I’ve always been a bit of a quitter. I start things that I don’t always finish. As a kid I took one guitar lesson, a couple of painting classes. I signed up to dance in a talent show at the community center and just never went. Of course I’d never taken a dance lesson in my life, but I was convinced I could channel my inner Martha Graham and wing it. Until I wasn’t. I signed up to be a volunteer, because it’s clear from every Oprah show I’ve ever seen that giving back makes life worthwhile. I haven’t done a second of volunteer work and every time I see Oprah on TV or the newsstands, I want to kick her in the shins. Today, I walked away from
a group I’ve been a part of for several years. A group of 4 women who met in Weight Watchers and felt the need for deeper reflection and exploration. It has been a tremendous blessing in my life and I owe a lot of my growth to this group of women. But more and more, other things got in the way. And as another member pointed out, I didn’t fight hard enough for this little piece of time on a Saturday morning. I felt defensive at first, until I realized she was right. I didn’t have to like how that made me feel, but I had to face the truth. I wasn’t as committed as the other three were and yet I didn’t want to leave. Perhaps because I wouldn’t be a part of something. At least not that something. But when I decided to step away, I felt a great sense of relief. Until I didn’t. It is certainly true that it wasn’t working for me anymore. It is also true that personal feelings were making it harder to be objective. Leaving feels like the right move. Until it doesn’t. Or maybe it does, but it still makes me really sad. And that’s ok. Even when you are absolutely sure that moving on is the right choice, it doesn’t always feel good. So, how do you know for sure? How do I know if I’m listening to my heart or hearing only the monkey chatter in my head, moving on or giving up? Making the touch choices or taking the easy way out? How does anyone really know? Except for Oprah.

On The Fence
carynjune

So this morning, as I’m getting ready, I decide to pluck a few of the wild eyebrow hairs I inherited from my dad. I get dressed, put on a little lipstick, and do a last minute check in the mirror and what do I see nestled in my hair? A big gray eyebrow hair. No big deal. I’ll just pull it off. This proves to be a little harder than it sounds. Every time I try and grab that sucker, it seems to get more entrenched in my hair. And the more I play with my hair, the more static-y and flyaway it gets. So now I look like I stuck my finger in a light socket and there’s a big gray eyebrow hair taking up residence on my head. These are the horrors of aging that no one ever tells you about. Oh, sure we talk about losing our parents, our spouses, worrying about retirement, getting sick, dying. But does anyone really speak of the truly scary stuff? The crepe-y skin on your neck. The lumps and bumps and hair that appear in odd places and never go away. The little “oy” that escapes you every time you get up. The hemorrhoids, the gas! Oh the humanity! There are those who embrace aging with grace and dignity. Who accept each line and crack as hard-earned, a sign of wisdom and beauty. There are those who hold on to youth with every ounce of strength and money they possess. They nip, they tuck, they wear the perpetual ear-to-ear smile and surprised expression of one too many face lifts, while their hands and their husbands give away their real age. I’m somewhere in between. I color my hair, I dress in a loose, funky style that I consider hip and young, but which my nieces probably roll their eyes at as crazy. Would I try plastic surgery? Maybe, if I had the money. But when I look at my face, including those ridiculous eyebrows, I see my dad. And that hair? The spare tire, the dowager’s hump? My mom. I am a patchwork quilt of those who came before me. And I will be part of the quilt that my nieces will wrap around themselves throughout their lives. And even when they are worn and faded and a little threadbare, they’ll still keep them warm.

Patchwork Quilt Series: a Sample
carynjune

This weekend, there was a mini-reunion of Pitt theatre department alumni in Pittsburgh. This included a tour of the three theaters, two which have been renovated since I left 31 years ago, and one which wasn’t even there in my day. I had hoped to go, but in the end, financial concerns dictated otherwise. Friends who went have been posting pictures which has been a real treat. And yet…I have been hungrily perusing the pictures with a mix of teary-eyed smiles and a little pain in my gut. I have the most wonderful memories of being part of the theatre community at Pitt. I belonged to something extraordinary and truth be told, I probably did the best work there as an actress that I would ever do. I miss that much more than I realized. And it always shocks me to realize that more than 30 years have passed in the blink of an eye. I know I’m not alone when I believe at 18 or 21 that I am going to live forever and time spreads out in front of me like the limitless ocean. I look at my nieces with their whole lives in front of them. I want to give them all the advice my dad gave me. But I didn’t listen to him and they won’t listen to me. It is a right of passage to listen to our elders and then turn around and do whatever the hell we want, to look ahead at time spread out in front of us like the limitless ocean. Will there come a time when I don’t get that little kick in the gut at how much of that ocean is now behind me? When I don’t feel a physical ache at dreams I didn’t pursue? I hope so. There are dreams yet undreamed. There are seas not yet explored. And every drop is precious.

