Halftime for 2020

December 31, 2019. I was all about celebrating the “lasts” of the decade, reminiscing about the tremendous amount of change we’d undergone through the 2010’s and looking forward to 2020 and the “firsts” that a new decade had in store. Little could I have imagined. 

Today, we are six months into 2020 and if someone had given me a hint of what was to come, I’d have laughed at the sheer audacity one would have to make some of this stuff up. It wasn’t like there was a gradual…let’s make this year a test of the average person’s strength and meddle…thing that happened. No. We jumped right in and everything changed on the first night of the year as we were thrust into a new world of scary medical stuff. And before I go any further, I am incredibly thankful for the emergency medical people at our local hospital, as well as the cardiac care staff at the big city hospital where we went. Things could have taken  a drastically different turn that night and I will forever be grateful that they didn’t. I know too many who have undergone extreme pain and loss and sorrow in the past six months and I think about them every single day.

But as the news ramped up in those first few weeks of this year, stories of raging brush fires in Australia, insect infestations, blizzards and then tornadoes were only part of it. Because when that new virus showed up on the news, it didn’t really register as a real threat for most of us. Until it did. And by then, it was pretty much too late. 

March 13, 2020, a Friday the 13th, by the way, if you’re a superstitious type. To me, this is the day that will live on as the one where everything changed. When I left work that day knowing that school was going to be shut down for the next few weeks, I never would have imagined that “the next few weeks” would last until the end of the school year and into the summer and in some way into the next year. 

In the weeks and months that’ve followed, the thing I wonder most is, “What would I have done differently if I’d known I wouldn’t see my students or the majority of my friends and coworkers in person again?” I’m not a terribly “huggy” person, but I would have hugged my friends goodbye. Tightly, like the kind of hug where you might hold on for just an awkward second too long. I would have looked them in the eyes as they spoke to me in those last few days and listened. Hard. And been more present. I was working on a big deadline that week, and was in my head a lot of the time. Knowing what I know right now, I’d have gotten out of my head and enjoyed the exact moments that I was running around trying to document to meet that deadline.

Back then, I wrote in a post that if Ma Ingalls could manage life on a prairie and tend to people with yellow fever and still manage her farm chores, then I could certainly handle what was to come in my suburban town. And I can. And I have, but it sure hasn’t been easy. Don’t get me wrong…there are parts of this that I’ve actually loved. The slowed down lifestyle, the time with my immediate family. In what other recent time has empty nester parents suddenly been given back their kids for a little while? This time with our kids has been a great gift. But I also know that it’s hard on them and they want…they need…to move on and into their actual adult lives.The emotional ups and downs have been hard on everyone.  

The world has changed in so many unimaginable ways in this new decade. In April, I wrote about how I hoped we could take the good parts of our quarantine lives and leave behind the bad as part of our “new normal.” But that was before the term “new normal” was hijacked and turned into something ugly and weaponized. We’ve moved from the quiet, peaceful part of quarantine to the restless, angry part of it. We’ve watched in horror as 126,000 of our fellow Americans have died from this virus, and yet some of us haven’t been willing to do the simple things needed to help slow the spread. Wear a mask, stay home when possible, keep our distance from others. The Internet is filled with awful pictures and video of people behaving horribly in the name of “their rights” while at the same time disregarding the rights of others. Stop looking for conspiracies where there are none and just do the right thing.

But here’s the other thing. In the midst of this pandemic and all that has gone with it, we’ve finally been forced to take a long, hard look at our racial past and the awful mistakes that were made along the way that today still impact the lives of fellow human beings and Americans. And when I say things like, “I just wish we could get back to the way things used to be,” I recognize the privilege that lies behind a statement like that. My “the way things used to be” is another person’s time of fear, anger or sadness over a lifetime of mistreatment or a history told wrong. And we have so much work to do to find a way to come together and make things right.

