Act Your Age?

“Grow up!”

“Act your age!”

These are admonitions we often hear parents say when their children are misbehaving.  God knows I’ve been rumored to utter these phrases myself.  But why?

What’s so great about the way us adults act?  What’s wrong with acting like a kid?

Just check out the nearest playground and you’ll see that children are creative, imaginative, and relish play.  It’s us adults who screw it up by taking soccer and hockey and even cheerleading so seriously that parents are beating each other up at their kids’ games. 

Adults are the ones who are competitive, stressed out, and notoriously over-scheduled.  We can’t even seem to go on vacation without our Blackberrys.  What’s the fun in that?

Little kids make friends much more easily than adults do.  They just go up to one another and say “hi.”  That’s it.  Simple.  Do you know how much I worry about making small talk at a business function?

Kids are open and honest with their feelings.  They’re not afraid to cry when they’re sad, or laugh when something is funny.  Children live in the moment, while adults fret about what we should have done or what we are going to do.

Little ones sleep when they’re tired…eat when they’re hungry…and seem to have boundless energy.  (Maybe there’s a lesson for us grown ups in there.)

Grow up?  Act your age?  Not me!  Maybe we should all be a little more childish.

Mangia! Mangia!

Mangia!  Mangia!  My grandmother would cry.  Eat!  Eat!  And eat we did.  All of us crowded around her big kitchen table.

Eating is a social endeavor – not something that should be done alone in front of the television.

Families – even busy ones – should eat dinner together.  It’s a perfect time to wind down and share your day.  It’s also an opportunity to teach your children proper table manners – a skill that will serve them well in their professional lives.  (You wouldn’t believe how many business dinners I’ve been to where the person sitting next to me drank from my water glass, or didn’t know which fork to use!)

And while we’re at it, I’d also like to advocate for bringing your children to a nice restaurant once in a while – albeit not the one where I’m having dinner!

Growing up, my grandfather would take us on vacation each summer – and one of the best parts of vacation was eating out – something we never got to do at home.  But before we even entered the restaurant my mother would turn around, stare down at my sister and me, and in a very stern voice outline exactly how we were to behave. 

It worked!  We ordered our Shirley Temples, selected an item from the Children’s menu, acted like little ladies, and invariably we would be praised by all the wait staff – which made us – and our mother beam with pride.

Numerous studies have been published which show that the more often teens eat dinner with their families; the less likely they are to smoke, drink or use drugs.

So do your kids – and yourself – a favor. Tonight make a meatloaf, turn off the television, and have dinner together.  I guarantee by the time dessert rolls around, you’ll all be having a good time.

The Biggest Lie

My parents lied to me regularly when I was kid.

“You can be anything you want to be when you grow up,” they told me. 

Not true! 

In high school, I wanted to be Sylvia Plath.  (Not a good long-term plan, I’ll admit.)

After seeing the movie The Fabulous Baker Boys, I wanted to be a cabaret singer like Michele Pfeifer, belting out tunes from the great American songbook while making love to a grand piano – never mind that I can’t hold a tune.

During college, I wanted to be an investigative journalist, uncovering government corruption and solving crimes like some trench coat-wearing, pencil-in-the-fedora super sleuth.

Everyone told me I had a knack for the written word:  my high school English teacher, my parents, the editor of my hometown newspaper.  But when I got to college and scoped out the competition, for the first time I thought just maybe a Pulitzer Prize wasn’t in my future.

My 10-year old niece informed me recently of her career plans.  She wants to work at the front desk of a fancy hotel, later be a high school teacher.  After doing that for about five years, she’d like to be a marine biologist.  Then she’ll think about getting married.

Is now the time to tell her that there’s only one Jacque Cousteau?  That the hotel job won’t pay the bills – not with the expensive tastes she’s already acquired! 

When’s the right time to tell someone they’re not the next David Beckham?

If someone had warned me about my college competition would I be daydreaming of houses on Cape Cod from which I could work as a freelance writer…would I be on the air waves today?

A GPS for your Life

My boss has one of those portable GPS thingies.  He brings it with him whenever we go on a business trip.  Regardless of the state.  No matter where we want to go, all he has to do is plug in our final destination and we get turn-by-turn directions.  Best of all, if we somehow get turned around, the GPS simply recalculates the route and puts us back on the right track. 

I need a GPS for my life!

I’ve carefully plodded out every decision I’ve ever made and still I ended up somewhere unexpected.

My fairy-tale wedding led to an uninspired marriage, then a divorce.  No problem!  My magical GPS says “turn here to find love again” and I’m on the road to romance! 

Oops!  Somehow I managed to turn 44 without having a baby.  “Right this way” says the machine.  And my fantasy GPS directs me down a road filled with love, happiness, personal fulfillment and dirty diapers.

How great would it be if there really was such a thing?  A machine that could make all our decisions for us.  Tell us who to marry, which job to take, what stocks to buy and sell.   A machine that could help us avoid heartache and bad decisions.  

