What gets lost along the way

I remember the exact moment I realized what I really wanted to do with my life.

I was covering an odious Monday night school board meeting, and an executive session had been called, leaving me twiddling my thumbs and counting the seconds that dragged by until the meeting would resume. While those in attendance waited, a young father scooped up his small daughter and zoomed her around the room making airplane noises while she screamed in delight.

“I want to do that instead,” I realized.

Journalism is a funny beast. You have to really, really love it because the pay is crap, the hours are worse than crap, and everyone within shouting distance of your circulation is more than willing to say you’re crap if you write something they disagree with. But I always felt like it meant something. Not much, maybe, but I tried to do some good and highlight some truth.

But that night, covering that meeting, I realized there was something I’d love doing even more; Being a mom.

Fast forward three years and here I am, Mommy Mommerkins McMom. Mrs. Mommy Mommerkins McMom, actually. Full time stay-at-home mom extraordinaire.

And since this was my choice, and it is all I wanted, it should be enough, right?

But it isn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids with everything I’ve got. I never regret the choices I’ve made. But if I’m honest with myself (and you, I suppose) I would have to say there are times when I find myself wanting something more.

Everything I am today is defined in relation to my kids. Everything I do, everything I plan, everything I hope, it all revolves around them and my husband. The meals I cook, the diapers I change, the shows I watch--all of it. There are days when I feel like somehow the person I am got lost along the way.

I was going to write things that mattered. I was going to earn money and be recognized and respected for my place in society. My teachers told me I had potential, and I believed them.

And maybe I let us all down.

I wouldn’t trade my time with my kids. And logically I know what I do matters, even if it is ephemeral and unskilled. And it’s with no small amount of guilt that I write these words, because I know, as deeply as anyone can know anything in this world, that I am blessed.

But I’m also lonely. And most of my witty pop-culture references are wasted on the three and under crowd. And I really, really hate watching movies about Barbie. Really.

I’m lucky. I’m so, so lucky. I know that. And this should be enough.

So why isn’t it?

Past imperfect

The past has a funny way of rising up to meet us. Issues and anxieties thought long since left to dust are found reanimated and hiding in the quiet recesses of the present, waiting to infect the day.

In a way, the past is a vampire.

It rises from its rightful resting place to drain us, feeding on the moment, leaving only an anemic shell of the now. The past can steal the blush of the present. And it just won’t stay dead.

Mistakes, missteps and mishaps; accidents, betrayals and tragedies; old debts and old flames; bad decisions and overwhelming failures-- all these things are out there, just waiting to trip us up when we start feeling too comfortable.

The reason we can never fully rid ourselves of these monsters is because they make us who we are. They ushered us into the skin we now inhabit, and that gives them license to stop by, uninvited, whenever they might choose.

Whether your past-vampire (it’s a phrase now, I’m copywriting it) is a bad credit score, a crappy ex, a loss you can’t move on from or a few too many beers before driving, it’s the bad parts of a life that shape us most dramatically. They teach us appreciation, patience, endurance and the importance of forgiveness. And like anything valuable, these lessons come with a high price.

The only real question is when do we get to stop paying.

Why did they have to make these limited edition? I loved these!

Vicious hope

There are so many things in this life to be afraid of. Terrorists, maniacs, clowns, high fructose corn syrup-- the list goes on. But of all the scary things in this scary world of ours, for me, one of the most terrifying is hope.


For a such an innocuous seeming four letter word, this baby can throw a mean left hook. Because hope robs us of the comfort of finality. If a thing is bad, and will always be bad, we can make our peace with that. We’re surprisingly resilient as a species, finding ways to endure even the bleakest conditions.

But telling us there’s hope things will get better--that a change is coming-- that leaves us open for a kill shot to the spirit. Because to see the light before being cast back into the blackness is worse. It’s cruel, really.

To say a thing is or is not, that is tolerable. To tell us to allow ourselves to dream of what might be, that holds a certain horror. Allowing a heart to warm to an idea; A better place to live. A second chance at health. A baby. True love. A great job. Achieving a dream. Forgiveness. Redemption. Success. Peace. To dangle these things before us, allowing us to believe them possible at last, only to lose them again, is beyond excruciating.

But why? Why would it hurt to lose what you never really had to begin with? Hope.

See what I mean? Tricky lil’ bugger, isn’t it?

But vicious as it is, hope is necessary. Without hope for what might be, none of us would ever move beyond what is. And those times hope blossoms into reality almost compensate for the devastation it leaves when it withers in the mind.

A life with hope is a scary thing indeed. The only thing scarier is a life without it.

Commencement speech

It’s graduation season, and that means it’s time for individuals of great acclaim and accomplishment to come forth and give inspirational commencement speeches to the classes of 2010.

For some reason I was overlooked for this honor. Apparently having all the lyrics to “Dr. Horrible’s Sing- Along Blog” doesn’t qualify me as impressive enough of a person to impart my brand of wisdom on those kids in the stupid hats. But why let a little thing like nobody caring to hear my thoughts stop me from expressing them?

Ahem:

“Commencement” is a word that means “beginning.” No, forget that-- everyone says that. If there’s one thing people are eager to tell you again and again as you pack your books and prepare to venture out of the hallowed halls and into the real world it’s that this is the beginning. And yeah, they’re kind of right. But it’s also an ending.

People don’t like to talk about that much because it’s taken for grated that endings are sad unless they include the phrase “happily ever after,” and nobody is foolish enough to hand out that promise along with your diploma. Personally, I think being “ever” anything-- even happy-- sounds a little dull, but I digress.

