Tag: change

  • Life is Short, Wear Your Party Pants

    Life is Short, Wear Your Party Pants

    At the risk of being repetitive in my posts I recently found this unpublished one and given the past year of hard events, think that now is the time for this rambling.

     The old saying that time marches on is no joke.  No matter where you are in life, it seems like in just a few minutes you have passed through another decade only to find your mortality staring you down.

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    The passage of time necessarily brings with it a host of emotions, some of which are as expected.  Like the graduation of your children from high school.  This is something that I never thought would ever actually happen given the steady stream of bottles and diapers that seemed endless but were followed immediately by their departure to college.  Then those four years pass in a flash and mark the beginning of my offspring living on their own, at least in some quasi-independent fashion, and my “empty nest”.    

    These things are the typical and anticipated life events, but they can feel like they happen suddenly – when you look away for just a moment. In my case, I can definitely say I wasn’t prepared. I used to joke with friends about how “It’s about damn time”, but that was just a front. The truth is I will never be ready to not have my children around me every day.

    There isn’t much you can do about it.  Although I have threatened my youngest son with my daily search for an apartment next to his university.  He laughs each time, but I wonder if inside he’s endlessly repeating a new mantra – “Please God don’t let her do it” – under his laughter.  

    Then there are those events that don’t just sneak up on you but smack you squarely in the face.  These involve losing parents, friends and family members; losing or changing jobs; facing divorce; dealing with illness; worry about whether there is enough in the hopper to see me through to the end. All things that seem fraught with stress and sometimes are straight up unbearable.

    Many of these events have occurred over recent years and have left me crying on the bathroom floor, unable to function and basically empty.  Empty in a way that is difficult to crawl away from.  Even as I stick to my “self care” practices – therapy, yoga, running, cycling, friending, and writing, each one an attempt to try to make sense of all of it, I am often overwhelmed with sadness.  Even more than sadness, I am left with the world’s biggest question:  

    WHAT IS THE POINT . . . . .

    I was raised Protestant and baptized like most people but that’s where the lessons in the existence of a “Heavenly Father” ended.  We really didn’t go to church or have a consistent message that gave us faith.  We were left to figure it out.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and I certainly don’t blame my parents.  They did the best they could based on their own upbringing.  And to be honest, I have continued this trend with my own children, with a little bit of The Force thrown in.  Emphasizing “the ways of The Force” in how you live your life has proven to be a tiny slice of faith that they carry with them – no matter how silly or theatrical it may seem.   And really who’s to say that The Force is any different from a God standing with a backdrop of the Heavenly Gates, both invisible to our sight or touch.  But I digress.  The fact remains that not having a traditional bucket of God in your back pocket to pull out in life’s most difficult moments makes it far more difficult to deal with the unavoidable life events down the road.   This is something I have only recently accepted.

    I envy those that have traditional faith.  Even though I don’t get it.  They have such certainty as to why we are here and what comes next.  I imagine that must be a great comfort every day and most certainly during life’s major moments – both expected and not so much.  Someone once said to me “Why not believe in a God?” And I really get that. Why not? Isn’t it easier to believe that there is someone at the end of the road who will embrace you and say: “See? THIS is why all that happened. THIS is the point”. But as hard as I might try, I just don’t have that in me to fall back on or more accurately to fall into. And so, I am left with that emptiness that I cannot fill.  

    Along with the emptiness, is the nagging sense that I am waiting for something.  I’ve had this sensation all my life and have come to think of it as the “someday” factor.  On one hand it is a feeling of waiting for the “something” to happen that will close the loop – that will settle any uncertainty with the knowledge that THIS was the point.  

    On the other hand, I think that the sense of a someday is simply a basic belief in hope.  Hope that whatever is happening now is temporary and will bring you to another better, maybe happier moment.  Just simple hope. And maybe that is all that faith really is.  Not a certainty, but a sense of hope that means, as my Mom would say, “This too shall pass”.

    As some of these more challenging life events have thrown a boulder or two in my path, I have come to a few conclusions.  