Can you imagine if life was a straight line from where we started out to where we wanted to go… no bumps or detours along the way.  Just smooth sailing.  Wouldn’t life be easier if all our choices were the RIGHT ones?

Easier maybe.  But I’m beginning to think that life isn’t about the final destination – or avoiding the bumps in the road.  It’s about navigating your own course.

Who Am I?

We are exactly what others define us to be.  Their perception IS our reality.  Don’t think for a moment this isn’t true.

At my most vulnerable, I believe every criticism ever leveled against me:  I’m loud, aggressive, cheap, and impatient.  On those days when I’m on top of my game, however, I think I’m not that bad looking, I’m funny, and maybe my unique set of flaws isn’t necessarily that more egregious than anyone else’s.

I know we’d all like to believe that what others think simply doesn’t matter.  But, the fact is, it does.

At my old job I wasn’t really considered creative.  I was told this over and over again in every performance review.  “You’re a work horse,” they said.  I was called “detail-oriented.”  But I just wasn’t considered creative.  Now, at my latest place of employment, I’m the “go to kid” for all things creative.  They want me to come up with snazzy marketing ideas.  Me?  After being told for 9 solid years that I wasn’t creative, I find it daunting when my new boss tells me that I’m the most creative person in our office.  What’s changed?  Certainly not me.  Just other people’s perceptions of who I am.

The girls in the office think I’m outgoing.  To them my weekly dates and the occasional road trip constitute a full social calendar! They’d be surprised to know that I prefer weekends on the couch with my remote control and a full fridge!

When you look in the mirror what do you see?  A reflection of your own reality or someone else’s?

Compromise?

If a compromise is two people in a relationship each giving up a little something, then what’s the opposite of compromise?

What’s it called when two people in a relationship each feel like they’ve got the better deal?  Because that’s what it’s like with me and David.

I’m sure that I’ve got the better end of the stick because David is the most easy-going, patient and sweetest man I’ve ever met. He truly cares about my happiness.  His regular acts of kindness come easy to him; and he seeks nothing in return.  Yet to me each little courtesy is like a precious gift.  (And did I mention that he’s a terrific cook?)

For his part, David gets me – in all my fabulousness! (Some bargain, huh?)   He says he enjoys spending time with me and just talking – not that he ever gets a word in edgewise!  But he does seem to laugh at my stories and I’m not a half bad Scrabble and Cribbage partner.  I know he likes having me to share each and every day with.

I remember reading this book once on the art of negotiation – the goal, it said, was for each party to feel like they got what they needed.  The book discussed compromise in terms of what each side got, rather than what each side gave up.

So… maybe a girl who’s given up cooking isn’t exactly what David dreamed of.  And maybe his overnight work schedule isn’t what I envisioned in a perfect mate.  But when he takes me in his arms and tells me he loves me, it seems like I’m not giving up anything at all.

Romantic Disclaimer

 

I’ve been dating the same guy for over a year.  He thinks he knows me.  He thinks he loves me! 

But before we go any further, I think I should give him the following disclaimers:

 1)  Sure the romance has been steamy, but that’s about to end.  After all, there are only so many times you can pick someone up at the airport wearing nothing but a trench coat and high heels.  Don’t expect THAT again!  

2)  I know you think I’m funny, but my funniest days and craziest antics are behind me.  After all, how many times can you hear the same story and still think I’m amusing. 

3)  When there’s no food in my fridge – and there never is – you don’t get frustrated; we simply go out to eat.  But what about when it’s OUR refrigerator and still the only thing that inhabits that frozen tundra is a 6 pack of coke and a Bermuda onion? 

Sure all these idiosyncrasies seem endearing now, but how are you gonna feel 5, 10, 15 years from now? 

You always stop me when I break into a litany of my faults. You say they don’t matter, you love me regardless. But what’s that Latin phrase?  Caveat emptor.  Let the buyer beware.  You wouldn’t commit to a refrigerator … a new car …or a plasma TV without a warranty, why would you commit to a lifelong relationship without one?

“I have faith,” you say.  “It’s love,” you declare.  “Those are just things,” you say, “You don’t fall in love with a new car, or a refrigerator…or a plasma TV.   Well, unless the plasma TV has a 60-inch screen,” you jest.

What’s So Fabulous About Being 40-something?

Today’s my 44^th birthday and for the first time in a long while I’m welcoming the occasion.  Being 44 isn’t so bad – in fact it’s sort of fabulous.

I figure I have about as many years in front of me as I do behind me.  That’s good because I’ve lead a satisfying life so far and I’m looking forward to the adventures that the second half brings.

In the first half of my life I traveled to Vienna, Salzburg, Venice, Florence, Rome and Paris.  I enjoy visiting Europe and hope to go back again soon.  But sometimes I equally enjoy a weekend alone on the couch, too.  