The thing is, this part of life, right here, is an ending. And while those of you who have excelled in this little microcosm of the universe may have some troubles with that, for the rest of you it may just about save your life. Because all those places you never fit into before are gone now, as are the people who have made existence in these parts difficult. And though new people and difficulties will inevitably take their place, you will never again have the same strife you knew here, because time, mercifully, changes us, and the people you see here seated near you will cease to exist as they are today in a remarkably short amount of time.

There will come a time, not so very long from now, when you realize you are not the version of yourself you were today. And that’s probably okay. Because it’s that real-life education-- the courses taught by loss and pain and need and success and obligation-- that will inform this future version of yourself. But such change is as hard as it is necessary. And probably nothing I say here today can make it any easier. Just in case though, here are some of the things I’ve picked up along the way. Make of it what you will.

• You never realize how sick or hurt you can actually stand to be without seeking help until you pay your own medical bills.
• There is life beyond Ramen Noodles.
• It’s not as easy to get pregnant as they make it sound in sex ed.
• Most of what you’ve learned in school can be forgotten, leaving you none-the-worse for it.
• People are never exactly what you’d think them to be.
• Most of the things people say “build character” actually just break spirit.
• There’s something deeply satisfy in doing something just because you want to.
• We have to look out for one another. That may just be the point of all of this.
• Never trust a clown.
• Y’all are going to regret skinny jeans-- trust me on this one.
• Gauging your ears , piercing your face and/or getting any tattoos still visible in a short sleeve shirt will ensure you will have significantly less earning potential in your life unless you’re going to be a bouncer, a musician or something else along those lines. If your need to express yourself outweighs your need to make a comfortable living then that’s completely valid, just know the deal going in. “The Man” still runs the world, and the man frowns upon that sort of thing.
• There will be times when you have to choose between being a good person and being a good employee. Side with humanity. Jobs come and go but there are some wrongs you can never undo. No paycheck is worth that.
• Everyone’s got troubles. Even the jerks.
• One of the most empowering things you can learn is your ability to redefine who you are at any given moment. Those things that tie us to who we think we have to be are mostly smoke and mirrors. Most are only a reality because we believe them to be so. Dust all that off and remember who you want to be, and start being that. Now.
• Be kind. Not because you have to be, not because you’re seeking some karma points and not because it looks good on a resume. Just do it because it’s what you were meant to be.
• Don’t waste your life waiting for it to begin.
• The easy thing is rarely the right thing. The right thing rarely comes with a big paycheck.
• Be grateful. Even for the hard parts.
• Forgive people. Even if they don’t care, it’ll make life easier for you.
• Know that no matter where life may take you, you have something of value to teach someone else. Even if it never ranks high enough to warrant a commencement speech.

Five things I will never say in front of my daughter

Nothing teaches us the power of words more than watching a child learn to speak. Navigating the murky waters of a language is no easy task-- and that goes for the grown-ups too. Words are powerful, and should only be un-caged from our mouths with the utmost care. But we all know that’s impractical. No one, parent or otherwise, can be mindful of every utterance every moment of every day.

We all screw up and say things we wish we could take back-- a situation made infinitely worse when it occurs in the presence of our kids.

And while I’m sure my children will hear a litany of four letter masterpieces fly past my lips along with some undoubtedly colorful phrasing for bad traffic situations, spilled paint, or tight pants, there are some things I will try exceedingly hard to never say in front of my kids-- specifically my daughter.

1. “I’m fat.”
This one is hard for me because, well, I’m a woman. Moreover, I’m a woman who has grown up in a society that worships at the cult of thin. And I would be lying if I were to pretend I haven’t said on more than one occasion : “This is America; There’s no such thing as too skinny.”

For me, that will always be a little true. I know, logically, that I’m not fat. But I will never be able to look at my body and see any less than five disposable pounds lingering just beneath this skin. For me, there’s no such thing as too skinny.

This way of thinking is diseased though. I caught it somewhere along the way, and while I can’t cure it within myself, I will do my damnedest to keep from infection my daughter. So while every fiber of my being may ache to make derogatory comments about my body, I will shut my foolish mouth in front of Kathryn. And while society will tell her a thousand times over that we are all too fat and should do nothing short of self -flagellation when passing any reflective surface in penance, I will not. She may catch this sickness, but not from me.

2. “That’s gay.”
Because while it’s superficially little more than a colloquialism, the underlying implication is that gay means bad. And I reject that idea with every fiber of my being.

3.”Stop asking ’why.’”
Okay, I think I’ve already blown it a few times here because nobody asks “why” more than a two year old, but I hope to God she never stops. Because life, taken at face value, is dangerous. We all need to question the information we are given and the reality we are told to accept. To fail to do so is to invite unscrupulous behavior and unchallenged tyranny.

Teachers, doctors, newscasters, politicians and yes-- even parents-- should be questioned. Information is power, and I want my daughter to always seek greater meaning and hidden truth. Even if that mean spending 25 minutes explaining why I won’t put ketchup on her ice cream.

4. “I’m so stupid.”
I do stupid things. I make stupid decisions. I have stupid hair. But I, as a person, am not stupid. And putting myself down in front of my daughter will only make her think it’s okay for her to be equally cruel to herself.

5. “This is hopeless.”
Because it never is, really. There’s always hope. Even when it seems like there isn’t.

There are other things, of course. I will never say things that are racist or encourage (or allow) her to be cruel to animals. I will fight like mad to instill within her a sense of empathy and teach her the dangers of allowing yourself to think of any group of people as a “them,” since it’s all “us,” really.

I’m not entirely naive. I know she will hear all of those things again and again, sometimes from people she loves and respects. And she will have to come to her own decisions about why she will or won’t say them, as will Josh. There’s every chance they will learn these things and believe them to be true.

But not from me.