    No. 1.  Life is short and is clearly meant for the living.  So live. Do the things that make you feel alive and don’t put them off. Do them now.  You may not have another chance.  As a good friend of mine once said, “Life is short, so wear your party pants”.  I love that and now go a bit farther and say “life is short, get out of your comfort zone and enjoy the small, beautiful things that you have”.  Wear the pearls.   It doesn’t matter where.  As you walk around your house and glance at yourself passing a mirror you will smile because of them.  Do it.

    No. 2.  Nothing is irreversible.  Nothing is forever.  Well, some things are but not all.  There is usually room to maneuver and shift to another spot.  Even if it is a tiny shift, a shift and movement it is.  

    No. 3.  While I struggle with the idea of fate, I mostly adhere to the idea that we are in control of our destiny.  Or at least we create much of our own reality.  For more on that tidbit from a few of the several Karens, visit: “You Create Your Own Reality. Or do you?“

    No. 4. Try really hard not to be afraid. Even though I am a first rate worrier, I know in my heart of hearts that it is a useless waste of energy. I can worry until the cows come home – even when it is clear that I have no cows. And it gets me nowhere. Fast. Sometimes there is no way around it and the fear I feel is justified. But more often than not I am fearful of nothing and of everything. For a long time I actually thought that the worry was what kept me safe. This I know is a sort of “magical thinking”. At least that’s what my all time, very favorite therapist called it. I wore and many days still wear my worry and fear like a talisman. My invisible shield against the very worst happening. And while my smart brain tells me this is pure BS, that it is unnecessary and changes nothing, some days I still carry it proudly, certain that without it my world will fall to pieces. What I do know and am touting here as No. 4 of my brilliant conclusions is that worry creates fear – fear creates hesitancy – hesitancy creates paralysis. Don’t do it and if you must, keep it at bay.

    So even when a boulder crosses your path and you trip over it rising with a bleeding forehead, remember to pick up a Band-Aid and keep moving.  I have been a wallower for a lot of my life and I know that it is useless. Get up and take a step.  Even a little one will get you going.  And then you are the one in charge.

    This is all very easy to say but definitely not easy to do. All of the Karens struggle with these “conclusions”, for one reason or another. There is no one part of me that can get around the simple fact that life is a mixture of joy, confusion, fear, right decisions, not so right decisions, sorrow and excitement. Maybe the best we can do is focus on the excitement part and see that there is some of that in everything that we experience. We may make decisions that we later regret and so be it. At least we were strong enough to make them. Be strong enough to accept the result. And if the boulder is not something you chose, put your party pants on and dance around it.

  • Lurve, Choices & Wistfulness

    I suspect that I am not alone in feeling like my mind, heart and soul sometimes gang up on me and present my past to me in unusual ways. Sometimes through dreams, the sense of deja vu, new experiences that seem to recall past events long forgotten and sometimes just plain old memories resurfacing at random intervals. Naturally these recollections include people – some I’d like to remember fondly and some I’d like to pretend never existed in my life. Either way it can be disconcerting to suddenly remember events that elicit old feelings and emotions and bring ghosts with them. Even when they are good ones.

    Being who I am, a self proclaimed ‘Doubting Thomas’, I naturally assume that, “Uh oh. I must have made some tragic mistake or my mind wouldn’t be dredging itself and bringing these people and events to the surface”. And although this is likely just the nature of being human – lately it has made me wonder about whether or not it should give me pause to think about who and what is cropping up and the impact it may or may not have on my life now and in the future.

    I am fully aware that I have led a very fortunate life. That is not to say that my life has been a walk in the park but I will say that overall I’ve been pretty lucky. With some exception, I had a pretty normal upper middle class childhood. I was lucky enough to go to a great college and law school. Have solid jobs that, if it weren’t for certain self-imposed weaknesses (a/k/a superpowers), allow me to live very comfortably. I have had and do have extremely wonderful and supportive friends. Some who are lifelong and some who were there when we needed each other and then we parted ways.

    I have been lucky to have fallen in love several times. Some of those times equate to what Woody Allen called being in “lurve”. That’s pretty special and doesn’t come around much. Nor does it necessarily last. But experiencing it is a wonder and something to be very grateful for.

    I’ve been around the marriage block a few times and, as a result of one very special marriage, have three amazing and perfect children. I was lucky enough to be able to stay home and raise all three of my babies and then reenter the workforce. As any woman knows, it is a gift to be able to stay home with your children but it also puts you a little behind the 8-ball once you start working again. I could write a whole post about that issue but that is not what this one is about.