I have terrific friends.  I’ve fostered long-term relationships with people who remember my Sylvia Plath-like poetry, purple hair days and innumerable boyfriends.  Thank God they love me still!

And speaking of love, I have enough “romantic” experience to know what I like, I’m secure enough to ask for it, and still young enough to enjoy it – over and over again!

It’s taken me a while, but I’ve learned that big gestures don’t matter as much as being there for someone day in and day out.

I’ve always been confident in my abilities at work. But now, I take pleasure in mentoring the “next generation.”

I feel as though I’ve finally come into my own.  My life fits me like a perfectly tailored suit.

At this point in my life, I’ve had my heart broken and suffered enough emotional and physical pain to know that I’ll be able to get through whatever the next 44 years bring.

I think I have something to say and I’ve found an audience willing to listen.  Thanks!

Big Night Out

My birthday’s coming up and my girlfriends want to take me out for a big night on the town. 

A night on the town! Who are they kidding?  I’m turning 44. For me a night on the town ends at 10pm.  It’s not that I need to be home in time to see the evening news — I can’t keep my eyes open that long — I just don’t see the need to be awake when tomorrow rears it’s ugly head!

I’d like to blame it on my rapidly increasing age, but sadly that’s not the case.  I’ve never been one to “party like its 1999.”  (Not even when it was 1999!) 

Just give me a few martinis at the Roo Bar, or a glass of wine and appetizers at Embers in Marshfield and I’m happy to call it a night.

Friends used to call me an “old soul,” now they just call me “old.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a stick in the mud; I love to go out.  But these days I just prefer to start my adventures a little earlier in the day.

Instead of going out to dinner, what’s wrong with a nice brunch?  I’ve never been to the Daniel Webster Inn.  After that, maybe a walk along the Cape Cod Canal. 

I still like to get my heart pumping every once in a while, and there’s nothing better for that than a bike ride along the Cape Cod Rail Trail.  (Okay, well maybe I can think of ONE thing that’s better for getting your heart pumping, but never on a full stomach!  My gastrointestinal tract isn’t what it used to be!)

As I get older, I tend to appreciate other things that have been around for a long time:  The Cape Cod Cinema in Dennis, The Museum of Fine Arts, and Boston’s Swan Boats. 

In fact, come to think of it, an afternoon in Boston would be a perfect way to celebrate my birthday.  Tea at the Ritz (not that they call it the Ritz anymore) … a walk around Newbury Street … window shopping in stores that are too rich for my blood.  I enjoy a stroll through the Bay Back.  Peeking in the brownstones …looking for the purple panes of glass.  (Is it true what they say?  That the purple glass in Beacon Hill’s luxury homes are original glass?)

“Older is better” I tell myself.  I prefer old vine Zinfandels to cabernets.  I listen to the “oldies” station on the radio (just like my dad).  And a man going grey at the temples with old money makes my heart beat a little faster.

Before you think I have one foot in the grave (like that rich man with the old money – and hopefully a teeny little heart condition), let me just tell you that sometimes I still like to walk on the wild side….try a little something new.  I had dinner at a Moroccan restaurant called Tangierino in Charlestown last month.  And I’m eager to try the Ethiopian food at Asmara in Cambridge.  So what if dinner starts at 5:30 – it’s easier to get a table that way!

I don’t like the din of restaurants when they get too crowded anyway.  I can barely hear the person sitting across the table from me.  And after all isn’t that what it’s all about?  Isn’t getting together – whether to celebrate my birthday or just another weekend – about connecting with other people?  It’s not about being seen at the trendiest restaurant.  It’s not about the wine – or even the food.  It’s just about having a good time.

I guess my big night out will likely consist of dinner in!

Personally Speaking

Sure technology is great when it saves time…when it makes us more efficient. But how many times has Map Quest steered you wrong?  Isn’t it just easier to call for directions, have an actual human alert you to the latest road construction, and give you a tip about the best place to park?

 I prefer the personal touch.  Remember that?  Real human interaction.

 I went to a local garage to get my car inspected.  I pulled up, walked into the office and was greeted by…absolutely no one!  There was another customer sitting there but no garage attendant.  After a while, the near-mute customer instructed me that the correct procedure was to return to my vehicle, sit in my car, and wait until a garage employee waved me in.  Talk about a lack of personal interaction!

I did as I was told.  But before the second song on my Livingston Taylor CD was over, I decided that I was burning gas for no good reason and didn’t need to stand for this.  I got on my cell phone and called my dealership who assured me that as long as I arrived by 4pm they’d be happy to do the inspection.  Not only did they perform the inspection right away, but they even washed my car!

You probably guessed by now that I’m the type of person who will drive miles out of her way for a full-service gas station.  And that I don’t have any patience for those silly self-check out lines at the grocery store either. 

My 30-something friends think I’m old-fashioned, but when did service go out of style?  When did having an actual conversation with your customer become bad business?  Personally speaking, I want the personal touch.