20, 30, or even 50 years from now. What will they say about this period in history? What will today’s kids tell their own kids or grandkids about the “Year of the Pandemic?” Will they look at us and marvel at our strength and courage during a really scary time? Will they look at us with scorn because half of us refused to do even the bare minimum to help make things better as part of a political game of wills? Will they change the story to make us look better or worse than we do right now? The first half of the first year of the decade of the 20’s is over. But the second half starts today and that story hasn’t been written yet. We all have the power to control and write the story that should be written. Let’s get to it.

Listen to those messages...

This getting older thing. It’s not for sissies. And sometimes it’s tiring. 

Maybe you’re reflecting on your past and ruminating on the bad stuff that’s happened to you. Trauma is tricky. And it’s real.  And it has a way of eating away at you even when you think you’ve handled it all just fine. And maybe you’re letting it have more power over you than you ought to and maybe you’re not really using the tools you’ve amassed to help you manage in this moment because maybe you just need or want to be sad right now. 

Maybe the ever changing but hardly improving news cycle with stories of “that awful thing that person in Washington said or Tweeted today,” or another mass shooting with lots of outrage and little change, or another story of a person in power doing something awful to many children and how it was brushed aside for years has finally brought you to your knees to the point where you just feel small or helpless and wonder how can we even begin to fix this?

Maybe the aches and pains of aging are fighting against your desire for a healthy body and fitness routine by shouting constant reminders at you that you’re not really as young as you wish you were and maybe you should have started doing this a long time ago. 

Or maybe it’s that your kids are moving on and you sometimes miss the parts of parenting that seemed so hard back in those days and you sometimes wish someone was sitting in their booster in your back seat asking nonsensical questions when all you wanted was a moment of silence.  “I’d be happy to hear that voice,” you think, “And answer whatever questions he wants to ask and I’d be so patient, too!”

But with all of that, you also know you have a pretty sweet life and it sure seems like there are times when the universe conspires to help (make) you hear messages you probably need to hear in this moment. “Listen. I’m trying to tell you something,” it says.

But you’re not really listening. Or not ready to hear. Or something. 

And then, one day you hear the words your fitness instructor is saying differently than you may have heard them on a different day as she speaks of privilege. That the movement our bodies give us is a privilege that not everyone has. We won’t always have it. What are we doing to nurture ourselves and keep our strength and ability to move for as long as possible? And when you hear that, you say, “Oh.“ Because you realize she might be speaking to you and this is probably something you’ve taken for granted.

And then you go to a talk by self-proclaimed “happiness” gurus and you have a night of awesome belly laughs with a good friend.

Or spend a weekend in the mountains, enjoying the cooler air, fall leaves, a lovely hike and a cozy fire.

Or you come up with a great idea at work that you can actually pull off and the excitement from thinking about it has you energized in a way you haven’t felt in awhile.

Or you see a beautiful rainbow, not once, but twice, on the way home.

Or the reminders from friends or spouses that they are there for you. That you’re enough. That you’re not weak. 

The highs and lows that come, sometimes all in one day, sometimes over the course of a week or a month, all come for a reason. And we’re sent these messages that we should probably pay better attention to (in the name of “self-care”)…they aren’t just platitudes or affirmations. They should be reminders: I am strong enough. I am worth it. I am good enough. And so are  you. Now, I just need to listen.

Reflections on Turning 50

A random collection of thoughts as I enter the last week of my 40’s…

The Byrds’ “Turn, Turn, Turn” was the number one song the week I was born.

To everything - turn, turn, turn

There is a season - turn, turn, turn

And a time to every purpose under heaven

A time of love, a time of hate

A time of war, a time of peace

A time you may embrace

A time to refrain from embracing

This song holds the distinction of having the oldest lyrics in a #1 pop song, since it comes from Ecclesiastes. "Many biblical scholars believe Ecclesiastes 1:1 implies King Solomon as the book's author; thus, if true, giving Solomon (born c. 1011 BC) lyrical credit for a number one hit.” (thank you, Wikipedia).

