Year's End

For most people, this is a time of remembrance - the year just past, perhaps even the life that has passed to now. New Year's Eve will bring the sentiment (Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? ...) and the weepy friends and couples out of the woodwork. New Year's Day we will look to the year ahead - we'll watch Bowl games and make resolutions to change our behavior from here on out (i.e. no more New Year's Eve pitchers of kindness to hang us over). It's a great holiday, and an important one, because we need those lines of demarcation in our timelines.

I hate it. For the last twenty years, New Year's Day has meant only two things to me: taxes and regrets.

It makes sense (in my world) that one follows the other like summer follows spring. I take care of all things money, and that means I've already bought my new calendars, transferred important dates and phone numbers, filled in my schedule as I know it, and (the money part) totalled the cash-only work from 2008. In addition, I've already begun to set up my files and sort receipts. (Don't say it - I tried, really tried to divvy it up, more than once, but organization is not not not my natural state, and I refuse to hurt my head six times a year instead of just one.) Thursday I will begin the day by heading to the car to replace my mileage log.

This year, I have the added joy of tallying assets and obligations, come up with a dollar number for this quest (so far), which won't be pretty - investments and housing values are looking up to what all of us thought would be the bottom of this well. Add in the facts that a) I have no idea what 2009 will bring to me in income, b) I don't drink anymore and c) I made the mistake of looking at plans for this year from last year, and I have all the ingredients for the most unfun holiday of all.

Enter regret.

2008 was about cleaning up and paring down, about laying the foundation for future successes, but it feels a lot like failure today. I didn't gut my house and achieve all the renovations I'd envisioned. I didn't unearth a Van Gogh or Morris chair, or win the lotto. I didn't even get us clear from debt or have a single real adventure.

I didn't ... I didn't ... I didn't ...

Now, I know that the difference between the successful and the Loser-with-a-capital-L is not always obvious from the middle of the learning curve. I know that life can either be an excuse or a lesson, but not both. I know that while I can't stop stocks from falling or people from screwing up (or screwing us), I can adjust my attitude and somehow make lemon chiffon pie out of the sour and the bitter. I know all this in my heart. But when I'm inside the moment (or inside memories of the moment) it feels like hell; I want to rend and tear, blame and howl, find a target and burst into tears until it flames to cinders - right now.

I didn't ... I didn't ... I didn't ...

I must make myself remember that time passes; with or without anyone's permission, it marches on toward its own horizon. 2008 becomes 2009, then 2010, 2011, 2012 ... faster and faster it runs, every year. Each of these brings its own sharp turns and potholes, storms and disappointments, and some of them will beat us to a bloody pulp. But I know that the only way to lose is if we fail to learn, or if we fail to ask for grace, for forgiveness, and for patience from those we love while we grow. I can't control how the Big Lug reacts to me or my snappishness or my secrecy or my bizarre (to him) behavior. All I can do is keep him in whatever loop I can (and stay as calm as I can) while I try to shift my perspective. All he can do is watch (sometimes helplessly, sometimes impatiently) as I do it ... and maybe give me some context. Which he frequently does.

I did ... didn't I?

So, lessons from the Big Lug - life happens. Real life, contrary to popular belief, is something that happens when you do pay attention. Taxes are as inevitable as time passing ... but regrets are another story. I didn't, didn't, didn't, it's true. But I did grow this year, change focus, expand boundaries, more than I would have believed possible. And despite all the problems in the world, the Big Lug and I are - right now - better positioned for success, on more levels than I can count, than we ever have been before. (It's no wonder I love him!)

Bobby Burns' "cup of kindness" was always meant to be shared. This year, I'll try to remember that it's about both the good ("We two have run about the slopes, and picked the daisies fine ...") and the bad ("But we've wandered many a weary foot, since auld lang syne ..."), and that maybe, just maybe, I should remember to drink that cup with myself, as well.

Here's to real life.

Treasures

Wishes made and granted, miracles conceived and born, gifts discovered, presented and received ... whether you believe the Story or not, these are the treasures this day brings.