    So, while I can admit that I’ve been lucky, I can also say with certainty that all of my choices have not always been the right ones. As a human, I think that making life choices is somewhat of a crap shoot. And that has to take into account whether there is really any choice at all or if it is all just a matter of fate. But as usual I digress. Let’s avoid fate for now.

    Some decisions are made spontaneously and some take years. In both circumstances the result is not always what you would expect or necessarily want. Rarely do we get a do-over when we find that what we thought we wanted did not exactly hit the mark. But if we are lucky, we learn to move forward, accept the consequences and keep the ball rolling. Sometimes it can be hard to even find the ball and then have the strength to push it. But with luck – and a good therapist – we carry on.

    Even when we “carry on” – and this is really my point – the universe will throw something in your way and raise a memory that isn’t easy to shake. Memories of lost experiences and people can be melancholy. Some people you never, ever forget. They stay with you no matter where you land and that can sometimes be reassuring. Like the loss of your parents. As hard as that is to accept when it happens, there is something comforting about always having them present with you in some way. Sad but comforting. Wistful.

    Some experiences that have ended and the people with them – once remembered – make me particularly wistful. Not because I am necessarily sad about the loss – whether it was due to my own decision, another’s, or fate. I might even know that whatever caused the loss ended up being the right thing. But even knowing that, it can be hard to shake the feeling of melancholy that the memory brings. And that makes me wistful.

    I find that it it can be hard not to immediately think “Oh shit, why am I thinking about this now? Where did THAT dream come from? And why did I make that choice in the first place? What was I thinking? What a mistake. And now it’s too late.” As if the memory and the emotion it evokes are telling me that I should have turned left instead of right and what a dumbass I was for for ignoring the left option.

    This of course only applies to choices we have actually made – not ones that were made for us.

    Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it applies to all left and right options. Those we made or those that were made for us. And maybe it doesn’t actually matter. Because the fact is that the result is here. This is where we are. Where we have landed. And where the future begins.

    Nonetheless maybe the lesson is that it’s ok to be wistful. Maybe that is what makes us whole. All of the lurving, losses, successes, choices, fates interventions, combine to create the you that is you. And you encompass all of it.

    Beauty comes in many forms and maybe the sense of our past lurves, choices, fates curve balls – all of it – however it happens, make us wistful. As they randomly show up they are beautiful simply because they were. Because they happened. We experienced them and that is enough.

    It is also not lost on me that all of these lurves, choices, losses, successes, exist in one or another of the many Karen’s that drive this bus. There really isn’t just one of me. There are many and each one holds a part of me that carries one or maybe many of these encounters.

    And each encounter is sometimes unexpectedly followed by a moment of pause.

    To remember.

    To mourn.

    To appreciate.

    To treasure.

    To learn.

    To do something different next time.

    Or maybe just to stay the course.

    It is all provocative. And how lucky are we for that gift. Right?

  • Our House, Our Home

    Our House, Our Home

      

    You don’t really think about it while you’re in it – what will happen when your family grows up and it’s time to leave the family home.  In the beginning, you’re just excited to make a home for your family. One that fits your family’s special lifestyle. The decisions are endless and important. Maybe the most important thing about this is that you understand that you are not only creating a framed structure. You are defining what they will understand to be a “home” – a place of safety and warmth. A landing where they know they will be loved, nurtured and secure. This is no small endeavor.

    So you suffer through renovations that displace almost everything. Like leaving you with a temporary bathroom pitched in the middle of your kitchen shielded from view only by a plastic tarp. You spend hours scanning design magazines for ideas to decorate your kids rooms so they perfectly match their individual personalities. You really make it YOUR home.

    Over the years you modify as they, and you, grow.  Basketball nets replace tricycles, soccer nets replace swing sets, big beds replace cribs, books replace block puzzles, band posters replace Winnie the Pooh artwork, crayons replace finger-paints, video games replace legos.  The list of the way your family changes over the years is endless, each one altering the way your days flow.  Some are enormous, like bringing in a piano for an emerging love of music. Some are minute, like the change to a sippy cup from a bottle – although that can be enormous in its own way. Whatever it may be it all happens within the walls of your home.

