Dough on a Stick (Alternate Title: Welcome to 40!)

I try not to be a blamer in my life, and for the most part, I think I'm good at it. Honestly, most of my character traits and life decisions come from me seeing a behavior/choice and thinking, "Yeah, I'm going to try to do not that" and adjusting accordingly.

One thing that has always bothered me is the idea of being a tattletale or blamer.

I'm not saying I NEVER blame or tattle, because let's be honest, I do, without even realizing it sometimes.

And I'm not saying I don't have the URGE to tattle or blame, because oh Bessie, you got no idea. The force is strong in this one.

So that takes us to the number one thing I want to blame on anybody or anything but me: my eating habits.

They are, in a word, terrible. They're terrible because that serves me in some way, according to my wise workout instructor. I think that way is summed up in one word: deliciousness.

Food is delicious. I love it a lot. However, food is not a good influence on my life. It's like that one friend you have that you get together with periodically and you always MEAN to make good choices as a unit, but the next thing you know you're both covered in donut glaze and at least one of you is missing a shoe, and neither one of you can remember how to get to that one chick's apartment who lives within walking distance.

I think compulsive overeating is the term, but that makes me sound like I have a condishun, and that's not the case. I just love food. I love it. I love to think about it, look at pictures of it, and eat it. I love to plan recipes and add secret ingredients, and I firmly believe a little extra vanilla is vital in a dessert, just as a little extra garlic in an entree isn't gonna hurt anyone.

So then I have that first bite, and oh my God I nailed it, so I have to keep eating, or oh my God did I not nail it? I better have another bite to see for sure, or oh my God this is terrible, but I hate to waste food, so I have to keep eating.

See the pattern?

All of this has resulted in hundreds of pounds gained and lost over the years: 20 pounds here and there, but usually more in the five to 10 pound range, over and over and over again.

But mostly, I have gotten away with it, by working out or moving enough to keep it from getting really bad.

However, I'm noticing something: either I'm eating a lot more or it's getting noticeably harder to beat the system. And my weight gain is a little different than it used to be. It's like I'm accumulating more...sag.

I said it. There's more droop. It's an almost imperceptible melting effect. I mean, dear God, is my belly button actually disappearing behind a curtain of falling skin? And what is my chest DOING? Is it actually dipping down to help me look for my belly button? Why do my upper arms morph into flying squirrels when I wave furiously at someone? And is my leg skin...starting to fall?? Where will it land? Around my ankles? Will it just drape in folds eventually, all the way down? Is my skin actually getting bigger? What is even happening?

So every Sunday I have a stern talking-to with myself. I'm all, self, listen. We're older than we've ever been and now we're even older.

And now we're even older.

And now we're even older.

You know what I'm saying. So then comes the hey, health, longevity, mood stabilization are actually GOOD things, so maybe just stop, please just at least consider stopping eating like you used to when you thought you were comfortably married and would never have to be in the dating pool again. If you could just try that, just give it a little try, a little try never hurt anybody, and then maybe the flying squirrels won't actually look like they're going to sail right off your arms, and maybe your legs won't slowly morph into skin drapes.

And then I'm like, hey, self, great idea, I could NOT agree more!

And I mean it. Until, say, Monday at 3 p.m. when I'm in the end stages of starvation even though I've consumed a very reasonable breakfast and lunch. Then I attack a jar of peanut butter with a spoon that barely fits in the mouth of the jar, and boom, another day is lost.

So then I go to Fit Club (which I won't be attending for six weeks now due to a longish-term commitment) and my sister, who is amazing, but only 30 years old, mocks me openly. She means well. She tells me that the flying squirrels will be larger and more aggressive if I don't punch harder, that my leg folds will be worse if I don't do higher knees...and she snickers a lot. Far more snickering than I like to have directed at my body skin.

The point is that I think of all this, I get down on myself, I start to openly question at what point I filled up with so much self-loathing, and then I remember the 1997 Baz Luhrmann song, based on the Mary Schmich article of the same year that was a list of bits of advice to graduates in speech format: Wear Sunscreen.

Schmich started by extolling the virtues of sunscreen, and imploring young graduates to start wearing it immediately, in order to save years of regret later. She followed a specific-to-broad-to-specific format from that point, and hit on this line early in the list:

But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

Sigh. Okay. I get it. So I started paying closer attention to these thoughts I had about my body's tendency to embrace gravity a little too zealously, and realized that, when traced back to my lazy, lazy roots, I AM a blamer. And the person I make these excuses to every single day...is myself. My internal dialogue goes much like this:

Well, I CAN'T do high knees, because sometimes that one knee hurts.

I mean, if they want me to throw up on this floor, sure I'll go as hard as they do.