May you find surprises around every corner, abundance inside every smile, and may you realize that - like George Bailey - your life has already made you the richest person in town.

To Life!

Miracles

Someone once told me that the way to find my true calling is to figure out what I "wanted to be when I grew up" at age four. At the time, I remembered fantasizing about being a firefighter, a thief, a major league pitcher, and a priest (no princesses or ballerinas for this daughter of the 60's) but there's only one way to find a four-year-old's dream career decades later - I had to ask Mama.

She grinned, as only a mother about to lob the embarrassment grenade can do. "Well, honey," she said in a strangled voice, "you, uh ... you wanted to be ... God."

Figures, I thought - oldest child, carried the world on her shoulders since her parents split for the first time right around that time, never felt in control of anything, least of all life. Of course I wanted to be all-powerful, all-seeing, and all-knowing. I didn't know then that I'd taken the responsibility by choice - I just knew I never wanted to need anyone, ever. It explained a lot about my life to that point, though - know-it-all Bunny, micromanaging Bunny, never-show-weakness-because-it's-humiliating Bunny, and (my personal favorite) heaven-forbid-I-ask-for-help-but-spend-every-waking-moment-sticking-my-big-nose-into-everyone-else's-business Bunny.

What a dope. I couldn't see the world because I was focused on myself, and my pride.

Yes, pride. Not the kind of pride you feel (momentarily) for catching the winning ball or getting an "A" on a paper - we're talking the extreme version, remember. Pride is hubris, hauteur, excessive ego. It's about thinking you're above (or even are) God. It's about believing that you are superior to others, that you never need anyone, that you're completely self-contained, self-reliant, and self-actualized.

I saved this Deadly for last not only because it's the one closest to my heart, but because in today's society it's the one that diguises itself best. Oh, we can spot a narcissist or a megalomaniac at fifty paces (most of the time, anyway) but pride is harder to see because we celebrate independence and self-confidence. I'm not saying we shouldn't do that. But the deadly pride has such a subtle, smudgey kind of boundary that when we cross it we hardly notice ... until it's too late.

It was almost too late for me once, eleven years ago. Although it's not my story to tell, I will say that I made choices for someone I loved, choices that were (I see now) as much designed to rework this person into my image of what should be as to protect and teach. In a flash of one of those ice-water-over-the-body moments, I knew with every molecule of my being that I had been playing God, with everyone around me, my whole life.

I wish I could say the changes this spurred occurred with the same speed. They didn't. For one thing, I didn't have the tools for humility (the only cure for pride). I thought that kicking myself, swapping my arrogance for guilt, was the same thing. It's not. No matter what I did, I still thought it was all about me, that I alone could reverse the tide of events that were (always) clearly out of my control.

Guess what? None of us has that kind of power, not even over those closest to us. Oh, our children or husbands or even parents might show signs of a shift, even an about-face, because they respect or fear or love (or want something from) us. But imposing my will onto theirs was ... well, weeks later, when I finally put myself into their shoes and thought about someone else doing that to me, the memory of a date gone bad surfaced, vividly. I wanted to die of shame for doing to them what that son of a ... what he had tried to do to me.

It was my first step into a world no longer bound by my own biases, my own myopic vision, my own limitations. I was free.

This is the season of miracles, of gifts given and received, and the best gift we can ever give is to remind ourselves that there is something more out there, something bigger than our puny little bodies, minds, and wills. Whether it's about practicing our faith, or simply having faith in others, we must remind ourselves continually that we are not alone, that we were not meant to be alone - we're part of a couple, a family, a community, a nation, a planet, a universe. We're not supposed to carry the world on our shoulders, but we should shoulder our part of it, if only for a moment. And the more our pride demands we try to change people to suit us instead of celebrating their uniqueness and diversity, the more we must fight - because when we lose to this Deadly we lose connections, and that means losing our humanity.

