And… Now, I have butterflies of excitement in my stomach. I love this time of year. So many things will happen in the next 50 days which gets me giddy.
My desk is full of papers. I have dozens of emails waiting for replies and regular mail to open. The magazine and newspaper pile has significantly grown. The “To Do” list is very long and also needs my attention. I’ve got a lot of stuff to do…
But…I don’t care. I’m pleasantly in a fog. A glorious fog in fact!
During a gorgeous hot summer night, I was out walking with a couple of girlfriends. While walking the girls started to vent! To vent means to get the steam out. To discuss everything that is causing psychological, emotional, or physical distress. In some cases, venting may cause your arms to swing, feet to stomp, voices to yell, and hair to be pulled. Actually, it may look like a visual display of madness.
I wasn’t a lost person, always looking for themselves. I knew who I was early on. I felt connected to my world and work quite quickly. However, now I would love to talk to my 20-year-old self and say, “Hey, it’s ok to say NO – often. It’s ok not to agree. It’s ok that people won’t like you for being you. It’s ok to be independent. It’s ok to live along your own path even if it’s unpopular. It’s ok to simply be you!”
And… What profession am I talking about? How do you get paid in LOVE? Is actual LOVE the currency? Am I talking about matchmaking? Am I talking about a form of Professional Love? Also… What type of love am I referring to? The love people have for each other, or for animals, or for inanimate objects? Tell me! Which profession pays in love?
An oldie, but a goodie… While growing up, the next tables I sat at were at birthday parties with friends. If you got to sit next to the birthday girl or boy, you were stylin! If you got an icing rosette from the birthday cake you were a princess or prince in the Queen or King’s court. Royalty seating and musical chairs was the fashion then. The tables to follow were in schools during lunch time. Those were more carefully selected and invitations were specific. Not always the friendliest and forgiving of seating situations. Who you sat next to depicted who your friends were and weren’t. These were more complicated seating times. Then we all grew up…
The other morning I woke up to the sound of ticking on my bathroom window. Tick, tick, tick, tick … Stop … Again, tick, tick, tick, tick … Stop. Again and again, the same ticking sound and then it would stop. This pattern repeated for about five minutes. I rolled over in my bed and tried to go back to sleep. I assumed it was a squirrel running about.
Now…is the time. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. Not when you are on vacation. Not when you have reached your perfect weight. Not only on your birthday. Not when you deserve it. Not when the stars, the moon and the planets are all perfectly aligned.
Today is the day to eat the chocolate.
Oh, how I miss the simple pleasures of receiving mail. When mail passes through the mail slot of my front door, I usually get excited. The anticipation of, “What am I going to receive today”, is fun. But… Lately, I’m disappointed. I’ve been receiving mostly advertisement flyers……. Where are the love letters?
How in the world am I supposed to remember my pin number? It’s not like I have only one. I have many and on a given day I need to access quite a few numbers. My memory isn’t as great as it used to be. Actually, it sucks! Can I blame this and everything else on menopause?
“Dear, don’t bother holding your tongue. Just use a glue stick instead of your lipstick.”
The thought of me taking a glue stick out of my purse instead of a lipstick would be hysterical. I might just use this as a prop one night when I’m out with my girlfriends.
Sometimes not speaking and listening more intently is the best and safest approach to being. You can never be misquoted from what you don’t say!
At first, my diary was a place to put all my confusing adolescent thoughts. Where else was I able to say, “I’m a freak! I’m so in love with Lee Majors, Fonzie and Elvis all at the same time.” Or, “I don’t know why my left boob is bigger than my right boob.” Or, “My F+*#kin English teacher, she’s such a…”
As a writer, I tend to make up a lot of words. I also use the words that I make up. “Simblissity” is one of those words. It means to enjoy the simple pleasures of life in a blissful way.
That’s when he simply said, “It’s your rodeo…own it! Make it yours. You decide how you want it done. You’re the expert. You make the calls. This isn’t your first rodeo. Put on your big boy boots, cowboy hat and get into the ring!” I thought, yaaaa, he’s right! …It is my rodeo. That’s right, Sue…IT’S MY RODEO! IT’S MY FRICKEN RODEO!!!!!
This is not actual ‘food’ that I am talking about. I’m referring to the food which fills your soul. Although food can do this in many ways, I’m dipping deeper down into the bowels of our soul and mind. The space that makes you breath deeper and dream.
I remember riding my bike and listening to Steely Dan on the radio:
Are you reelin’ in the years
Stowin’ away the time
Are you gatherin’ up the tears
Have you had enough of mine
Just riding my bike in the sun and listening to the radio. Simply, simple.
So how does one ward off the pending gloom that surrounds adulthood? How do we reclaim reelin’ in the years?
My suggestion…”Screw Maturity”. That’s right, don’t grow up. Stay immature and child-like.
How does one stay immature? Embrace childhood happiness and simple joys.
I really wanted to be a smart person. It seemed that the smart kids got a lot of respect in school and I wanted that. Although I tried hard to be a smart kid, I couldn’t break into the regular learning groups in elementary school. But…I was a really good athlete, so that helped along the way. I couldn’t spell, but I could run super fast!
Reality set in when I nearly bombed my first graduate course. He said, “Under-grads think they know everything. Grads think they know quite a bit. It’s the Profs who realize that we hardly know anything.” Now, I was starting to smarten up and listen better.
After spending two and half weeks in Israel, my friends and family asked me how my Maccabiah Games experience was. I’ve looked into their eyes and tried to find the words to describe this life-changing event.
Perhaps there are too many things to remember to do that didn’t exist years ago. Things like emails, recycling and compost bins, and byob – bring your own bags. Perhaps our freedoms to do what we want are being controlled by society’s pressures to always do the right thing?