Our Burdens Wear Wings
carynjune

I was scrolling through Facebook last night and I came upon an article by Marc Chernoff entitled “12 Toxic Behaviors that Push People Away from You”. Well I was intrigued, of course. I was sure I was guilty of a few. Imagine my dismay when I realized I was guilty of pretty much every one! Let me take a moment to paraphrase the article and list them:

•Being envious of everyone else. Please, I’m jealous of the characters in the Nora Roberts novel I’m reading. Don’t get me started on other real people.

•Taking everything personally. I was told once by a friend that I was the most self-absorbed person she knew. Well, isn’t it all about me?

•Acting like you are always the victim. Nothing is ever my fault. The universe has conspired against me. I could, if only…I would, if only…if I was richer, thinner, prettier, had more time. You know what, I’m just gonna watch a little TV until I lose that last 20 pounds.

•Hoarding pain and loss. See previous behavior. Those slights, losses, hurts, both real and imagined, are very handy when one needs to play the victim. I always keep a few on hand in case of unexpected guests.

•Obsessive negative thinking. Do I really need to say anything here?

•Lack of Emotional Self-Control. The title of this post was a constant, albeit affectionate quote from my friend, Tony Ferrieri. In the seven years I spent in Pittsburgh, he must have said it a thousand times. To me. He loved me anyway. Several years ago my husband and I were in New Orleans for a dear friends wedding. We were with another couple, two of our best friends and we were supposed to meet at our hotel, so I called them but there was no answer. I immediately went on this rant, about how inconsiderate it was if we made plans and we couldn’t get in touch with them, blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile, I had neglected to turn my phone off and this whole rant was on their voice mail. They laughed their heads off and played it back for me. It still makes them laugh and makes me cringe. They love me anyway. Not an isolated incident. I’ve had work acquaintances not speak to me for months because I mouthed off too often. People who love me, do so in spite of my tantrums. People who don’t probably never will.

•Superficial judgements of other people. I never do this. Which you’d know if you didn’t have a mullet. And who in their right mind would wear those pants? Seriously, I never do this.

•Cruelty, Lack of Empathy. In all seriousness, this is probably the only one I am not guilty of. Whatever else I am, I am not a cruel person. I do believe I am basically a kind person. I can be selfish and greedy, but not cruel and if you don’t believe me, I don’t really give a @&#%} what you think!

•Cheating, cutting corners. Hmm. This might need a blog of its own. When one is always the victim, one starts to believe that they deserve whatever they want, even when it doesn’t belong to them. Let’s just say my past is full of both, but I have been working very hard and I can honestly say that I don’t do that anymore. For now. It’s a daily struggle for me. It always will be.

•Needing constant validation. Enough about me. What do you think about me? Seriously, would you all please read this and tell me how much you love it and how wonderful I am. So wish I was kidding.

•Stubborn Perfectionist. This is a tough one. On the one hand, I am the most imperfect person I know. On the other, I’m pretty much sure that if I want something done right, I’d rather do it myself, than try to explain it to someone else. This is especially tough when you’re married to a man whose English is about as good as your Spanish.

•Hiding your Truth. Well, I’m still not sure what my truth is. But when I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know. In the meantime, I may be a little radioactive, so come closer at your own risk.

Artists Series. Works in Progress

http://www.carynjune.com

As I sat on the train this afternoon, I happened to be looking back at a post from February called, oddly enough, “Looking Back” which was about my decision not to refinance my mortgage to pay off my credit cards. I was going to strap on a pair and pay them off with discipline and hard work. Well, I worked very hard to get that debt higher than it’s ever been! Needless to say, things didn’t work out exactly as I planned, and I finally had to admit the only way I’ll ever get out of debt is to refinance. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed. I may have sold my Big Girl Panties for a couple of extra bucks. I’m a little scared I’ll do this dance over and over until my mortgage is higher than my apartment is worth and I’ll have to go live in a cardboard box. My husband is convinced we’ll be back in debt within the year. I closed on my refi this afternoon. It was the first time since I bought the apartment 14 years ago that I did it without my Dad. When he died, the apartment became mine. I know wherever he is, he is furious with me about my credit card debt, and although he’s been keeping mum about it, I still feel like a foolish 12 year old. But I’m not. I’m an adult. And while it would be easy to play both the fool and the 12-year old, I am neither. I understand that I made the best decision I could given the choices I made and the circumstances I am now in. All I can do from here is grow up.

Fall or Fly carynjune