At first blush, this looks like a political post. It isn't. Skip the next two paragraphs. [How often does an author write that as an introduction?]
Five years ago today, I sat down at my desk and typed this out at Democratic Underground:
What My 35 Years Have Taught Me.
I was a little more than miffed at Hillary Diane Rodham Clinton over her disingenuous dodges on The Clinton Foundation donor lists (which some other loyal supporters and I were urging her to reveal, neutralizing the issue for the General Election once she was the nominee). I was incredulous at her assertion that she had "finally found her voice" - after 35 years in public service - after the New Hampshire primary.
About to turn 36, I was already in a personally reflective and introspective mood. I get that way every January. Between New Year's Day and my birthday on the 16th, I take stock. So, I fused the catalyst of her colossally stupid utterance with my own life milestone, and that sarcastic little piece was born. But if you strip away the snark, there were some very real and very heartfelt life lessons in there.
I ended the post with: "P.S. Find someone who truly loves you for who you are, and love them back with your whole heart and soul."
*******
The desk I sat at to wrote that is
literally sitting out on the curb today, out by the dumpsters. It is taking all of my willpower not to bring it back inside.
Here it is back in 2008, in its heyday.
This is roughly what my home office looked like for much of the campaign season that year.
That home office was located in the condo I shared with Patrick, and the P.S. meant him.
*******
I have always been what my grandmother - my Maw Maw - called "an old soul." I felt the truth and the heartache in world-weary songs of love and loss more acutely than most kids my age, and my understanding of that ache was profound, personal, and deep: would I ever find love, given that - well, you know (and *I* knew from before kindergarten) that I like boys? I changed the pronouns of love songs, secretly, under my breath. I didn't wish that I had
Jesse's Girl. I wished that I was Jesse's Boy, and I sang it that way, softly, silently.
But I have also always been uncommonly happy. Maw Maw also said I was the happiest baby she had ever seen. The science of the "set point" - the baseline to which most people's moods return after major life events (both good and bad) - is interesting to me. I would hazard to say that I am hardwired for happiness.
*******
The last four years have not been ones - to paraphrase another Queen - "on which I shall look back with undiluted pleasure." Her
annus horribilis happened in 1992. Mine was 2009.
As Obama's swearing-in neared,
I was resting in West Virginia, recovering from an accident on the highest internet bridge in the U.S., just minutes from home. It happened two days before Christmas. I am terrified of bridges and heights over water, and if that ice-capades (which totaled my Pathfinder just months before it was paid off) had ended in my plunging into the canyon, it would have been hilarious Irony to launch me into my next life.
I was stuck at home for about a month, healing, helping Mom around the house, and waiting for a break in the weather to travel back to DC.
As it turns out, that month spent apart was sort of the beginning of the end for Patrick and me. The toll of the whistleblowing against State Street and Halliburton began to show. Even as
the first weeks of the Obama Administration began to show significant movement on the Halliburton issue, and
even as we were being hailed for the fruits of our labor, it was simply too little, too late.
As anyone who has watched
A Civil Action or
The Insider knows, it's not uncommon for these sorts of battles to have collateral damage. Looking back, I made some of the classic mistakes those guys did. I could write a book solely on how not to let a noble fight intrude or trespass overmuch on a relationship. Suffice it to say that the fault was mine.
The actual split came in June.
Nope. Didn't see that coming, sitting at that desk back in 2008.
*******
Patrick and I were always an unusual (gay) couple. Of all the things we did right (which were many), one of the things I am most proud of is how we split. We salvaged everything that worked - our friendship, our mutual admiration, our shared history, our inside jokes - and chucked what didn't.
Time has healed the wounds. I've returned to my set point of happiness, and I've even learned to forgive and like myself again.
*******
So, here I sit, five years to the day after writing that post of What My 35 Years of Experience Has Taught Me, and I guess I should sort of take stock of what I have learned in the interim.