    These are the things that pass so quickly you almost don’t realize it because you are in it – struggling to keep up and give your family all that you can. Plus honestly, in the moment, you think it will never end. That in some way time has frozen within the youth of your family.

    As your lives unfold, the days stretch almost blindly into years when suddenly you realize that, holy shit, tomorrow is your last high school graduation. That everyone has another place to be.  A place where they will independently create their own future.  A future grounded in the past that you built together – that you led.  A past that you tried so hard to make secure, giving them all the tools you could to pursue their dreams no matter how impossibly far off you imagined them to be.  

    Leaving this place means leaving your history, the birth of your babies, first steps, first injuries, first loves, tears, laughter, holidays, every day. You’ve raised them here with love and pride and now it’s time to step forward.

    You never thought it would happen.  No one ever does.  Yet here it is and not one of you is prepared.   No one really knows what to do except resist.  And certainly no one is happy about it.

    There are those rare people who think it’s not a big deal.  It’s just bricks and mortar after all.  People came before you and they will come after you.   The truth you all share so deeply lies within you – not the house.  And there is some truth to that.  Your memories are yours and no one can take them away or replace them.  

    But there is also great truth that lies steadfastly within those bricks.  All the history that every room has seen and heard is indelibly imprinted on those walls.  I often wonder what would they say if they could speak – what would their observations be.  How would they sum it all up. But of course they can’t and so you try to pretend that a wall is just a wall, there will be others.

    This time also brings out a great sense of propriety.  It’s your house after all.  Surely no one else could really live there.   As you hear potential new owners talk of new appliances and countertops, fresh paint and maybe even an extra room you are angry and want to say, “no it’s just perfect as is”!  Their words are just as hurtful as you would imagine.  No one wants to see what happens next in that space.  Because for you the rooms will always belong to you and your family.  

    But time has diligently marched on and so must you.  Children have become smart, independent young adults.  Parents have changed too, becoming older and hopefully wiser.  They may be excited to reduce the size of their space and begin their next phase. They are likely also apprehensive and, for me, flat out scared – being pitched out of your familiar backyard into the unknown.  I have to admit that there is a very big part of me that would turn back the hands of time in a heartbeat if given the chance.  What I would give to bandage a skinned knee, nap with my newborn on my chest, watch my 1,000th episode of Arthur while being fed goldfish by my toddler.  But that has passed and there is no repeat button.

    I remember when we moved into our family home. We renovated so that it would better suit our family as it grew.  When we opened up the back wall to add rooms we found an old calendar from 1916.    We were sure that it was put there when the house was built by that first family, as a time capsule of sorts.  I remember being in awe of that little calendar, imagining who did it and what it was like the moment they sealed it in.  We have framed it and will take it with us to honor the past – theirs and ours.

    So.  We pack, we paint, we fix holes left by family photos and we prepare for sale making it look like no one lives there.  That is maybe the worst part.  Making it look like no one has ever lived there – as if it’s just an empty shell.  But all of you know the truth – that in those walls, embedded in the structure, is your family – its spirit, youth and its growth.   No paint can remove the fingerprint of your family. It will always be your home.

    What you can’t think about is the last time you close the door and drive off.   For me, I am fairly certain that I will not be able to look back or maybe even ever drive by again.  No matter how bright the next phase might be.  There is nothing that will replace this time or the memories you have made in this space.  You just hope that whatever is next will at least be as treasured as all that has been – here on Willard Avenue.

  • Suddenly . . . .

    Suddenly . . . .

    I have written before about the passage of time and of how at times it is so quick, that it almost makes you doubt that anything has happened. And sometimes you just can’t believe that it is still the same day, minutes seem to take hours to pass. Time is such a confusing idea and a mystery that people have struggled to wrap their head around for centuries.

    Of course the way you perceive time often depends on what you are experiencing at the moment. Waiting for someone you love to come home can take forever. Like the old adage a watched pot never boils. On the other hand, driving to the dentist can take exactly 2 seconds, landing you immediately in the chair, watching the novocaine needle coming at you.

    Today as I sit in my house, I can’t help but stare at the many – and I mean many – photos of my children taken over the years. My middle child is about to graduate from college – an event that I often thought would never happen. After all they seem to be 2 for about 6 years. Then suddenly, in the middle of a day, you turn around and see a young woman standing before you when you are sure that you heard her say “babba juicky?” just 5 minutes ago.