When I was four, I wanted to be God. I became a teacher, a student, a writer, a dreamer, a treasure hunter, a philosopher, a best friend, a caregiver, a daughter, a mother and a grandmother, a wife and a partner instead.

I'd say I got the better end of the deal.

Do Not Go Gentle

Several months ago I had a major meltdown over money. The papers suddenly proclaimed a crisis - shooting an air bubble into the already poisoned bloodstream of cash flow - and I blew. I ranted against the idiots in the media, the greed of bankers, the arrogance of Wall Street, and the laziness of the SEC to anyone who would listen. I seethed over the cascading markets, the plummeting home values, and the drop in revenue. I raged at God, myself, and the universe in general, mostly for giving me this quest at this particular moment in time. "What the hell are you thinking?" the raving went. "How can I ever hit the mark from here?"

Then one day, I came up with the answer - by continuing to do the best I can.

It took me weeks to come up with that, weeks of sleeplessness, of binge eating, and - yes - of hair loss. That day, the day I realized I wasn't off the hook just because it was now harder, I felt curiously liberated. I was able to plant my feet firmly on the ground, even feel hope. In fact, I realized this treasure hunt might be even more important than ever because of the timing - I thought maybe, just maybe, I could not only find the means for the Big Lug's retirement, but help others find a glimmer (or more) of light in these darker times.

Maybe it was because of my own arrogance (quite substantial), or maybe because the lava, once erupted, always turns into fertile soil - I don't know why everything changed in that moment, but it did, and I swore I would never doubt again.

I'm astonishingly grateful I didn't do anything worse than vent my fury with talking, walking, and work. Looking back, I'm kind of surprised - it hasn't always happened that way, even lately. It wasn't that long ago when I ... well, let's just say "duck and cover" used to have a whole new meaning, and not all of the people I love are good at dodging. I've done some truly horrible things in a temper, things I regret even decades later. The memories helped keep me in check, for certain, but my new understanding of how things work did more.

This Deadly is a habit, just like biting your nails, having that drink when you come home, or brushing your teeth at night. Oh, not the emotion - it falls upon even the meekest of souls - but the act of it. Fury - true, boiling, Vesuvius-like rage - is a way of life for only a small percentage of people, and we feel good about ourselves because we don't count ourselves among those chosen few. But holding onto even the smallest grain of resentment or outrage makes us do stupid things, to property, to people, and to ourselves (depression is anger turned inward, remember). We have self-control, and we have brains.

I've learned that if we look at irritation or outrage as an early warning system, a directional device rather than a destination, then we could use the energy instead of be ruled by it. Don't ignore it or suppress it - after all, we should be angry about some things, like injustice, corruption, and bigotry - but stop scattering it around like grain for the chickens, and focus on fixing what we are able. By fighting, specifically, that which makes us crazy, we hold the night at bay.

And don't stop with a single act of correction - dole it out, ride it, as long as you can. Money was my issue, and still is, so ... today I will buy what I can, invest where I am able, get money to people instead of to moguls (or despite them) ... whenever possible I will vote the true bastards out of office or boards, but I will force myself not to punish all because of the idiocy or evil of the few ... and, always, I will remember that I am not a superhero but a person. No single person caused this, and no single person can cure it, not quickly, anyway. But a single person has to power to find the beauty in a moment, the treasure in the rubbish, the candle in the darkness, as long as she doesn't allow bitterness and outrage to blind her - or blind others to her vision.

So go ahead, rage, rage against the dying of the light, but don't allow your dreams to be blown out ... by blowing up.

Three-Toed Goof-off

Ten days to Christmas. I've done nothing - no tree, no cookies, no shopping - for the holiday. I need to sweep the kitchen, too. Dust. Clean the commodes. And it's after noon already. I'll do it, I know. But in a minute.

No, I'm not sick. I'm not even that tired. I'm just lazy.

Today, I remind myself, only today. I'm dawdling. Rewarding myself with a little time off. I'm a workaholic, remember? This is not my default state.

