I'm back

I've been away. Took a break from writing this thing. Not on purpose. Life just happens. Lots has happened in the last few weeks. Lets see...

Not at all least important, I had a little health scare (mom - I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry). Suffice it to say there were ultrasounds and all manner of pictures taken and scared looking technicians that all resulted in a "You're fine!" prognosis. Whew. I'd convinced myself (while remaining very calm) that it was not going to be good. That I was finally happy - REALLY happy - and so the shoe would now drop. Work is good. I have it all in perspective. I work hard, love the people I work with, have new opportunities, feel respected... can't beat it.

I have a writing opportunity (which I need to hunker down and take advantage of) - I've been asked to write a young adult series about the dark side of gymnastics. I've done some chapters. But I need to speed it up! Agent likes it. All bodes well.

And I fell in love. Madly. Can't write, can't do much of anything but be with him and ponder my good fortune.

I thought I didn't get to have this. I thought: I'm a lucky girl. Great job. Successful. Able to provide for myself and my family in ways I never thought possible. I have two charming, smart, interesting, healthy children - we have fun and we explore and talk and laugh constantly. They can be total pains in the ass too but mostly, they are golden.

I have a "hobby" I love - writing. (Recently my youngest asked me what my hobby was... "Work?" he said...nice) And I've found some success at it. I have beautiful, amazing, large quantities of friends from all the corners of my life - work, gymnastics, college, high school, dance class, San Francisco randoms. Close friends. Kind, invested friends who support me and show up when I need them. As I do for them. I have a terrific family. A brother that can't be beat. Who showed up every day after my divorce and helped me out and hung my television and talked to me and made me food and listened to me cry. And cheered me on. A sister in law who did the same and tolerated a weepy, always around sister in law in the form of me. And two - soon to be three - nephews who squeal my name when I show up... Aunt Jen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I don't get love. Ok. I can be happy anyway. I enjoy my time alone. I love reading and writing and going to movies. I'm on my own, I'm not alone. My mantra. I'm at peace. And I was.

And then there he was. In the wild. Not on-line. I met him at a reading of a mutual friend. Perfect. We both love books. He asked me out. We had a date. That was it. I was done for. Either done dating or serious heartbreak. I didn't admit it to myself right away. How could I? Only crazy people, obsessive romantics, fall in love on the first date. I think I maybe waited til the second date. Patient. Hah.

I never knew that kind and smart - really crazy super duper smart - came in one package. With the right amount of darkness. I thought I had to give up one or the other. Pick, Jen, kind or smart. Which one? I didn't know intensity could happen with calm. In a person or in a relationship.

He wouldn't have made it through my filters on-line. Never married. No kids. I thought these things were important if I expected to be understood. I wouldn't have made it through his either. I was - am - too old. He's not a youth chaser. Just didn't want a 39 year old childless woman desperate to get married and have IVF twins before it was no longer an option.

And yet I've never felt more understood. Life circumstances don't create understanding. It's unaccountable really, what draws people to each other. How they, how we, just know when it is IT.

Every time he says something kind - which is often - I think he's being sarcastic. That's how crazy I am. I'm starting to get used to it though and now I can at least not say, "Are you fucking with me?" every single time he utters a kindness. I can take it in and feel grateful. And feel understood. And loved. Never pressured or controlled. Heard. Taken in. He doesn't want to move the pieces around. He takes them all in - as they are me - and he says: I wouldn't change a thing. I don't need you to want differently, be different, express yourself differently. Just be. It is more than enough for you to just be you. It is everything.

There is nothing he could tell me that would scare me off. And he says some scary shit about the past. Or what would be scary to other gals. It all makes me love him more. Not the stuff itself. The openness. And maybe even the stuff itself. Who knows.

It's unaccountable really, what draws people to each other. And in this big insane world, it is amazing that two people ever meet each other. The confluence of circumstance required for that to happen is remarkable.

Kismet.

A new approach...

Someone once said to me, "if hard ain't working, try easy." I am doing that now. I'm giving in to the natural flow of things. If the water flows there, I will follow. Pushing against the tide has grown tiresome. I used to think, if something wasn't hard it wasn't worthwhile. I'm going to try another way.

I'm going to breathe and be happy. I'm going to do my job and not always wallow in dissatisfaction, pushing my shoulder against the door, trying to get into the next room when the door is, perhaps, locked. Or blocked. Or simply not wanting to open. At least not right now.