    And the real twist is that, as they magically transform into adults, you easily forget to see yourself changing. Your own transformation goes unnoticed and forgotten . . . . until it’s not.

    Until that moment when you head to the bathroom to brush your teeth, look in the mirror and see a person you don’t recognize. Someone who has eyes that mirror your daughter’s but who has much lighter hair, parched skin, and lines where just yesterday there were none. Suddenly you realize that ‘Oh my God, I have lived for a long time’. Enough time to have raised children, had a career, lost parents and maybe others, seen the change of seasons so often that you wonder how it could possibly be time to shovel snow. Again.

    About 2 or so years ago, I experienced the last Christmas that my family would have in our family home. For the last time we gathered, as we had for many years, and celebrated the holiday season in the space that has seen our family grow.

    We had an unusual but not unheard of situation. As divorced parents, we made it our mission to keep our children in their home until they were ready to head to college. We have come and gone weekly and they have stayed in their home. I am proud of this. It would be a lie to say that it has been easy. It most certainly has not. But I would do it all again. We spared them the constant moving to another house, another bedroom, and did it ourselves, for them.

    That year as the holiday approached, I arrived on my “transition day” and found a Christmas Tree in the usual spot. This was not necessarily an issue. But as I looked at it I saw that it, without doubt, was the smallest, skinniest, saddest tree I had ever seen. I stood in the living room and felt all the years of our lives flash before me – ending with this tiny sad tree. And I cried. I stood in front of that tree remembering all the years spent together in that house. The celebrations, the heartache, the first dates, the new driver’s licenses, the break-ups, the fevers, the first look at perfectly aligned teeth, all the simple day to day humdrum and all the bigger more momentous feats.

    When I pulled myself together, I left the room and could not return. I told my children that we would be getting another tree. This would NOT be the last Christmas tree the Webb Family decorated, fed with warm sugar water, carefully placed the misfit toys around, and watched as the family dog tried to nip the heels of the abominable snowman, dragging him from his perch to her bed.

    It was at that moment that it hit me. All the time that seemed to take an eternity to pass, was suddenly, with a snap of my fingers, gone. Over. Done. Everyone was grown and on their way. Us included.

    It is a strange feeling to know that as you have watched your children grow, you have grown up beside them. In so many ways you all grew up together. And, of course, that means that once grown, you move on and begin your “real life” as I used to think of it.

    I suppose I should feel gratitude for having had so much ~ that house, my wonderful children, a full beautiful family raised, in a nest filled and wrapped in love. And I do – feel grateful that is. But on that day, during the last holiday season in our family house, I felt the sadness and melancholy that only comes with major transition. With a letting go of a piece of your personal history so that you can begin your next phase. One that with any luck will be at least as full as the last.

  • Options . . . .

    Guilt.  “Guilt is optional”, once said my very best friend after I had initiated a particularly unexpected breakup.  Unexpected for the boyfriend anyway.  Given the situation at the time, I felt bad for a while and then moved on leaving my guilt on the floor with the knowledge that my actions had not been completely unexpected and were necessary – for both of us.   Ever since, I have proudly spouted this same edict many times to anyone who needed to hear it.  Most people just nod and thank me for giving them permission to let it go.  

    Now, after floundering around for a long time feeling unbalanced and restless, I find myself thinking a lot about the concept of guilt being optional. Actually, the thought dropped in on me one day when I heard my friend’s beautiful voice in my head loud and clear say, “Oh for God’s sake Karen, why can’t you remember –  “Guilt is optional. OPTIONAL. Let it gooooooo.”  

    The thing is, the uneasiness that has been nipping at my heels follows what was supposed to be a very liberating life change. All I can really think about is:

    “Wtf? Why, after all this seemingly forward movement, am I suddenly stuck in a pile of goo, slogging around getting more restless by the day?”

    So once the idea fell on my head, something inside me cracked just a little, letting in a bit of light and I understood that all this unease might be a product of guilt, pure and simple.  I realized that before I could rinse the goo off and start walking, I needed to figure out exactly what to do with it because it clearly isn’t feeling very optional.

