Embracing the Unknown and Imperfect

As 2021 comes to a close, I received news that two peers of mine, one from high school and one from college, had passed away. It hit me and my sense of invincibility like a gut punch. While it's been over 30 years, in my mind, we are all still those young people ready to take on the world. I have very specific memories of both of the people. 

I ran to my photo album, filled with touchstones from the past, back in the day when we metered out photos, as a roll of film only had 24 opportunities to capture the moment. That film was not to be squandered. I'd slowly fill a roll of film, patiently drop it at the Fotomat and pick it up a few days later, or when I was really impatient, I paid a premium to have my prints following day. Often, I would optimistically get double prints on the chance that a photo came out so good that I could share a copy with the others in the picture.

More often than not, they were pictures with eyes closed, stray hairs, or unflattering looks that today would be either airbrushed or deleted into oblivion. But for me, it was still a reminder of the time and place, and I diligently added those unflattering photos to my scrapbook, with captions, articles and other ways to preserve the memory. 

Those images are magical talismans with the ability to time travel. Unlike today, most of the moments were not chronicled with photos, but with stories, told from person to person until they became quasi-legends. Like a game of telephone, the word spread through the social circle. There were no hashtags or clever captions. There was no airbrushing or deleting. There simply was the ability to live in the moment and enjoy whatever it brought. 

In our stories and conversations, we relived those moments until they became perfectly imperfect and knowingly known. 

I resolve for the coming year and onward to embrace the moments of unknown and imperfection. We owe it to ourselves to live in the moment. I'm not going to share the unflattering photos I found, at least not on this public blog, but instead encourage anyone reading this to smile at the mental pictures you have of our peers. 

Gone too soon, MK and LL, who made our collective stories better by being part of them. 

Studio 54 closed

Since the day I announced myself  a writer, I have tried to gather my thoughts on paper, especially on my birthday. Birthdays are a big deal, not just my own, but also for anyone in my world. A birthday is the only day of the year that it is perfectly acceptable to be all about you. 

Today is my day. I'm going to practice what I preach and be all about me. If you're still reading, thank you for indulging me and following along. 

I am 55 today. I am just as close to 60 as I am to 50. Those mid-point birthdays always hit me mentally as I try to assess where I'm going, and where I thought I would be. My default (as a Virgo, just barely) is perfection and planning. I live to think ahead. I am punctual and I always have a plan along with two or three back ups. Rarely has life worked out the way I imagined or planned, yet I still find having a plan comforting. 

When I turned 15, we had just moved away from my childhood town to Florida. Turned out that my very first day of school at a new high school was also my birthday. I remember thinking that day how much I couldn't wait to get out of high school and be on with my life. I didn't know a soul and just wanted to be anywhere but trying to find my way around a building I didn't know. Yet, today, through the wonder of social media, I have gotten back in touch with the few friends I made during my two years there and I wonder why I was so scared. 

When I was 25, I was not quite a year into our marriage. I assessed my life with mixed emotions. I thought I would be well on my way to becoming a lawyer, yet I wasn't even close. However, I had a job I loved and was starting my life with a man I loved. Becoming a lawyer never happened, though at 27 I started to pursue my Master's Degree in Labor Law to move in that direction. Yesterday, my youngest child started her first day of classes at Law School. I am so proud and happy that I have a birds' eye view to her achievements. If I'm being honest, I suppose a piece of that pride is vicarious-- don't parents always want their kids to achieve what they never did? 

When I was 35, I was a stay-at-home mom, who couldn't see far enough past the world of toddlers and play dates to imagine a future where I'd be navigating my days without children. I had a solid group of neighborhood mom friends. Our children's social circles became ours. Today, I marvel at the adults those young people have become. Next month, we are attending a wedding of one of those kids and I cannot wait to hug everyone (COVID protocol permitting), and bask in what a good job we did.

Card from my cousin

When I was 45, I was really starting to struggle with the impending empty nest. As the parent of two teenagers, we had moved away from the safe haven of our toddler neighborhood. I was trying to be involved yet wanted also to have an identity that was mine, not as "so and so's mom". Though I knew I was coming to the end of an era, I still hadn't figured out what was next. I felt and still do that going back to school is not really what I want to do. I've discovered through years of volunteering a passion for non-profit work and a love of children. I continued to write and process my world in words. I blogged and found a modicum of success as a green living blogger. That experience helped launch my next 10 years. 

