Aging Gracefully?

You knew this post was coming sooner or later. And here it is! 42 has been my year of aging, and not so gracefully. I guess I knew it was coming as well- the aging part, I mean- but up until the last couple of years, I really felt like I was stuck physically at about age 28. Which was a decent place to be stuck. Not so, this past year. I have begun moving through the aging process with lightening speed.

Childbirth diminishes the body.  I don't care what anybody says about your body bouncing back, getting better with age. It's not true.  Sure those little buggers will give you a ton of joy.  But they will also wreck your body and wear you down.

Then there are all the weird aches and pains that start once you hit 40.  It's like they just appear overnight.  And don't get me started on the other weird sensations and things that even doctors don't even know how to classify.  Oh, how much I have learned this year about seeking out all the answers.  Sometimes it's just better not to know.  Ignorance is bliss.  Remember that, all you 30-year-olds out there.

But aches and pains, weird sensations aside, it is better.  I do feel wiser.  Life is very good after coming out on the other side of weird health things.  And my husband said just about the nicest thing to me the other day- "I really like your gray hair.  It looks cool."  How lucky am I? 

Holy Interrobang

Speaking of dictionary.com, I ran across this little word the other day when I was writing my gratitude post: interrobang. There's a little pop-up feature on the website that asks if you know what a word means. Anyone know what that little bad boy means? I didn't either so I hit the link. And this is what it says:

noun

a printed punctuation mark (‽), available only in some typefaces, designed to combine the question mark (?) and the exclamation point (!), indicating a mixture of query and interjection, as after a rhetorical question.

Although I can't see myself using it much with my resume work, it seems very useful otherwise. I can think of a couple places I could use an interrobang. See? It's already becoming part of my vernacular. Anyway, yet another little useless ditty I can add to my repertoire. I'm often ridiculed for have an over abundance of obscure information. So be it. You gotta be good at something...

A Word About Gratitude...

It seems these days I can't escape gratitude. I've been thinking about it a lot and now it's a appearing everywhere in my life. Not so much the concept of me having more but the not-so-subtle reminders that I should be acknowledging it more. My favorite life coach, Cheryl Richardson, talks about developing your "maverick muscle"- the practice of doing something courageous or against the norm a bit more often- but I think I could be cultivating my "gratitude muscle" a little more actively.

About three years ago, a holistic provider/colleague of mine suggested I keep a gratitude journal. Nothing too complicated; just jot down at night three things that you were thankful that day, big or small. I did. It felt great. And the practice lasted about two weeks and then my entries dropped off to once a month... then once every couple of months... you see where I'm going with this.

But, now, this concept of gratitude is all around me. I see it frequently in the the daily thought sheets that are on my Louise Hay calendar. I see it in magazines. I even drove past a sign on the PA turnpike last week (I kid you not). So maybe it's time for the practice to begin again. I've got a lot to be grateful for, not the least of which is my awesome husband and super-fantastic daughter. I could go on and on, but, trust me, there's a lot of grateful in my life.

After all, isn't gratitude ("the quality or feeling of being grateful or thankful", as defined by dictionary.com, my most favorite internet tool outside of Google) something we could all focus a little bit more on? And I figure, if I'm focusing on that, then I can't focus on all the other not so gratitude-inducing things. Re-framing of sorts. I'll let you know how it goes...

You Know It's Bad...

So, you know it's been a long time since the last entry when you go to log onto Blogger and can't remember your user name and password. Mea culpa. No excuses but 2011 was not a great year for me. Maybe someday I'll share the details but, for now, the year is over. Hel-lo 2012!! I'm looking forward to a better year and am going to make an attempt at more blogging.

I've been somewhat shamed into this commitment by my friend who, despite being a crazy-busy person, is able to maintain her blog regularly with interesting and engaging entries- everydaymom.weebly.com. You know who you are and I tip my hat to you! One thing you've taught me is brevity. Doesn't have to be a mini-novel.

So, although I don't believe in new year's resolutions (really, why set yourself up like that?), here's to my attempt at better communication for 2012... for all 4 of my readers...

I'm Still Young!

It's no secret I'm 41 and, most days, I'm fine with that. Others dread the "big" birthdays past 20- 30, 40, 50, and beyond- but I have embraced each new decade. My 20s were exceptionally difficult for me. Those years felt like an unending array of challenges. So, when 30 came around I felt liberated. I woke up that morning of my birthday and felt lighter. Literally. It was lovely. My 30s proved to be a biggest and best decade of my life, providing many of my adult milestones- meeting my husband to be, getting married, welcoming the wondrous tornado that is our daughter. When I hit 40, I felt much the same way. A feeling of coming into my own yet again, in a newer and more mature way.

But every once in a while, I get a pang for days gone by. Maybe it's the fact I recently watched the Grammy's, as I do every year. This year was a bit different because I have a friend who attended. Her husband's band was nominated for best children's album (Justin Roberts; friend's husband is the drummer, FYI) and I've spent the last few days living vicariously through her Facebook posts, photos, and messages. So fun to watch the fun and weigh in on shoe choices, new hair, and celebrity sightings.

And let's talk about Katy Perry. I have my regular forays into pop music but something about Katy Perry just captivates me. And such catchy music! Any of you out there get the same stirrings when "Teenage Dream" comes on? Doesn't it make you want to stay out late on a summer night?

But mostly as I watch, I just keep thinking that I'm glad I don't have to sit through 4+ hours of all the hoopla. Sure, I like the music and all that. But I like being at home with my husband even more. My perspective has changed, as have my priorities, and I'm fine with that. But I can still feel 25, right?

