https://overfiftyandfine.com/2024/06/23/dont-count-on-it/
Tag: blogging
Don’t Count on It
After six decades on this planet, I’ve learned, and I’m still learning. Don’t count on anything. Don’t count on anyone. Don’t count your blessings, your chickens, or sheep. Actually, in all honesty, don’t count.
I’m not saying this glibly. I’ve given this serious thought for quite some time. Today, this idea of freeing myself from counting and quantifying is at the forefront, as I sit looking out on a sky vacillating between sunny and foreboding. I’ve been waiting for a very long time for the roosters to come home to roost, the chickens to hatch, my blessings to abound and multiply, and for the sheep to put me to sleep. Alas, none of the aforementioned has happened. Alas? Perhaps, although now I’m thinking that these “failures” may be fortuitous after all.
Lucky may not be exactly what I feel about missing the mark on these fronts; relief may be the more fitting description of how I’m feeling at present. It’s oddly soothing to concede to the notion that nothing is guaranteed. Today, as I look to the sky and wonder, “Will the rain subside and the sun come out again?,” I breathe in and realize that it is better to have no expectations.
I have forever believed that people say what they mean and mean what they say. I have forever believed that good things come to those who wait. I have forever believed that if I give enough of myself to others, they will see my worth. Now, I know. I cannot count on people meaning what they say. I cannot count on good things happening if I’m patient. I cannot count on anyone actually seeing my value. I cannot count on anything or anyone to love me into success or worth. I count on nothing. I do have faith, though. I have faith that I’ll see my worth, learn to value and accept myself, and love myself less critically and with more compassion.
I do hope. I do hope.
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The Have-Nots and Haves of Turning 60
This is the time. This is 60. Sylvia has been celebrating, not just this milestone, but all of the “stones” that she has gathered en route to this point. She has collected, built, torn down, resurrected, rebuilt, resurfaced, and has only one thing left to do: love every bit of herself.
She has not made a million dollars of her own, but she has learned that all the money in the world will not bring her happiness.
She has not published her first book or her second –yet– but she has written them. Will this be the year she shares? She does not know, but she does know that the chapters she has written are originals and all her own. The words and thoughts she has penned on paper and those that remain indelibly fixed in her memory are HERS.
She has not lived according to her own rules, wants, or desires, but she has valued all of the time and energy she has put into making others happy and their dreams come true. Now, she has time and will try to give herself the same respect, attention, and love she has given others.
She has not been kind to herself; she accepted so much less from others and from herself that she came to believe that she could be fulfilled and happy enough with leftovers and crumbs. Perhaps she has not recognized her worth. She has become more aware that the love and value that others have or don’t have for her don’t mean a damn thing. In the end, she has to live with herself, for herself, and move forward believing in herself.
She has not reached her expiration date. She has only just begun.
All that she has not accomplished and not achieved are of little importance. She has survived. Right now, she has more to do, more love to give, more laughter to share, and more to learn. Right now, at this very moment, she has compassion and love and belief – for herself and in herself. This is 60. This is where she begins. She’ll share who she is without fear of judgment because this is what she has and who she is becoming.
This is her time.
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That Smarts
“You are going nowhere fast, Sylvia. That may sound harsh, but it’s the truth,” Erma cautions her best friend.
Sylvia could feel those words going into her core like a knife. No anesthesia. No sugar-coating. Erma, never one to mince words with Sylvia –the woman to whom she vowed brutal honesty and unwavering support –was certainly living up to her end of that deal. With a tone of equal parts disappointment (in herself and Erma) and reluctant acceptance, Sylvia replies, “Ouch. That really smarts!”
Smarts. It is a curious expression, don’t you agree? Smart is generally associated with intelligence and sharpness – both in appearance and intellect. “He’s such a smart dresser.” “She has such a wry sense of humor and can be a real smart aleck!” The verb though is a whole different ball of wax. “That smarts.” That hurts. It stings. When something smarts, well, it is the result of a painful remark or misstep. In this case, Sylvia feels wounded, almost bitten. She knows that Erma’s comment is meant to be constructive in some way; but at that moment, Sylvia cannot figure out her friend’s intention. The truth hurts; of that, she is abundantly aware.
“Erma, what do you mean? Why would you say that? After all, I’ve been on-the-go since the beginning of the year pretty much,” Sylvia questions. “I’m going somewhere. “
Recognizing the hurt and defensiveness in her friend’s tone, Erma realizes her statement demands clarification. “Nowhere. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. What I should have said is that you always amaze me. No plan. No painstakingly contrived itinerary. You’ll go anywhere! Anywhere is nowhere without a name, a ticket, or a place to call your own.”
That smarts. Sylvia decides to pull out the knife, dress the wound, and begin again in this moment.
“There would have been more I love yous … more I’m sorrys … more I’m listenings … but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it … look at it and really see it … try it on … live it … exhaust it … and never give that minute back until there was nothing left of it.” ~Erma Bombeck
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The Great Escape
We are nearly halfway through the year, and I realize that I’ve been running. Running from? Running to? Perhaps, both. Perhaps, neither.
