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It’s not you, red wine. It’s me. It’s been some time coming and I tried to deny it but the evidence is clear. Even just a little glass, a half glass, and I experience regret in the morning. I’m sorry, red wine. I’ve enjoyed my time with you but now I must move on. Farewell good friend.
It’s not you either, sleeveless dress. Fun sleeveless dress with the swingy skirt. I feel feminine and girly in you but alas, my upper arms belie my age. Maybe I can still get by with cap sleeves… Black converse all stars. Cute black converse all stars. The go-to shoe of my twenties. So sporty. So fun. So flat. So painful. These knees cannot take you anymore. And these knees are connected to everything else. These knees make the rules now. Sitting “Indian style” on the floor is a no-go. Really, sitting on the floor at all is ill-advised, as is sitting on a bleacher or a folding chair. Why does sitting get painful? I’m mostly okay with being a couple whispers shy of 50. It seems that the world keeps ticking by and other people grow up but I’m still mostly the same. If I make it to Coco on a regular schedule I can pretend my hair isn’t getting grayer every year. I’m blessed with good skin so wrinkles are thankfully not an issue. If I am strategic about what I wear I can ignore the extra 3.5 pounds that have taken up residence on my stomach. There’s some mild arthritis and it’s confirmed I will never be able to do a push-up but overall, my body still does what I ask it to do and my brain, while a little forgetful (what were we laughing about at lunch? It was only five hours ago.) keeps track of the myriad things orbiting my life. With age comes wisdom. It is true. Conventional wisdom is that we get more of it as we age. Perhaps it is compensation for the ways our bodies start to slack off on the job. There is a settled-ness in thinking; a certain confidence that experience affords. The knowledge that things worked out previously gives assurance they will again. The thing that historically caused trepidation has been outed as innocent. Where I once would fret, I now am fret-free. I used to rush through life. I don’t know what the hurry was. I organized my errands with the precision of a war tactician, precisely planning the route to maximize gas consumption and time usage correlated with expected busy-ness of the stores. Now, after living with babies who became toddlers who somehow morphed into teenagers, I have slowed down. My yelling “chop chop” is not going to speed them up. I would have to light them on fire to get them to move more quickly and since that is not good parenting, I have learned to be okay with being not early. I used to be more concerned with personal presentation. I would select my outfit hoping that I looked like I just happened to end up this together and polished. I expended mental energy on earring and shoe selection. I briefly bought into the “it’s better to look good than to feel good” philosophy. Now, while I do admit to still trying to look nice (and probably still caring too much), I tend to grab whatever is on top of the pile and if the shoes aren’t knee-friendly they don’t get worn. I’ve begun to believe myself when I say that if someone is going to judge me it probably wouldn’t be a successful friendship. I have learned that if I don’t listen to my voice mail for two weeks, 14 of the 15 messages will no longer be relevant and won’t merit a return call. If I continue to feed my husband cilantro he will begin to like it. My son will not die if he refuses to eat the dinner I prepared and goes to bed hungry. Every summer my daughter is going to disagree with me about the length of her shorts. If I do not clean the house for three weeks, it will still function successfully as a house and if I do not close the bread garage door all the way, no one will and the dog will eat the entire loaf. These are little snips I have collected. I did not used to have them. I was early, never squandered gas or time, always had clean toilets and felt bad when people didn’t want to be my bestie. But now, I have wisdom and wisdom has allowed me to let go of things that do not matter. So I am okay with saying good-bye to red wine, sleeveless dresses and converse shoes. When I look at it from this vantage point, this place of knowing what is and is not worth being concerned about, I prefer the wisdom. Even if it does come with sensible shoes and longer sleeves. p.s. - Since the writing of this piece I learned that red wine that doesn't come from a box doesn't give a headache so red wine and I are reunited.
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Written September 2020.