I'm not making rules about men. Other than "this feels right" (or conversely, this feels wrong). I'm not on-line dating. It's a push push push world. I'm going to do things I love and perhaps he will appear (perhaps he has already). I am going with the flow. And I think he may be standing right in front of me.

But I'm not doing yoga. No way.

Little League Shenanigans

My son plays baseball. Not serious baseball. Nine year old coach-pitch baseball. They get the game at this point. They know to throw it to first, to tag the player when he isn't forced to run, they catch the occasional pop up. But it's a mixed bag.

Wyatt on the mound

On Wyatt's team, there are two kids that are pretty phenomenal. They are kind of ridiculous actually. One plays shortstop (and crowds the outfielder and the player on the mound which is usually Wyatt) and the other plays first. They have this play that is as good as any duo on the Giants. The shortstop scoops up the ball, hurls it at lightening fast speed to first, the first baseman catches it (every time) and the batter is out before he's crossed the half way mark between home and first. They nail it time in time out. They're good. Really. It kind of amazes me until I remember the kids I competed with and what they did at just nine years old. But not the point.

Wyatt plays "pitcher" which means he doesn't pitch, but he stands on the mound and once the coach pitches he takes over the role. He does well. He's probably (I say this with all objectivity) tied for 3rd best on the team. But it's a distant third over these other two. These two are going for it. Who knows if they'll make it. But they are serious about the game and I know what that looks like when nine year olds are serious about sports. They may burn themselves out, they may start drinking in high school, they may get injured. But they're running at the pros, and will probably bring in a scholarship at least. The pros are obviously a rarity. Who's to say what will happen there.

Anyway, the shortstop is a tad aggressive. Which is fine. He's good. But he harasses my kid. And I don't like it. He tells Wyatt to back off. To let him get every ball. Wyatt is a quiet kid. I told him to stand up for himself. That he doesn't have to let Mr. big mouth shortstop push him around. I even said: push him back if he touches you. It's ok. I won't be mad.

This past week at practice it got bad. I could see it from the sidelines. Shortstop came at him. He may have actually even pushed him aside physically. Wyatt stood his ground. That's my boy. But the shortstop brought first baseman into the argument. It was 2 on 1. They mocked him.

• Shortstop said: back up Wyatt. Let me get it. 
• Wyatt said: But I'm pitcher. I got it. 
• Shortstop: No really. Hey Mr. First baseman - tell Wyatt to back off. Tell him he's outfield. He's outfield right? 
• First baseman: Yeah. He's outfield. 

Smug little fuckers. So Wyatt eventually gives up and backs up into outfield. And then when the ball flies into his zone, shortstop pushes him out of the way again. Poor little guy.

He held his own. But he was so flustered that when the ball did come to him, he fumbled. Or whatever it's called in baseball. Then they gave him a whole bunch of shit again about backing off and just letting them handle it. My baby. (I should add, they do miss sometimes, these two. Of course they do. They're 9. Immaturely, I like pointing out to Wyatt when these other kids flub it up. Just to make him see everyone falters.)

He held it together. I should mention the coach saw none of this. He had his back to the whole affair because he was pitching. He isn't neglectful just engaged in organized chaos with the other 10 kids on the team, one of whom hit another with a bat by accident, square in the forehead, flattening him.

The minute we left the field Wyatt broke down. But what a trooper for holding it together for the whole practice. He lost it though, as we made our way to the car. "W-- is an asshole!" Yes that's what he said. I didn't scold him. The kid is kind of an asshole.

I explained that asshole simply thinks that because he is good at baseball that he gets to treat people badly. And that it wasn't right but that he'd learn his lesson one day. I also reminded Wyatt that he is good at many many things and that didn't ever give him the right to be nasty to anyone else or to believe he was somehow better than anyone else. Not that good chess players usually get uppity.

It took a while for him to calm down. A smoothie and some video games later he had it all under control. But he did say he didn't want to go back to baseball.

What to do? I don't give a rat's ass whether or not the child plays baseball. I don't want him to feel bullied on the field. But I also don't want him to give up and hide because someone is a bit salty. People can be dicks. We can't hide from life every time we encounter a random douchebag. Hmm. What's a mother to do?

I called the coach to let him know Wyatt might not be back. Not because he doesn't like the team, he does. But because of Mr. Shortstop. I explained that I wasn't upset with the kid. I get it. Shortstop is good. He wants to win. He's more serious than the other kids. I was that kid. I TOTALLY get it. I don't expect the coach to pretend everyone is equally good. I do expect him to teach them the rules of sportsmanship.

