Don't try to live your life in one day - or do

I'm a huge fan of HoJo (that's Howard Jones to you folks that didn't grow up when I did). After gluing myself to the TV during LiveAid, still one of the coolest things that ever happened in rock music, the next best thing was watching HoJo perform live at Milwaukee's SummerFest. It was particularly fun to hear him tell the stories that led to his songs, and about his life working in a factory before he became a musician full-time. I enjoy the bouncy catchiness of his fast tunes, and I often sing along. But the other day I realized that I've been fooling myself that I ever agreed with what the song, Life in One Day, is saying.

"Don't try to live your life in one day. Don't go speed your time away."

Why not? Life has always had a sense of urgency to me. Since I was in high school, I felt a constant agony that life was not happening fast enough. All the things I wanted to do. All the places I wanted to see. "Don't try to live your life in one day." You know what this type of platitude is? It's what you say to people who haven't done what they wanted. In one day. A year. Or a lifetime.

Can you imagine saying that to someone really successful? Would you tell Elon Musk, "Dude, just relax. Don't try to live your life in one day." No. You would not.

Achievers DO try to live their lives in one day. There is so much to do and not enough time to do it. That is a given, I would think. Life is short. But don't panic! I think that's what well-meaning folks intend when they say "Don't try to live your life in one day." To quell your panic. And all of those quietly inspirational suggestions about the merit of living a simple life, of being accepting, of being happy with what you have. Don't you sometimes feel conned? Be happy with what you have - that's the only way to be happy. Why? Because you should just give up that you're ever going to get what you really want? Oh, but you don't always get what you want. "You get what you need." Yeah, sure. A kick in the pants can be something I need. Some really crappy things can be defined as something I "need." I so "needed" that lesson about money by not having any. About trust by being abandoned in a restaurant by some asshole. About loyalty by being told by my boss I could easily find another job.

People that get what they want. People who are successful - (and not the "I'm happy with my average life and you can't tell me what success is - happiness is success!" Okay, you go with that) - you see I've never been okay with that, either. People who are successful feel the urgency of life and they fill it with the things that they want to do. They attack life. I can't say that I even do this. And that's why this advice, "Don't try to live your life in one day," makes me disappointed in myself. Trying to make myself feel better that it's okay to just kick back. "Life was meant to be spent farting around and don't let anyone tell you any different." Kurt Vonnegut. One of my heroes and yet, not sure about that one. Of course, I've been happy and fully satisfied at times. Moments with my boyfriend or out in Nature are like this. Yet, is life really just to fart around? I don't think so. That attitude is a great way to take off the pressure, no doubt, and sometimes we DO need to reduce the pressure. Yet, we should also be using that pressure as our motivation. Because I don't think that life is about sitting around. It's about giving back. It's about experiencing as much as you can and fulfilling your promise - and your promises to yourself.

Life can't be lived in one day, 100 days, or a 100 years. So go get it.

Not everyone is in love with fall

While I am as big a fan of pumpkin-flavored everything as anyone, the onset of autumn is a difficult time for me, for many reasons. I am a summer baby, I love summer, I crave summer, and I fear the end of summer. So when everyone (and it feels like it's "everyone") starts posting daily about how excited they are that fall is here, it's very difficult for me. Because I'm in mourning. My favorite season is ending. And in spite of all the folks who showed us their beach pics over the summer, no one else seems to care that it's over.

I looked it up and there is actually a Seasonal Affective Disorder that some people feel at the end of summer. There are people that feel anxious fall is starting. Not everyone is excited! People, like me, who mourn the passing of summer, might feel anxious for weeks at the end of August and into September. They might feel anxious for the missed opportunities, what they didn't get done, that summer body they didn't achieve. They might feel anxious for the start of school and changes in daily routines that were modified over the summer.

Me. It's the sun. I am sad I will not be feeling the warm sun on my skin. Where I live, once September hits, it's almost never. And that fall sun doesn't feel the same. I know that winter will last "forever" and I will be seriously in need of sun.

I don't care about winter clothes. Sure they hide more of the above-mentioned summer body that didn't happen, but I like summer clothes. I like cute dresses and flip flops.

And the traffic in the fall. Dear God. Summer is over and everyone is back to school, so while touristy traffic is over, day-to-day rush hour is worse. Much worse.

So the next time you post that scenic photo of autumn leaves, coffee and pumpkins, remember that not everyone loves fall. Some of us love summer. And because so many of you are so damn excited to go buy your pumpkin lattes, we feel like we don't have anyone to talk to about it. I know I can't post anywhere else, such as on any of my Facebook groups, because I would be ostracized for daring to say I'm not excited about Halloween. So I'm posting here. Be mindful. I'm in mourning. I love summer.