The problem is, one of those wise, slightly melancholy, world-weary songs that caught my ear years ago pretty much sums it up, and any attempt I'd make to disguise it would be derivative, bordering on plagiarism. Instead, my own take on the lyrics appear in brackets. It's well worth the listen if you've never heard it before, or if you've not heard its message in a while. It is my go-to song when I need to give myself a kick in the ass.
Baz Luhrman for the win:
Everybody's Free (to Wear Sunscreen) was released in 1999. I was all of 27 then, and felt completely simpatico with the elderly man reciting the lyrics. (I was an old soul long before I got Crohn's, but the associated symptoms and pains sometimes makes me as crotchety as any senior citizen. Maybe that has something to do with it?)
*******
Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of ’97: If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience ... I will dispense this advice now.
[This completely justifies how little time I spend outside.
Note to Self: Spend more time enjoying the beauty of the outdoors these next five years, while you're still young.]
Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you imagine.
[My body image issues at 40 - about to turn 41 - are so very different than they were even just five short years ago. The one upside to the Crohn's (which first began to manifest at 16) was that I could pretty much eat anything I wanted, and yet I struggled to tip the scale at anything higher than 150. Being the skinny kid, the kid who couldn't seem to put on muscle, the - well, doesn't he sort of *look* stereotypically gay? - kid, defined my body image from my teenage years until just a couple of years ago. I still think of myself as that kid. But I also look back at pictures of myself when this song first came out, and - yeah, OK - I may have had it goin' on once upon a time. : p ]
Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.
[Ain't that the truth?]
Do one thing everyday that scares you
[What's the point of life if you're not taking chances?]
Sing
[However badly ... and don't give a damn about who sees you rocking out in your car with the stereo cranked. You'll probably never see that person again in your life anyway.]
Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours.
[Ouch. When asked to pick which Titan I'd be, I chose Prometheus (who defied Zeus to bring secret fire and secret knowledge to mere mortals). When asked which Olympian, I chose Apollo (the healer and light-bringer). When asked which Hero, I hedged: Jason - he of the Argonauts, he who was inclusive of all in his quest - but minus the betrayal of his beloved. The Irony is too deep for words. I fucked up.]
Floss
[
Note to Self: schedule a dentist appointment.]
Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind ... the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself.
[I'm not immune to this emotion, but - as an INTJ - I'm far less prone to it than most. It's simply not ... logical. The lyric is right here. Success (on any metric) is not a zero-sum game. There is plenty of success to be had in this world, and it's ultimately up to each of us to define what success means. The flexibility to redefine success at different phases of our lives is one of the greatest freedoms we can award ourselves. Also, it's not a straight-line trajectory. Trite as it may be, the detours in life matter, and can sometimes land us in places where we find unexpected new forms of success. If Life is like Mario Brothers, then there are a lot of "One Up Mushrooms" out there. Sometimes you gotta bang your head into some bricks over your head to find them. (This may be my favorite new awful metaphor.)]
Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
[Very few people have the power to get under my skin. I know my mind, and I know my motives. The likelihood that an insult resonates is directly proportional to the aptness of the assessment. I am, however, susceptible to flattery about my dimples, my eyes, and my ... nevermind. Or ask me sometime. : p]
Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.
[No, keep both. Just digitize the latter. Good record-keeping comes in handy in Life. Trust me on this one.]
Stretch
[I just stood and stretched. You should too. Do it. You'll feel better, and we'll have shared this bit of interactive time travel. I did it when I wrote it; you did it when you read it. Go on. Big stretch. Better, huh?]
Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.
[Guilty as charged, but I have formed an inkling of what it is I want to do with the rest of it.]
Get plenty of calcium.
[Cheese! Glorious cheese!]
Be kind to your knees, you’ll miss them when they’re gone.
[
Note to Self: See if Dick's Sporting Goods gives a birthday discount, and buy yourself some kneepads. *snicker*]
Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s.
[Yes. All true. Re-read that last bit. Getting up every morning, and buying a lottery ticket for Life - just by trying, putting one foot in front of the other, plodding on when you don't feel like it - gives you the "half chance" part. Like any other lottery, if you don't play, you can't win. Try. Fail. Repeat. Try. Fail. Repeat. Try. Succeed! (However you define Success.)]
Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.
[It helps that I've always been a semi-nudist little exhibitionist, but I can now proudly parade through a locker-room with a towel slung over my shoulder, whistling after a workout. I've finally sort of made peace with that whole skinny kid thing, plus the objective, rational, logic-bound measurement of the bathroom scale tells me it's time for me to change how that newfound weight is redistributed. The Skinny Kid trapped inside me can go to hell. We're going to the gym this year and molding all that extra clay into something worth taking pictures of ... and then looking back on them in 20 years the same way as those pictures from our 20s.]
Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.
[I do that ***all*** the friggin' time. In fact,
pretty much like this, and often while dancing to it to get motivated.
Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them.
[I have this down to an art form, especially when reading from cookbooks.]
Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.
[Pffft. I have bedroom skills. What do I need magazines for? : p ]
Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good.
[*sigh* I dedicated the auto-biography I had to write at 17 (while living in a yurt on the tallest mountain in West Virginia for a month) to my dad, and to my unborn children. The premise was simple: I did not - and still do not fully - understand my father. I thought maybe if I captured a snapshot of what I was like at 17, my kids would have a better sense of who I am, or was at their age. I intended to give it to them on their 17th birthdays. One of The Great Unknowns of my life remaining is whether I will manage to still have kids. I love kids. I love fostering their creativity and helping them to learn and grow. I digress. My relationship with Mom became surprisingly complex beginning in my Senior Year of high school. At the time, we thought her erratic behavior was early menopause, or related to the endometriosis, or empty nest syndrome (as her firstborn son prepared to leave for college). In the 20 years or so since that time, more and more details have emerged about the reasons why, but Mom struggles with mental illness. I sometimes feel slight pangs of Jealousy (see, not entirely immune to it) for friends my age who have robust, healthy adult relationships with one or both parents. It is what it is, and I have to continue to find ways to have whatever relationship I can with her.]
Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
[I am extraordinarily proud of both my sister and my brother. They are good people. I have really, really, really got to make this a priority in the second half of my life.]
Understand that friends come and go,but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.
[Amen, and I am eternally grateful for the friends "who knew me when" who have stuck by me over the years. Conversely, there are a few who I thought for sure would be lifelong pals who bailed when I really needed them to be there. I'm the sort of person who will gladly give multiple chances for redemption, and who will forgive and forget. I guess that means I'm especially perplexed by those who don't share that same core value. Ah, well. I'm also enjoying making new friends, adult friends, friends whose paths have crossed with mine later in life.]
Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
[I lived in Boston for eight years. I'm going to count that as equal to one year in NYC, although I don't rule out living in NYC if my book publisher really needs me to be nearby for revisions, or if I can put myself up in a quaint little penthouse with a view of Central Park. As for Northern California: maybe, although my second grade teacher terrified me that California would one day go sliding off into the ocean, and - rational though I am - that image stuck in an irrational synaptic cluster, and I have not yet beered it out of existence. Maybe Oregon. Or British Columbia. Better weed.]
Travel.
[I am woefully behind on this. This will change. It must.]
Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do you’ll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
[Lies. Painfully and growingly familiar lies, every bit of it. : p ]
Respect your elders.
[The upside of this is that there are fewer of them every single day. I'm nothing, if not an optimist.]
Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.
[
Note to Self: There's always law school and student loans, if all else fails.]
Don’t mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.
[My ballcap and I agree. All you need is a little gel for fancy occasions.]
Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it’s worth.
[Hence, this nostalgic post.]
But trust me on the sunscreen…
[It's a rough post, but I can live with this. I reserve the right to edit later, which I rarely, rarely do. It's stream of consciousness, and it's far too pretty outside today to spend it indoors all day writing. And - look! - I even have some sunscreen. The only prediction I'll make for five years from now? I bet I'm just as pale ... unless I've up and moved somewhere sunny and tropical, with hot island boys. Then I'll trust them ... with the sunscreen.]
: )