He's a gem, that coach. He said: I want Wyatt to experience a positive team experience. He's a great kid. I made him pitcher because he's reliable, because he's a team player. Get him to the game on Saturday and I'll encourage him. I really don't want him to have a bad experience with this. And I love his hair.

Wyatt's fro

What a guy. By hook or by crook (or maybe a bribe) I'll get him to the game on Saturday. Sometimes it's better when the encouragement doesn't come from mom. I'll let the coach tell him he's got cool hair, a good arm and a team friendly attitude.

More Advice For Grads

Since people seemed to like the advice post (not really my style, was worried it was kinda lame), thought I'd add a few more. Well, I don't know if people liked it, but it got a lot of eyeballs.

Since I'd edited myself down to ten, I figured I'd keep it going. Ten might be a perfect number for a list but it isn't necessarily the perfect number for advice. Here we go:

1. Be nice to people. Don't burn any bridges. It may feel good in the moment to light a match and set the building on fire when you quit a job, but guess what? You might be interviewing ten years later and be sitting in front of someone who's the best friend of the gal whose cube went up in flames. Keep it to yourself. Walk out the door with dignity. No one cares that you're mad. But they'll remember it and not in the way you want them to.
2. Don't buy things you can't afford. This includes little things like shoes and dinners out. And big things like houses. Read the fine print. Live within your means. 
3. Save money (as a corollary to not buying things you can't afford - see #2 above). Every pay check. It may only be $20 every two weeks when you first start working. But eventually it may be $500 or $1000. And then maybe you can buy those things that you want but couldn't afford when you were younger. Or... you can retire without fear! Or ... you can send your kids to college without them having to incur any debt! Or... you can breathe easy simply knowing your kids won't ever have to take care of you. 
4. Don't live through your children. They are their own people. From the day they feel the rush of cold air on their little tiny bodies. They are ornery or calm or chatty or extroverted. They don't want what you want. They don't always like what you like. Give them time to develop an internal life, to be alone, and explore what they enjoy, what they are good at. 
5. Dance and sing. A lot. Even if you suck at it. Do it at home alone when you've had a bad day. Or when you've had a good one. Do it with your kids. My kids love to dance with me to Madonna or Bruce Springsteen or Michael Jackson or Train or Lady Gaga. Or any old thing. I don't think I ever danced around the house with my mom. It's a beautiful thing to dance with your kids. Do it. They won't want to do it later. 

Alright. I think that is all the life advice I have. I think I'm writing it because I need to remember to take it myself. I'm going to turn on some music and dance now. 

Enough already!

I've dated 3 men in the past year, only one for a significant period (5 months). That's really more than I've ever dated in my life. But it's time to take a little break. Which also means doing some assessing. Not just of the last year. But of my relationship life in general.

I realize that I have a tendency towards men who spare no time getting to the business of telling me what's wrong with me, what I should be doing differently. Whether they're nice about it or not is beside the point. Why do I lean towards men who do this? (Or do they all? I honestly don't know!) Is it back to the old (boring) standby - I'm used to being told what's wrong with me by ruthless, unsparing coaches? YAWN!!

As boring, redundant and annoying as this may be, I do think this might be it. I believe I deserve the criticism. Deep down, somewhere in my heart of hearts, I believe they're right to do it. Therefore it doesn't repel me. Though most women I know would high-tail it out the door before the second criticism passed his lips. I endure. Because I believe it's all true to some extent. And therefore deserved albeit annoying.

I tend to look passed faults, at first. If I find them, I push them aside in trying to be open. I so want to be open! I try to look at the whole person, even if one little bit is askew and doesn't fit with my ideal picture. I squint a little, I take it all in, see how it feels. After I've viewed the thing in it's entirety, I can decide if we can be complements to each other. If his outstanding qualities provide inspiration and uplift. If the less than outstanding ones are part of his humanity.

Maybe I should pay a little closer attention to these flaws sometimes known as 'red flags'. Things like no job. Or chronic underemployment. Or going at it in the sack like a horny and unskilled 17 year old. Or impatience. Quickness to anger. Petulance. An utter disconnection from reality. Bad breath. Or an inability to financially plan for one's future.

