Sure, I was a welfare kid and was excluded from rich circles where, for all I know, dish soap dispensers were monuments to wealth and good taste, but even my middle class friends would sometimes be told by their parents, "We can't afford it." A phrase which used to reflect maturity, patience, and sensibility has become something dirty and shameful. If we can't afford the fancy soap dispenser, we might not be "good enough".

My husband taught an adult Sunday School lesson recently at our church. The topic was centered on living within one's means. Living honestly and self-sufficiently is an important topic and oft-discussed throughout our church, world-wide. A gentleman, who should have known better, raised his hand to repeatedly argue with my husband about why it's okay to go into debt to go on a vacation. This was after my husband had said that if everyone on your street is taking fancy vacations, that doesn't entitle you to the same; vacations are not a necessity. Good gravy, people-- when did Hawaii become an absolute right for the middle class?

I am worried that my children will:

• think that we get an education to get a good job so we can afford good stuff
• think that happiness is pink and sparkly and makes you look prettier
• expect new things all the time and be depressed when they can't have them
• feel like their worth depends upon their fancy outer packaging
• expect to be able to carry on with their privileged lives when they leave our home
• care more about their own wants than other people's needs

(As per my contract agreement with Canada Moms Blog, I am naturally not allowed to post the entire content of the post here. My posts become their original content first. So, please click here to read the rest of the post. (This is one of my favourite posts, although not one I spent much time on because CMB needed some content quickly.) Thanks for understanding. You can leave a comment there or here, your choice.)