Sooo grateful for the The Long Island Railroad. Always gets me to and from work in a timely fashion. Today that time was 12 minutes late. ^&^%ING %^#*!!! See Swearing, Day 4.
I am grateful for Mr. Rogers. I wasn’t a huge fan of Mr Rogers’ Neighborhood growing up. Being the cynic-in-training that I was, I found him a little syrupy and not particularly funny. The shame of that is that he was a precious resource for kids all over the world. The lessons he taught, to love and value yourself, to see that we are all neighbors, to look for the helpers, to be comfortable, to share responsibility for this planet we call home, are the tenets for a life well-lived. The most valuable lesson I learned from him is the oldest lesson in the book, you can’t judge a book by its cover. A simple, soft-spoken, mild-mannered minister taught and uplifted, and scolded and loved unconditionally. And touched millions.
I am grateful for my sense of humor. I’m a funny, funny gal. As grateful as I am that I can laugh at myself and at life, I am not unaware that I’m becoming a little like a sad clown. Making others laugh at my own expense. Its a very handy way not to deal with whatever the real issues are. “Well, that’s just the way, I am…Heh heh heh! Nothing I can do about that! ” How convenient. And sometimes, a little mean. By all means, let’s laugh at life, about life, with life. A lot of it is #%^^*ing hilarious! And hard, and scary, and not always what we dreamed it would be. So, I would be eternally grateful if I would stop laughing at me, and laugh with me instead.
It has come to my attention that some of my readers find my blog sad. That by putting the negative energy out there in the universe, I might be alienating readers who relate to what I’m feeling but want to see the journey, the process, the progress, the light at the end of the tunnel. And it’s sort of a vicious cycle. Someone once told me that you get from the universe what you put out there. For example, if you always put “want” out in the universe, you get “want” back. My first reaction was to get defensive. Or cry. I did a little of both. But I am nothing if not adaptable. I’m gonna try a little experiment. A kind of gettingvintage.com 2.0.Everyday, I am going to list one thing I’m grateful for. (Wait…is it actually a list if there’s only one thing on it?). Day 1:
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. A time to be grateful for all that we have. Health, family, dear friends, a job, a roof over our heads. And if the music in my elevator is to be believed, Santa Claus is coming to town! Oprah always recommended keeping a gratitude journal so one can see what one really has, and be grateful. And while one should be grateful for all one has, one can’t help feeling that Oprah has way more than her share and one would like to kick her in the shin. It’s painfully clear that one does not have a real grasp on this gratitude deal. One is pissed. In my last entry, I spoke of a friend whose beauty and figure and hair were, to me an unattainable goal and a source of envy. Being the wise woman she is, she called me out! She reminded me of the things I have, the things I take for granted, the things she longs for. A husband who loves me no matter what size I am and how much of a child I’m being, my family, my health. Things that I assume are my right, and will always be there. There are thousands, maybe millions of people who are sick, alone, poor, forced to leave their war-torn countries with nowhere to go, without hope. I didn’t earn my good fortune. It was the luck of the draw. It’s easy to be grateful for the big things. And I am. It’s the little things. Talent, creativity, a sense of humor. The ability to acknowledge and appreciate the small steps forward and not beat myself up over the huge steps backwards. The wisdom to see myself as others see me, not how I’m afraid they see me. Small steps in a great journey. These are the things we don’t always see, because we’re too busy looking for the big stuff. Small steps, little treasures, hidden gems. Big life. Happy Thanksgiving all.
*$10 from each sale goes to Breast Cancer Research Foundation. #bcrf #carynjune
Regret and envy. If they are not two of the seven deadly sins, they certainly should be. The other day, a dear friend posted this unbelievable picture of her torso, unclothed. This torso could have been 20 years old. Flat stomach, beautiful skin. Bear in mind, she’s the same age as me. I’m like, WTF?!?!? I always hated her. I haven’t changed my profile pic in years because I don’t want anyone to see what I really look like. I’m a barrel with legs and questionable hair, with a face that’s starting to bear a striking resemblance to Karl Malden. My torso looks like the sand dunes of the Kalahari and there’s a thing in my belly button that I am convinced grew around a cheese doodle crumb. I struggle to remember that even when we met at 19, I was in awe of her beauty, her fashion sense, and her hair!! Oh her hair! She had this quirky way of straightening it that I copied every night. With little result. I wasn’t her then and I’m not her now. The hard part has always been accepting the fact that I will never be her, or her, or that skinny, pretty little thing over there. How does one get to the point where they can say “I love myself” and truly mean it. And without giggling. Even as I write it, it feels ridiculous. And as I get older, I struggle to feel that sense of peace that so many women claim they get in their 50’s and 60’s. That sense that they’ve raised their children and now they’re gonna do whatever they want and not give a #%^ what anyone thinks. I long for that. I long for the ability to see in me what others see. I long for the strength NOT to blame my struggles on everyone and everything around me. It’s not just the flat tummy and gorgeous hair that make my friend beautiful. It’s that she is strong, and resilient, and loyal, and funny. And doesn’t give a ^*&$^% what anyone else thinks.
I can’t seem to make my life work. Everyone around me seems to have the ability. I just…Don’t. I started a business designing jewelry that I loved. Three years later, it’s more obligation than joy and no one really cares except me and my mother. I’ve just paid my maintenance with a credit card for the second month in a row, because we don’t make enough money to pay our bills, or maybe we do, but not if we want to eat. Or buy a cup of coffee. Or invest in a business that no one really cares about except me. And my mother. I’ve gained so much weight my trench coat doesn’t fit, so I’m praying for cold weather. Of course, if my winter coat doesn’t fit, I’m screwed. I’m 57 years old and I just want a life that fits. I want to enjoy the fact that I’m doing a show for the first time in 20 years. I want to revel in the tap class I finally decided to take after dreaming about it forever. I want to be grateful for my family and friends and the creative spark that I am lucky enough to possess. I want to love my life, not envy others’. What’s the secret? I wish I knew. I guess you put one foot in front of the other and keep walking. And pay attention. You don’t want to miss the good while you are fighting off the bad.