Still, amidst all of these, the biggest red flag, for me, in the future, will be the compulsion to tell me what I do wrong. That I work too much. That I do too much. That my job is easy so why on earth would I worry about it? That what I really need to do is take a year off (yeah that'll happen) so I can just "be". That I'm not affectionate enough. That I don't initiate sex enough or the right way. That I let my kids drink soda. And watch less than educational television. That my kids are too loud. That I'm too stressed and I pick my fingers too much. That I shouldn't go to therapy because, really, it's not a lifelong solution. What you really need is a women's group? (It's called friends, moron.) That I drink too much coffee and not enough water. And and and... are you done?

I know all of these things about myself. (Well, my job isn't easy but the others...I know!) I'm okay with them. Step off already.

Why do men think they have the right to do this? To pick and pick and pick? It's as if they are editing and re-arranging the pieces of the story before they've even read it all the way through - they don't even know if they like it, if it's any good and they want to change it up. Yes, if you've been with someone a long time and he is doing something inconsiderate, or you disagree about some childrearing issue or other, you have to discuss it, to compromise. But when you're dating, just starting out, don't you just have to take it all in? At first? And then, if you're married, don't you have to accept a person's foibles? Not beat him up too much, for being the guy you picked? I need to take this advice myself. Lord knows, I shot some daggers at the ex for simply being the guy he always had been.

Yet I sat mired in unspoken but keenly felt criticism for many years. I wanted too much. I was too competitive. I spent too much money. Or wanted to (so weird, I'm such a saver). I was fake and nice to people when I wasn't really so nice. I was too loud. Too stressed. Too anxious. Too everything.

And now, this feels uncomfortably normal to me. To be criticized is my set point.

I endured it because I felt I deserved it. I didn't adequately express my complaints because I felt unworthy to even have complaints. He was good. I was bad. If I were better, he wouldn't criticize. Period. The answer here is NOT that I should express more complaints. The answer is I should believe I am worthy of not being picked at. Of being appreciated as a too hard working, raggedy cuticled mom of soda drinking loud-mouthed kids.

Note to the next man who wants to date me: (1) pick up the check our first time out; (2) if we have fun - ask me out again before we say goodnight; (3) even if you're trying to be helpful, hold off on anything remotely critical for at least 6 months. Maybe longer. Maybe just hold off on it altogether. For the foreseeable future anyway. I've got enough self-reproach rattling around in my brain for the both of us. I promise.

2012 Graduates... beware of commencement speeches

I read this little piece today and decided to come up with my own top ten list of "things they won't tell you in a commencement speech that you really need to know".  Okay class of 2012, here goes:

Me and my parents at my college graduation '92

1. Don't worry too much about making a choice. Any choice. Who to date, where to work. Failing to make choices is usually worse than making one that isn't perfect. I know some folks who failed to choose anything at all in their twenties - a career, a mate, a passion - and they are stuck in never never land. Sometimes not making a choice means staying in school way longer than necessary. Sometimes it means waiting tables forever despite having a college degree. Sometimes it means staying in a destructive relationship. But if you don't choose something, you don't know if it can work. Choose something, try it. Switch directions if it doesn't pan out. But non-choices lead nowhere. 
2. Say yes. A lot. Do stuff. Fun stuff. As much as possible. Adhere to your notions of fun, of course. Don't feel you have to adopt someone else's. But see music, go biking or hiking or climbing, make movies, drink with friends, travel. Do stuff. You'll be amazed how little time there is later. 
3. Sleep around a little bit in your twenties. I mean don't be a complete slut. And certainly be safe. Maybe I should say "date" rather than sleep around. But I'm not big on euphemisms. You gotta see what's out there. Right? I never did this. Perhaps that's why I'm recommending it.
4. Do things that scare you. At the very least, never let fear be a reason not to do something. Every time I've tackled something that scared the shit out of me, I was rewarded. And felt profound accomplishment and gratification. 
5. Don't have kids too late. Don't have 'em too early either, for god's sake. But save yourself the panic and the medical expenses that come from waiting too too long. You'll never feel totally ready. It's ok. We know how to do this. It's what we're here for after all. 
6. Speak another language. If you haven't learned one by the time you finish college, go do it. Don't be a lame-o American like me who works with Euros each of whom speak at least four languages. Don't be the ugly American. It's not fun. 
7. Marry someone you think is remarkable. Not just nice. You won't regret it. Even if it doesn't work out. 
8. It's not a race. It feels like it sometimes. And if you're competitive like me, you'll really want to win it. Even though there's no race to be won. But stop running, do what you love. Take your ego out of it all. It's hard. But it's possible. Though you will have to constantly remind yourself of this. Every time you put your ego in the middle of a decision, it will be a poor one. I swear it. 
9. Get a good therapist. Don't go all the time. If you have to go constantly for years and years, you need a new one. He's not helping. But find one you trust, who helps facilitate a change in behavior or feeling or all of it. And doesn't just sit with you while you navel gaze. And then go in for tune ups when you need them. 
10. It's gonna be hard. Harder than you think. All of it. Having babies, having toddlers, watching them grow up and leave you every single day. Being married, not being married. Watching friends move away. Not getting the job you wanted. Watching people get sick and not being able to do anything at all to help. But it's also going to be amazing. Remember the ebb and flow. And remember to breathe.