Uh-huh. Is that what we really think? We who, as a species, will usually choose the sofa, a bowl of popcorn, and the mindless input of television over ... well, just about anything else? We have no real survival issues any more - no hunting of food, no hiding from predators, no mating imperative - but maybe because we're so "evolved" our instincts tell us we have nothing real to do. "Good times," they trill, "safe times." That triggers the impulse to store up against dangerous days ahead. Except there aren't any. And the more leisure time we have, the more we crave, and - suddenly - we find ourselves spiraling into a place of procrastination, obesity, and decay with a blank space in our brains where how-we-got-here should be. But we think just because we're not lazy everywhere, we're not lazy anywhere.

Sad thing is, it's mostly habit, and habit comes from environment as well as temperment. When Head Trip was a baby, and I was pregnant with Acid Trip, the Big Lug and I were on our way to the new duty station when we stopped in our home town. We were slated to spend two nights with my father, who had moved into a small house with the family dog after the divorce with my mom. I walked in with both arms and belly full of baby, and looked around - open area with kitchen and living room all together, gray carpet, not much for the baby to hurt herself with. Good. Needed a vacuuming (dogs shed), but I could do that. Dad left to work, and I took out the ancient canister vac.

Wait, you interrupt your preaching and philosophizing to tattle on Dad? How is this relevant to the current discussion? You just want to flaunt how far you've come, you -

Anyway, it didn't work. Not a hair moved. I tripped the latch on the vac, and - poomph! - the thing popped like a confetti balloon, spraying fur and dust everywhere. I couldn't find a new bag, so I cleared it by hand (gross!) and started again. It worked. The gray hair left the gray carpet and revealed ... cerulean blue beneath it. Seriously, in wide, nozzle-sized swaths. Blue.

Get off your high horse - it was actually kind of funny, and so him. It's not as if I didn't always know he wasn't the cleanest knot on the tree, especially after they split - remember the mummified frog in the spider web behind the toilet that weekend home from college? I hardly aspired to that. Besides, it was just post-divorce blues, right?

Oh, sure, there were reasons; there always are. Stress, thwarted lust or envy (I curled into a ball for awhile after that bookcase), a lull in the storm between what-a-week and crap-look-what's-ahead (lately), even too much sugar in our diets. This particular Deadly has so many causes ... and we have so many excuses for it ... that unless it's out of control or overly inconvenient, we don't seem to care. In fact, by sloth's very nature we almost can't care. We let inertia take over, and it's not until we're hooked up to an EKG watching our heart bob and weave its way toward a flatline that we start to pay attention.

Stop being such a drama queen. It takes a lot of energy to balance my emotions during this crazy time of life, and it has to be my priority or I might end up with divorce, too (or a prison sentence). I have a list of "must dos" as long as my arm, all the time, so something has to go - I jettison the things I don't like to do first. Okay, maybe for too many days once in awhile ... weeks ... but it's so easy to rationalize leaving the work, I ... no, I'm not lazy, seriously - I just need a reason to do the task, that's all.

So find one - duty, routine, money, or because it's the right thing to do - and then get up and do the work. This Deadly isn't just a sin, it's one that can kill us. And not just our bodies or our crumbling homes - this one kills our souls. All we need is get up and move.

Ugh. Fine. Then what?

Then you'll move more because you'll want to move more. We can get into good habits, too, you know. Eating sugar makes us want to eat more sugar, but eating vegetables makes us crave vegies. Wearing a size 24 is easy (so stretchy) but sliding into a 14 (seriously) has made me want to keep wearing a 14 ... or even a 12. And I'm thinking I could get totally hooked on a clutter-free home or a growing pile of manuscript pages. Yes, we need breaks, but it's about balance, and the easiest way to get it is just to start, then take another step, and another. The more results I see, the more gratification (good kind) I get, the more I want. Our minds, and our bodies, are strange like that.

I've noticed, and I do get it - all we want to inherit from Dad is the moralizing bit, right? Which means I hate you and ... sigh ... I guess we have a house to clean, huh?

Yep. And, uh, apparently not just the one with four walls.