I'm on Wordpress now that I'm forty.

Word.

It Changes Everything

From about age ten to age 32 and 11 months I judged the quality of a day by how much I accomplished. With the exception, that is, of holidays and vacations and other times I had earned or were set aside by The Powers that Be to celebrate, relax, be with people.

Love: You can see it in faces.

At 33, I had to learn to appreciate just getting through a day. I discovered what it's like for every minute to creep along, watching the clock, waiting to be able to take another pill, and to sleep.

At 39 and 364 days*, my measure is Love. A day filled with love is the Best Day Ever. Always. Every time, though there is no checklist...only what you see in faces, feel in touch, know in your entire being.

When you live for love it changes the way you see everything.

*If this is a Leap Year, do the math. I don't have time to Google it.

Hey! Lookatme!

So, I went to a session on social media recently and was told, "The people who are active on Twitter are the Thought Leaders."

So naturally I thought, Well, bloody hell I better get on the damn thing.

Because I can't very well be just hanging around a bunch of Thought Followers. Or worse yet, Thought Slackers.

On the other hand, if I just sit there and don't say anything it's too stalkerish and also just not, Hey, lookatme! enough for me. The dilemma, of course, is that if the people on Twitter are the thought leaders then does that mean that if I go on Twitter I think I'm a thought leader? How silly and vain. 

[awkward pause]

Which is why on Thursday, October 14, 2010—the only day of my entire life when I will be truly 40 years old—I will tweet my adventures. I plan to focus on local indulgences...shopping, massage, dining, an art class, walking beautiful trails.

I will also take a few new risks that will make it worth checking on me at least once. I think. But I don't really know because, honestly, I don't understand The Twitter much and am totally intimidated by it.

So, yeah. There it is.

Oh yeah, I'm @todayiam40.

This Is My Life: Quote of the Day

"Mom! Come here! I have to show you how I can change my underwear without taking off my shorts!"

You can imagine my pride.

(P.S. It's National Coming Out Day, in the middle of National Anti-Bullying Month. How about we all do a little personal inventory, then walk a mile in someone else's shoes, and then decide if we really want to judge.)

I Really Do Get Serious Today

Another warm, bright light went out last week after a struggle with depression. Another family and circle of friends and colleagues and neighbors and Scouts and teammates and church members are mourning a loss and celebrating a life. They are filled, I know, with unanswerable questions. I ache for them and do not know at this moment how to deal with the deep, gut-wrenching anger and pain and desperation I feel toward a Universe that allows people to suffer as they are and as he did.

People hurt in myriad ways; I get that. The world to our human ability to understand is shockingly unjust, and making sense of "evil" is an existential crisis persistent since time immemorial. I am not so foolish as to think that I, better than anyone else, will find the answers to "Why?" that lay the issue to rest.

But a battle I am unwilling to concede is the fight for open, honest dialogue about mental illness; for access to high-quality treatment for EVERYONE who needs it; for my own well being so that I can give back to the world some iteration of the tremendous support network and resources with which I have been blessed.

And that's that.

Much, much love to you.

I Had My Eyebrows Threaded

Foreword: I am silly and vain. There's no getting around it. If you're cool with that, read on.

One week from today is the kick off of the Year of Surrender (aka, I Turn 40). In the meantime I have declared these next several days The Pre-Launch Party.

Today I surrendered finally to the will of the The Grooming Goddesses who have been clearly asserting a: that I am ill equipped to manage my own brows, and b: their preference for threading over waxing. This photo was taken sans makeup just hours later; notice the pronounced lack of angry redness.

Peace out.

P.S. Tomorrow I shall try to have something of substance to offer.

Surrender: A Story in Parts—Part 2

Good morning.

I? Am all out of thoughts.

Actually, that's not quite right. There are just so many swirling I can't find a single coherent one to pull out and put on the page. (Kind of curious that we used to put thoughts "down on the page," and now we put them "up on the page.")

So, for you today, a thought on surrender from someone I admire, Maya Angelou:

At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice. 

Rock on.

Surrender: A Story in Parts—Part 1

Every morning when I wake up there is in my inbox a message from Hazelden Addiction and Recovery Services with the subject line "Today's Gift."

Yesterday's gift started with: Today I will surrender to that which I cannot control.

Which brings us to the topic of the Year of Surrender which begins next Thursday and which as a term, title, what have you, certainly has many potentially negative connotations.

Let's just start by acknowledging that while I may fancy myself a bit of revolutionary, I'm no "Give me liberty, or give me death" Patrick Henry. Surrender is in my view at times the most courageous and noble act possible...accepting that what is, is, despite it not being what you had hoped or planned for, and refusing to make further sacrifice for the sake of the original intent.

I am not a doormat, however, as my father will attest, and I have no intention of giving up the good fight. Rather, I'm tired of struggling against things over which I HAVE NO CONTROL (see above).  As much, for example, as I have kicked and flailed and protested and even spit, I still cannot drink alcohol in a healthy way. Same with depression—I have kicked that Damn Fool in the ass so many times trying to just send it on its way, but it is more stubborn than I and continues to hang around, occasionally rearing its vacuous black hole of an ugly head. It pisses me off, but so far that alone hasn't done me a whole lot of good.

So...surrender...it's a idea, a thought I had, something I intend to try. Time will tell.

In Which I Arch Type

It is, I suppose, shamelessly archetypal for a thirty-something (still am...ha!) Soul Searching, Meaning of Life Seeking mom to cite her own mother as one of her heroes, significant influences, role models, etc., etc., and so on, and so forth.

But I? Am nothing if not a walking, talking archetype.

And my mom? Is awesome. National Merit Scholaring, World Traveling, Political Activisming, Wall Paper Stripping, Grandkid Back to School Shopping awesome.

And she knows stuff...like the guy in this video and the guy making this video and the places featured in this video.

So watch it. Please.


G Project Intro Video from G Project on Vimeo.