Girls

I've been eagerly anticipating the new HBO show Girls by Lena Dunham, the 26 year old Wunderkind triple threat - Director, Actor, Writer. With one indie, South By Southwest winning film under her belt - Tiny Furniture - she got the deal of a lifetime. Judd Apatow, the outwardly schlemiel-ly but actually menschy mastermind of hilarious and undeniably entertaining films including 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up, saw Tiny Furniture and sought her out. As the story goes. She was already working on the pilot for Girls and from there it was kismet.

I just watched the first episode a few days ago. I'm getting ready to watch the second tonight. It's been billed as a Sex In the City before they were Carrie, Samantha and those other two. When they were young and making terrible mistakes and not yet enjoying sex. Not yet glamorous rather, fumbling through their twenties, searching for jobs, searching for men and finding themselves in humiliating entanglements.  All of this is pretty true.

It is also a pitch perfect depiction of Millennials - that generation of confident, entitled, I'm here to save the world and become Mark Zuckerberg twenty-somethings that I've come across in the form of interns. And to be clear, not all twenty-somethings fit this description. Just as not all the young people (when I was young) met the definition of Gen-X: disillusioned, somewhat angry (at what?), counter culture grunge-loving, Kurt Cobain aficionados. Some of us did. But many went to work in law firms or consulting firms, went to business school and never went to Raves or got tattoos.

But there's a way that generations get defined by their distinctive-from-generations-past young people and the definition sticks. Of course, no generation is monolithic. But Millennials are known to be entitled and want the corner office the day after they start work in a sort of charmingly naive way. Not everyone can be Mark Zuckerberg, right? But it's sort of cute to think so. Before life sets you straight. (Cynicism = Gen X).

As the story goes, these Millennials need lots of praise because they've always gotten it - this is the generation of 'everyone gets a medal, no one loses!' As their Gen-X bosses who expected little and often opted out because we didn't even want the little we might come across, we find them difficult to manage. We are forced to take classes and read articles and books on how to manage them, in fact. Though I opted-in to corporate America I was squarely, definitively an X-er: cynical, skeptical of wanting what everyone had always wanted, tattoos. And now I find myself to be a curmudgeonly 'kids today' parody of fading generations before me, of the ilk who thought the next generation was going to be the end of us. I'm embarrassing myself.

So these Millennials? That's Girls. And I like it. The show, I mean. They are hurting and talented and can't figure it out. Which is, universally, what it is to be young. They are this crazy combination of over-confident, exceedingly entitled and desperately insecure. In the opening show, Hannah (Lena's character) is cut off by her parents after 2 years of being on the dole, post college. She's flabbergasted. She can't imagine why they'd do this when she's a burgeoning talent, a writer. The voice of her generation, potentially. Or "a voice of a generation" as she puts it. See, there's a hint of self-doubt in there - barely visible, but there.

I love the aspiration. Of the show. Of Hannah. And she's clearly not as sure of herself as she might want to be. She's awkward, sleeps with men who treat her terribly because she must think she doesn't quite deserve more. But what I'm not sure of, is do the creators, does Lena Dunham think this entitlement is an annoying characteristic of her generation or does she think it's justified - simply how they ought to be? It feels like she knows how annoying they can be. And at the same time loves them. She is them. But she isn't. Clearly in real life she is dedicated, hard-working, successful, ballsy, not living off her parents and very privileged. She didn't have to wait long for her big break so does she get that her life isn't what normally happens to people? I'm assuming she does. And that she's grateful.

There's part of me that wants to not like it because of the hype (I'm a Gen-Xer at heart) and the overnight sensation-ism of this not yet thirty year old. Having friends and family that have toiled for years as writers to not meet with nearly the success that she has without even seemingly having to try... well, it's hard not to want to hate it. But I don't.

I'd like it that much more if I knew that this generation sees this quality of entitlement as slightly annoying. A tic to be outgrown rather than a birthright. I'm not sure.