I like birthdays.  And numbers.  Not math numbers, but numbers that make interesting patterns or dates.  I have for as long as I can remember. I was in the pool at camp in Key Largo on July 7, 1977 and pointed out to the older kids nearby that it was 7-7-77. They were not nearly as impressed as I. Last year, when my birthday fell on 12-13-14, I turned it into an event.  The last time this century that could happen!  12-13-15 just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it? But it is 50, so it has pretty much been on my mind in some way for much of the past year.  And now, here I am, staring it down.  I can legitimately say, "I'm practically 50, you know!"

1965 was a good year to be born.  Not quite a “baby boomer;” not really a “baby busting Generation Xer,” either. Too young for Woodstock, too old to wear Doc Martins credibly. A Charlie Brown Christmas was born in 1965, as was the Pillsbury Dough Boy.  The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was passed and the Sound of Music movie came out.  The Beatles were in their heyday and, of course,  Vietnam.  Smack dab in the middle of a decade of change.  But aren’t all decades “decades of change,” really? We are a nation and world in turmoil right now, but if you look back through history, almost every era faces turmoil. We just don’t really learn from history, I guess. What does this have to do with turning 50, anyway? Not much...it's a random collection of thoughts, that's all.

My childhood is marked by memories of music and tv shows that some may mock, but that bring me great joy to hear or see: One Tin Soldier, Seasons in the Sun, Beach Baby, Cats in the Cradle (oh, who am I kidding...Billy Don’t Be a Hero and The Night Chicago Died, too).  Happy Days, In the News, Schoolhouse Rock, Land of the Lost (Sigmund & the Sea Monsters!), Scooby Doo, the Bay City Rollers.  Later, the Facts of Life, Different Strokes, the Love Boat and Fantasy Island...but then Grease. And the John Hughes movies. They may not be on the best of anything of the 70’s or 80’s lists, but they shaped a whole group of  girls in some way that makes us kindred spirits.

When I consider turning 50, I instantly think, ‘How can this be? 50 is old.’ And I’m not old. And I do know it really is just a number.  As I have entered each new decade of my adult life, I’ve looked back and thought, “This past decade was the one where I really grew up.”  In my 20’s, I graduated from college, had my radio career and got married, all pretty grown up stuff.  I became a mom in my 30’s, joined playgroups, ladies groups and volunteered at school. Also adult stuff. And so, my 40’s have been no different. I went from being the mom of young boys to being the mom of young men, from time on playgrounds, carpooling to various activities and elementary school performances to high school sports, college applications and being happy to just have both boys sitting around in the living room with us, talking and laughing together.  So, is that it?  Am I finally grown up?

This past 10 years or so have been some of the best of my life so far. I have so much to be grateful for. I'm married to my best friend and have been for half of my life (literally). My sons have grown into kind young men that I am proud to know and am excited to see moving into their next phases. I have my sisters and mom not too far away and available when I need them.  I fell into the job that has led me to stretch and to take risks I didn’t know I wanted to take, to be with people that make me want to be better and do better and that I think value me more than I have ever felt valued in my life.  I have discovered that my body was meant to move in ways that I didn’t know it could and at the same time met a new group of women that I am happy to call friends and have welcomed me into their “tribe.”  Who could want more than that?

50 may be old, but I’m not.  50 may be the new 30, and I’d take that, too!  I think 50 is a halfway point and if I’ve had 50, then I have around 50 more.  That’s a lot of years and a lot of time, right? I’m not sure what my 50’s will bring, aside from an AARP card and an empty nest.  I’ve read that I will stop caring what others think, wear what I want and live life fully. I’d like to think that I will do something grand...something to make my mark. But maybe, being in the place I am...right here, right now...I already am. And if that’s it, then I’ll take that, too.

Bring it, 50.