Daddy Issues

Like everyone, my dad has good and bad points. Unfortunately, the bad, combined with the bad points of his second wife, necessitated my distancing myself from him over 10 years ago. What people who have never had to do this don't understand is that I love my dad and admire his good points. Everyone wants everything to be black and white, but it's not like that. Even though I don't talk to him anymore, I'm proud to be his daughter. On the other hand, there were a lot of hard times. In my life, I have tried to keep the good and discard the bad. Here are a few things my dad taught me:

If you take a soda out of the fridge, put one back in.

Wash the dishes with the least grease on them first.

Take your time when you buy something. Research. Get exactly what you want. My dad was an airline pilot. Oftentimes he would buy our birthday and Christmas presents in airport gift shops. It fascinates me how he would see something during a trip, just flying through, and make sure he went back to get it the next time he was there, weeks or months later. And this was all still done in advance.

Write thank you letters.

When you write thank you letters, make sure you include your stepmom. Or else.

Guilt your children. Everything is their fault. Preferably, cry in front of them about how miserable they are making you and rant a lot.

Drama means love.

Follow fashion until you become neurotic.

Don't wear pink if you are a boy. Also if you're a boy and you're too short, do something about it. Both of these really happened to my brother. My dad actually took him to the doctor to see if something could be done about his height. This doesn't cause any type of complex...not at all...

If somebody gives you something, you'd better fucking wear it and/or display it in your house.

Make your sandwiches like Elvis. My dad was a big Elvis fan (partially because it was trendy to be so when he was a young man), and he also looks like Elvis - the handsome Elvis. There is a photo of him and my mom together in an officer's club during the Vietnam War and they both look like movie stars. Many a time my dad and I would make sandwiches together in the style of Elvis: peanut butter and slices of banana. Or, as an alternative, peanut butter and marshmallow creme. Many of my childhood happy memories revolve around peanut butter. My grandmother, who did not cook, also used to feed us a tasty peanut butter-inspired treat: a bowl filled with peanut butter and honey, a piece of bread, and a knife. Was I overweight as a child? Yes. Was that even more painful given my father's predilection for criticism, judgement and perfection? Yes. I was the one that ate too much while my brother ate too little. It took me a painfully long time to wean myself of these culinary temptations and I wouldn't say I'll ever be done so much as recovering in the same way alcoholics are recovering.

Post Edit: I didn't realize until after I published this that today is my dad's birthday.

I really try to get it but then you don't get it

I'm reading a book in a genre that's been cropping up lately: advice to white people. I love it. I'm all for it. I make part of my living supporting people of color. And have been of that mindset basically since I was old enough to have coherent thought. I've always been a full-on advocate of diversity and cultural competence and my life is a testament to that. So it comes as such a let-down to me when as much as I wish to play with others, they don't wish to play with me. My greatest dream is of unity, not separation. Always has been. But there are a lot of groups out there that just want white people to get them, and do not care about white people at all. Ok, I get it. There has been a lot of suffering. And justice has still not been done. The solution, though, surely cannot be charting a course that still leads to divisiveness and exclusivity versus inclusivity (which I think is a word I just made up).

So I'm reading this book, and I'm on board with every word, until about 75% of the way through I get to this sentence, which I paraphrase here: "White people don't know anything about having a single parent."

WHAT.THE.FUCK.

And this is where I'm done. I put the book down. I did not finish it. Really? You don't care about me at all. You couldn't conceive to make one simple change to that sentence which would illustrate that you do not generalize white people the way you are tired of white people generalizing YOU. All you had to do was add the word "some." Because how could you really think that a white person knows nothing about the trauma and hardship of having a single parent? It's just such a ridiculously unfair statement and with it you alienated what could be a hugely supportive portion of the population. It was, in fact, a very hostile statement. And I do not argue with your right to feel hostile - but don't be ignorant.

I'm a white person with a single parent. My childhood sucked. We were on welfare. My whole life has been at a disadvantage because I started it below the poverty line. How dare you say I don't get it. You don't get ME. And yet you expect me to go along with you.

So tired. So so tired.

The New Backlash

It's been long enough since the Me Too Movement started that the backlash is in full force. This backlash is often found in conjunction with the backlash against diversity, and comes primarily from white males. They are figuring out, for instance, that we white females do not like to be associated with them. There are some comedians out there, and I will not name them, that are not doing women any favors. And in this politically incorrect climate, it has become okay (again? still?) to do such things as laugh about rape and complain about the attention women's issues are getting, thereby dismissing them as hyped up and irrelevant. How far we have NOT come.

This same angry bunch -- that is angry about us being angry -- usually combine their complaints with gripes about liberals, as you might expect. Recently, I heard this comment, which I paraphrase here: "I've never met an ageing hippie that wasn't stingy."

I've been chewing on this. Sure, I've run into some annoying ageing hippies. But I think I AM ONE. And here's what I think. Maybe someone else's "stingy" is my "poor." And maybe someone else's "stingy" is my "distrustful" and "disenchanted" because I've been disappointed so damn many times.