They're lucky I'm even here today. I'm super hormonal. So much bloat.

The last time I did this workout was in Bangor, Maine. It was a simpler time.

And on, and on, and ON. So I'm going to try a thing where instead of constantly blaming something else for my lack of drive, I'll just put some of that energy into jumping-jack pushups or whatever the hell is happening,

and see how that all shakes out.

I'll let you know how it goes. But until then...

trust me on the sunscreen.

I Am.

Have you ever had one of those songs that just stick with you and become, for the moment or several anyway, your personal anthem? A song that doesn't necessarily define you as a person, but at least rings true with a situation or era of life through which you're coasting/slogging?

Music is my lifemate. If I could live every moment of my life like it was a music montage, I would happily acquiesce. Think of all the useful shit that gets done in a music montage! I always refer back to my first memory of the montage, in the 1984 epic genius film "Revenge of the Nerds," during which an entire frat house was changed from structural kindling to an up-to-code, upstanding residence in about 30 seconds.

THIRTY SECONDS. I would remodel so hard if I could do it that way.

But I digress.

The song of the times is called "I Am" by Awolnation. Lyrics, for reference:

"I Am"

These friends of mine will come and go
I’m the first to leave and last to know
I’ll be swimming in a face of flames
For these friends of mine I’ve overpaid
And I guess I wanted, I guess I wanted
I just want you to know

All of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
And I am
Only looking up when my head’s down
All of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
And I am
Only looking up when my head’s down

Veins are glistening
So thanks a lot for listening
I guess I wanted, I guess I wanted
I just want you to know

All of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
And I am
Only looking up when my head’s down
All of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
And I am
Only looking up when my head’s down

Well I guess I wanted, I guess I wanted
I just want you to know

All of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
And I am
Only looking up when my head’s down
All of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
Maybe all of these things made me who I am
And I am
Only looking up when my head’s down

Well I guess I wanted, I guess I wanted
I just want you to know

Hypnotized from the day you were born

So that's my personal song now. Let's couple it with a post about grief, shared by my uber-friend Tami Jones:

I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not.

I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents...

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. But I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too.

If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

I have found my pieces of wreckage to which I cling each time the waves hit, and, unlike a couple of months ago when I clung to whatever may have been floating past at the time, these are sturdy and healthy.

It's been quite a summer. I have suffered loss as a result of death twice. I have suffered loss in the form of my son starting college. And there have been a few instances of loss in relationship form, which are intensely painful but becoming more and more manageable.

And every day I see others around me suffer loss of some kind and begin the slow-motion, defeated paddling that occurs with endings as the first wave rises above them, unrelenting and unforgiving and absolutely unavoidable.

For those of you who are facing that "Perfect Storm" moment even now, please remember this:

There are so many of us who have been through it and come out the other side.

And ALL OF THESE THINGS MAKE YOU WHO YOU ARE.

Think of where you were. Think of where you are. And marvel at the growth and change that sheer damn living brings. Every single instance of pain, or joy, or loss, or gain, has shaped you. EVERY ONE OF THEM. Whether you asked for that growth or begged to be shielded from it, it has found you and molded you, gently or roughly. It is this very phenomenon that has caused me to have two lists:

1. My Bucket List

2. My Unintentional Bucket List

I also have altered the title of events to fall under one umbrella: "Collectible Life Experiences."

Instead of, say, "Cool Shit That Has Happened to Me" and "WTF, Life!?"

If past me had been told that there would be a summer during which I would lose my most loving uncle, my best friend/ex-husband, and my son, ALL IN THE SAME TWO MONTHS, I would have said, "Get right out of town!"

Then I would have removed one of my shoes, probably the left one, and thrown it at said messenger.

Then I would have run away in a zigzag pattern to avoid being hit again.

Then I probably would have tripped, either because I was wearing one shoe or because that's who I am as a person.

But what I wouldn't have known then was that I would have been able to handle it.

And that is why we don't know things such as the exact date of our death.

Ruminating about what has come before us or what lies ahead of us does us exactly no good. We only have this moment. THIS moment. Right now. Because we all know that nobody makes it out of this thing alive.

All we can do is seize who we are in this given moment, and then do the best we can with it.

THE BEST WE CAN. Not the right thing. Not the wrong thing. Only the thing that best helps us get through it.

So love yourself. No? At least like yourself. I look at it like this: if I want to watch Netflix for six hours, I want to watch Netflix. Great idea, self! I couldn't agree more!

You are equipped with everything you need, whether it seems that way at the time or not. Remember it. Lean on it. And live it.

And while you ruminate on that, take the time to notice how much my son looks like me. And then message him. He'll be so excited.