The Magic of 5

So after all of my complaining 5 is turning out to be a pretty good age at our house. It's hard to know what exactly has inspired the change but here are my thoughts on contributing factors:

1) Getting older. My daughter is just plain older and working through some of the developmental issues that plagued us at age 4... like the frequent door slamming, kicking, and use of inappropriate words. I'll admit it all here. She was a real handful and oftentimes acting in ways that did not make a mother proud.

2) Conscious Discipline by Becky Bailey. A friend suggested this program many (many!) months ago and I could not get into it. But then it was offered locally in a round of sessions that fit oh-so-conveniently into our schedule. After realizing during the first class that much of the program hinged on me changing my reactions and behaviors (oh crap!), I was gradually bought in. Now I'm all in. Using the strategies of the program has been life changing at our house. Hard to describe in a few words but much of it has to do with responding to and meeting your kid at their appropriate developmental level. And it's all about empathy and firmness, things we've found our daughter responds well to. Check it out for yourself- www.consciousdiscipline.com.

3) Working less frenetically. It's no secret to those who know me that I am quite passionate about my work. I love it. I believe in it. But over the spring and summer my work pace was getting quite frenetic. It's not the kind of job that you leave at the office. I started to realize earlier this fall that the less stressed I was about work, the more time- better time- I was able to give my daughter. Duh! And she has really thrived under the new pace and better attention. And, likewise, she has not done so well as my pace has picked up again. It's been hard to downshift because I'm so driven about my work. But, when all's said and done, I'll always have the time to work that way again; this special time with my daughter is ephemeral. I know, I'm starting to sound a bit like a broken record about all this time's-a-wastin' stuff. But it's true.

I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. I know there will be the occasional dips as we go. But I'll take the changes, regardless of the reasons! And here's to hoping 13 will be as peaceful as 5...

Guest Blogger ~ Graveyard Shift

A friend and I were talking about my blogging awhile ago, shortly after I started. I was sharing with her how cathartic it is to be able to write it all out. I invited her to contribute a post or two or seven. And she has done just that. Here it is... enjoy!

Graveyard Shift

Just over a week ago, I was behind on a project very close to deadline, and I found myself needing to stay up late—very late—to make the required headway. Strangely enough, I was never one to pull all-nighters studying in college and had an infant who slept through the night at ten days old. But the late night has become something of a standard practice, especially with copy editing work, and I actually enjoy the quiet and focus available after the rest of the family is sound asleep. This particular time, though, late turned into early. I took two hour-long naps on the couch but otherwise stayed up all night. We happened to be visiting my parents at the time, and my mom was the first one up to find me in the clothes I had been wearing when she went to bed. I could read the concern and question in her voice as she realized I’d never turned in the night before, but I was not worried in the least. It quickly came to me that the best way to help her understand was to say, “Just think of it as working the ‘graveyard shift.’”

And so it is. Regardless of my self-identity as part of the “professional class” (my dad was an M.D.), my actual socioeconomic situation is not. The house we live in, the cars we drive, the places we shop—these things are more wholly consistent with people who routinely have graveyard shift jobs to make their lives work. (That’s not to say that ER docs never work the graveyard shift, but you know what I mean.) I’m fortunate to choose it, to have the opportunity to be home for impromptu playdough parties and trips to the park. But nonetheless, there is work that needs to be done, and sometimes I need the graveyard shift to get it done. I don’t love it, I explained to my mom, but neither do I resent it. In fact, over the months I’ve found it a unique spiritual experience that perhaps I should choose for myself even when I don’t even have work to do.

Staying up all night is obviously miserable in the aftermath; in the morning you feel dirty and strung-out and have to function somehow anyway. I do not look forward to whatever preschooler whining or defiance the day might bring in combination with being dog tired. But something about my over-tired state makes me more aware of my potential for choosing unwisely. There are always plenty of circumstances that could warrant my annoyance or even anger. But often after a late night, I find myself immersed in a good day, a calm day, almost as if the tiredness conjures up a peace and unflappability that exists entirely outside of myself.

My experience of the “graveyard shift” in many ways reminds me of the ancient Christian spiritual practice of “the watch,” a fancy way to denote staying up all night “watching” for God—listening, praying, singing, or doing other Godwardly-focused activities to keep oneself awake. Other disciplines of withdrawal (like fasting, silence, simplicity, and solitude) are similar. The goal is to foster dependence on God rather than on the things that usually keep us occupied. The temporary denial of these natural (and, incidentally, good) impulses—and the requisite hunger, exhaustion, the desire company or the longing to express yourself—remind the individual to turn to God for strength, for company, to work for and defend what is good and right and best. Ultimately, yielding these needs to God makes a person all the more joyful and appreciative of them when they are met—not simply that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but because absence proves to us that survival is not merely filling our bellies or pursuing our life goals. To survive at the deepest level is to tap into a Peace that does not require sleep, a Joy not tied to feeling happy, a Love without conditions. A shock to the system snaps us back into our proper orbit, corrects our common tendency to make ourselves the center and view life as though everything revolves around us.

And yet I cannot seem to rise above this tendency enough that I regularly perceive my need for radical reorientation. Instead I plug along at the status quo and experience my desperation only when I’ve pursued a self-centered end, like skipping lunch so I can keep working, or staying up late to watch my television pleasure du jour (currently—don’t laugh—the early seasons of Smallville). In other words, I’d make a pitiful nun. But the truth is, I’m not a nun or an ascetic: I’m a wife, a mommy, a daughter, a sister, a worker, and a friend. So I’ll take my times of refreshing and uncomfortable realization of dependence where I can get them—for now, from the graveyard shift.