    For starters, I’m not sure I ever really bought into the idea that guilt is actually an optional emotion.  I think it is likely circumstantial and also individual.  Some people have no ability to feel guilt or remorse.  Those people scare me because some things should make you feel guilt.  Most of us, though, feel guilty at one time or another for random actions that cause another person pain.  And when that happens how do we justify it?  How do we live knowing that we really caused pain to someone – maybe more than one someone?  

    The question is even more complicated if the pain was a result of “good”intentions and out of the need to live your “best life”.

    Live your best life . .

    “Oh no not THAT BS again.”

    What if you are compelled to do something that changes the lives of others forever, in order to save yourself.  I know that sounds a bit dramatic.  By “saving yourself” I simply mean action motivated by the knowledge that you can’t keep up the fight anymore – something has to change or you will surely lose your shit.  

    For me, the change was monumental in the moment, but not horrendous or even unusual.  Nonetheless, it caused hurt to the people that I love most in the world.  I knew that this would be the case at the time.  It wasn’t something I had done on a whim.  Quite the opposite.  It was something I had considered for many years.  The idea thrown in and out, over and over again until I knew that I really didn’t have a choice if I wanted to be a little more joyful, live a little lighter and, generally, be a better person.  So, forward I marched.  And now I find myself – all of us – on the other side, having adjusted for the most part, I think.  And me in a pool of emotion still losing some measure of my shit.

    And here is where that lovely loud voice chimed in, tapping her finger on my forehead until I identified the goo as guilt.  And if I’m honest with myself there is some measure of regret thrown into the mix.  But that I will leave for another day.  So, this “guilt is optional” thing has taken a front row seat in my mind.  It is human nature to search for the one thread that is within reach in order to create order out of chaos.  “Guilt is optional” was my thread.  So I yanked it out and started trying to figure out what to do with it.  

    I have concluded that the term “optional” is a relative one.  Extremely relative, in an ‘optional’ sort of way.  Maybe a determination of whether you can choose guilt or not goes something like this.  Yes, you feel guilt for overturning the apple cart and upsetting the “normal” dynamic but were your reasons for doing so honest and valid?  Is anyone better off?    If the answer is yes, then maybe you can choose Option A – let the guilt go. For me, as usual, the answer is not that easy, and I continue to endlessly pick at the scab . . . 


    And just to bring the point home, I find myself crying a lot these days.  Actually, blubbering when alone in the car is a more accurate discription.  This is very unusual because I am most certainly NOT a crier.  Or I wasn’t.  And it’s ugly crying I’m talking about. The occurrence of these random explosive moments while standing in the goo, are what have caused me to consider the guilt “option” in the first place.  I figure they are so atypical that there must be a reason for them.  

    So I consider all the things. Would I have been “ok” without the shift?  Yes, of course I would have been OK.  And maybe that should have been enough.  Maybe I should have tried harder to be “more OK”.  Maybe OK is really all we should ever really expect.  How much does my OK weigh when balanced with everyone’s else’s OK?  How permanent is the upset?  Is anyone besides you – or EVEN you – better off?  These are all questions that have different answers on different days – sometimes minutes.  And, honestly, it is likely that I will never have a firm answer for any of them and, if so, does that mean that my optional guilt will just keep following me around – sometimes letting it go and sometimes not?

    I do realize that other factors probably enter the equation here.  Like the absolutely crazy passage of time at lightning speed, children growing up and leaving home, job uncertainty, money or the lack of it, a pandemic, a seriously frightening threat to our democracy, and the list goes on.  But when push comes to shove it has boiled down to self-doubt about my choices and the impact of them.   I’m not sure the self-doubt is optional once it lands in your head and heart.  And until that is resolved the residue of guilt may also not be optional.

    One thing I DO know is that once certain decisions are made, actions taken, lives impacted, change launched – there is no going back. No matter the guilt, the remorse, the goo. We don’t get to reverse course on certain choices. It simply isn’t fair and not a privilege we can assume. So, maybe that is where the “option” to feel guilt or not is relevant. Maybe that is where you say, OK. what is done was done – with good intentions and without malice or any evil doing. It may not have been a perfect choice – for me or anyone – but it was a choice and with it comes a consequence. So, accept it for all that it is and is not – and move forward – letting any guilt go.

    Maybe.