Malaise is the best word I can think of to describe what many people I know are experiencing, myself included. Dictionary.com defines malaise as “a vague or unfocused feeling of mental uneasiness, lethargy, or discomfort.” When asked how they are, I hear answers such as tired, bored, exhausted. People tell me they struggle to concentrate. We collectively feel unsettled and unsure. There are many question marks right now and we all agree that 2020 has turned out to be a third-rate year. Lamentably, we are barely 75% of the way through so we can expect more surprises in the fourth quarter. Malaise. As humans we desire control and predictability. We have had none of that. A pandemic alone would be enough for one year, add in quarantine and economic deterioration, protests and riots, an ugly election and it makes sense that we feel mental uneasiness, lethargy and discomfort. Mass and community, the places where we usually find consolation were stripped from us. For a long time we couldn’t receive Holy Communion which gives us grace to persevere. Many still haven’t been back to Mass. We couldn’t gather with our loved ones where we can laugh and find some emotional relief. Some days I’m tempted to stay in bed under the safe covers but this nonsense has crept into my dreams. Malaise. As adults it is challenging enough and blessedly kids are resilient but I am beginning to hear from parents that they are struggling to explain all of it to their kids. Some kids are back to school full time, some part time, some just virtually. Some kids are playing their sports; others are side-lined. Kids can’t see their grandparents or play with each other. The class of 2020 was denied their senior spring semester and many of them are starting their freshman year of college at home. Malaise. I was seeking solace with a friend one sunny afternoon on my front porch and she shared five remedies for sadness from St. Thomas Aquinas. I share these now because they are simple and work with all ages. These remedies can help us manage the malaise but are also an excellent reminder of something that has not changed: God. God is constant. God is with us. God has it under control. This is where our faith must sustain us. Things feel nut bonkers because much in our world is nut bonkers but God has not abandoned us. Now is the time to lean on him more. We must throw ourselves and all our good and not so good feelings in front of him and he will accept us and help us regain the peace we miss. He’s got this. The prophet Isaiah instructs us to “take care you remain tranquil and do not fear.” (Is 7:4) The remedies from Aquinas help us achieve that tranquility.
Try these five remedies if you’re struggling. Then offer up a prayer to your heavenly Father and invite him into your malaise. Believe that he is there with you holding your hand and that he has it all under control. Parenting is hard. Sleepless nights, barf, tantrums, food wars, rainy soccer games, bickering, carpools and endless pairs of new shoes. There is exhaustion - physical, mental and emotional. Questioning my decisions. Falling into the comparison trap and the fear that climbing out is impossible. The sadness of knowing they will leave one day and sometimes hoping that day comes soon. The hardest part hasn’t been the weekly hill of laundry I must summit or the meals no one eats or even the arguments about how short that skirt can be. It’s not the thermoses and water bottles abandoned on the kitchen counter for days or that I didn’t see my dining room table for seven years because it was covered in homework.
The hardest part, without a doubt, has been the child whose hero I once was, who used to come to me with every joy and pain, who drew a pictures of a heart labelled with our names. The hardest part is that this child has become a near stranger. This child saves his best for others. I see the disdain cross his face. I see the eyes almost roll. I sense that I am deeply lame and know nothing about everything. I “don’t understand.” I should just “forget it” and “never mind.” What a dolt I am because I still don’t know what a meme is or why I’m salty. I don’t want to actively parent for the rest of my life. I’m getting tired. But I haven’t tagged out yet. My head knows this is normal behavior and I shouldn’t take it personally. But sometimes my heart is sad because I miss the love and the hugs and the drawings. I miss being the one they love best, trust most and come to when they are sad, scared and happy. I miss when the world wasn’t quite so much a part of our family; when we were cocooned in. They were sometimes long and lonely days but they were safe and full of love. I miss getting hugs and kisses I didn’t ask for. Parents with grown children have told me kids come around and are nice again. I don’t want to wish away time but it will be good to be in that place one day and know that it wasn’t in vain. These are the times I turn to our Mother Mary. I imagine her wrapping me in her mantle and gently reminding me to trust. It’s going to be okay. Parenting is a marathon, not a sprint. I know she understands how it is to have a heart so vulnerable. I know she understands how something can be so joyful and heartbreaking at the same time. I know she prays for me and it makes me feel better. So, I’ll grab some water, tie my shoes and get back in the race knowing I am not alone. I have a mother in Mary who is alongside me the whole way. It’s a pretty great race after all. |
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