Looking back and assessing the various mental paths, physical landscapes, and women-centric bonding experiences that I’ve explored since this year began, I realize that “the great escape” might just be that which isn’t planned at all. An unexpected visit from a friend. An impromptu walk through a small town center while en route to another destination unknown. An afternoon on the water. A cup of coffee enjoyed slowly and in solitude. All escapes.
“Maybe that’s it, Erma,” Sylvia realizes in what has quickly transformed from merely thinking out loud to an a-ha moment.
“What? What’s it, Syl?” Erma asks.
“We don’t need to search or plan our escapes. There are moments, hours, and even more prolonged periods of time that present us with escape from both the tedium and those worry-filled and angst-ridden situations that could otherwise throw us into a tailspin. It takes a second. A breath. Inhale. Exhale. A glance at our surroundings. Those are the momentary detours that can save us.”
Erma, considering and digesting her best friend’s espousal of what it means to escape, raises her hand to stop Sylvia from further commentary. “Enough. I get it. Let’s just bask in this instant.”
That’s escape! Indeed.
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To embrace the present moment intentionally and be who you are where you are at a time when you could easily succumb to the woes of the world and the expectations of others — the great escape.
(~K. Morgan)
Music: Jasmine Thompson, Great Escape
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Mrs. Claus Knows
“Two weeks from today, Syl,” Erma announces.
Sylvia, somewhat preoccupied by deadlines and preparations for the upcoming week, asks, “Two weeks? Til what?”
“Christmas! Honestly, where are you these days? You’ve got me a little worried.”
Sylvia, with pen and another to-do list in hand, chuckles at the thought of Santa, Christmas, elves, and all the rest that overwhelms the actual spirit of the holiday. She knows all too well that it was her mother (and other women in her life) who made the magic. She decides to make one list to get her through the next fourteen days: Naughty & Nice. Don’t make her choose, Santa. She knows exactly what she deserves!
Her life is not yours to judge. Only Mrs. Claus knows what every woman faces and overcomes during this most joyous season, and sadly, it’s not all joy!
“Still in many 21st century homes, there is ‘the taken-for-granted notion that a mother is in charge of the tracking and the knowing and the thinking and the planning and the feeding and the caring and the checking and the doing unless she has worked to make other arrangements (which then entail more knowing and more thinking and more tracking and more doing),’ Darcy Lockman writes in “All the Rage: Mothers, Fathers, and the Myth of Equal Partnership.”
(https://www.cnn.com/2022/12/06/opinions/holiday-labor-toll-on-women-alaimo/index.html)
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The Nobler Art
(music by Taylor Swift)
Sylvia hangs up the phone; her early morning chat with Erma leaves her motivated but strangely empty. The plan was to get a lot done today, perhaps even to move at lightning speed to complete the remaining items on her to-do holiday list. Plans change, though.
As she gulps the last from her late-morning cup of courage, she takes in her surroundings. The tree in the great room is done. The small tree in the foyer, which she adorns each year with a thoughtfully curated collection of hummingbirds, sits atop a round entryway table. It waits to greet holiday visitors. And as if those decorations were not enough, Sylvia’s collection of Santas – many gifted to her from Erma over the last three decades –carefully situated in open nooks, crannies, and shelves throughout the rooms on the first floor, affords her a feeling of mild accomplishment. So, completely in the moment, Sylvia sits on the ottoman and reflects. She purposely decides to practice the nobler art for the remainder of the day. Self-care entails leaving some things undone.
Some days demand the noble art. Today is one of them.
“Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is the noble art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of non-essentials.”― Lin Yutang
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All I Needed to Know I Learned from My Mother
Happy Mother’s Day from Sylvia & Erma!
https://overfiftyandfine.com/2016/08/07/all-i-needed-to-know-i-learned-from-my-mother/
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Good Trouble
“Are you looking for trouble, Sylvia?” Erma, hoping for a juicy reply, asks her friend.
“No, I don’t think so. Well, perhaps – maybe a little,” Sylvia admits.
“Good, get out there, and do it for the team!” Erma adamantly encourages.
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Whatever you choose, however many roads you travel, I hope that you choose not to be a lady. I hope you will find some way to break the rules and make a little trouble out there. And I also hope that you will choose to make some of that trouble on behalf of women.
[Commencement Address, Wellesley College, 1996]
~Nora Ephron
****************
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Mirror of Truth
“I see you. I know you are here,” Erma assures Sylvia.
“I appreciate that, Erma, but you cannot make me see my own reflection. Only I can do that. And I’m beginning to look for myself which I realize is more important than being seen by anyone else.”
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When you finally become visible to your own eye, you will not allow yourself to be made to feel invisible by anyone else.
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“She stared at her reflection in the glossed shop windows as if to make sure, moment by moment, that she continued to exist.”
~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
"ARE YOU THERE, ERMA? IT'S ME, SYLVIA." 