Today I am 55. I have found remarkable success in my ability to write. I have run PR campaigns for neighborhoods, I have spoken to city councils, I have traveled the globe, putting those experiences into words. But my life isn't just about what I achieve professionally. I have two children in their mid 20s taking the world by storm. I like to think I'm their #1 fan. 

If you read some of my earlier posts from this year, we recently relocated again. We are over 800 miles away from our hometown. If I toast with friends, it will be on video, not in person. The COVID pandemic prepared us somewhat. In fact, it set me up in such a way that the relocation didn't change my work. I still am writing for a company back in Ohio. 

As I reflect today on this mid-decade birthday, I see that 10 years can bring so many changes. Today, I'm going to create a word time capsule- what do I think will be true in 10 more years? 

When I am 65, I pray that we begin to take our planet seriously. Mother Nature is angry. We do not care for our earth and it's gross. We use, throw away, and use more. We spew chemicals and toxins into the water, the air, the soil, and our bodies. I hope we as a society become more thoughtful about the world we inhabit. I hope we work with instead of against Mother Nature. 

In the next 10 years, I hope that I have seen another continent. Maybe all of them. That's a 20 year goal. The world is huge. There is so much to see and I want to see it all. 

In the next 10 years, I hope to finally publish that book, Actually, I think that is more like a 1 year plan. I have been circling around my book for 5 years. Perhaps this is my accountability announcement. 

In the next 10 years, I hope we are are back in Ohio and retired. Retired from the rat race, but not from thinking and doing. I want to be that adventurous couple that enjoys everyone and everything that is around us. I want to spend more time with our children and whoever they bring into their lives, I want to spend more time with my bi-coastal best friends, "The Jackies". (I apparently only pick friends with the same name). I want to enjoy whatever elderly members of our family are left in 10 years. I hope many, but I am realistic. The elder generation has so much to share with us. I want to absorb as much as I can to pass along. 

But mostly, in 10 years, I want to just be a better version of me. I'm not as stressed at this midpoint decade as previously. I look forward to the future because just like a birthday, it's all mine. 

Take a chance on me

If you're of a certain age or a fan of musical theater, you may even have an automatic soundtrack that starts up by hearing the title of this blog. But this is about something slightly different. 

If you had followed along with my last few blog posts, we just made a huge relocation. We liquidated nearly half our possessions and moved 800 plus miles away from all that was familiar. This all transpired in late May. 

The past month has been spent unpacking boxes, putting things into place, and finding ways to replace the things we shouldn't have sold as well as get rid of more things we should have. Note to the peanut gallery: it's really difficult to know what you will or won't use until you are living in the space. 

While most of our move was efficient, we have quickly noticed those areas of inefficiency. We have significantly fewer linens to wash and fold - fewer sheets, towels, and tablecloths. We have fewer dining service ware - fewer plates, fewer glasses, and fewer serving platters. Yet, in accordance with the laws of physics, we have an equal and opposite reaction. We have added area rugs, a footstool, and cabinet hardware. 

All that mass that has either reduced or increased our space is insignificant to the hole left in our social lives. We went from "knowing everyone" to "not knowing a soul" in a 12 hour drive. 

That reality hit me like a ton of bricks and with a similarly frantic action. My brain went into overdrive. Must. Meet. People. Find. People. etc. 

I found a Facebook group dedicated to meeting new friends in our state. I made what I hoped was a friendly and welcoming post, introducing ourselves with a little background. 

Sure enough, someone from our hometown area commented and we were quickly exchanging private messages. We actually met the following evening, when we both were attending the baseball game to see our hometown team. Unfortunately, the team lost, but in the bigger picture, socializing won. 

We clicked well enough with these newly-found hometown friends and invited them to celebrate with us over the holiday weekend. 

Wow, am I glad we took a chance, and I am so glad they did, too. We met a couple that I think we have enough in common with to do things together over the next several months. We laughed about hometown things and lamented the absence of those things in our new location. We shared stories and common points of reference. 

All in all, it was a really good "first date". 

It's not easy to make friends as adults. It is even more difficult as the world emerges from the social distancing protocol of the COVID-19 pandemic. It's a complicated place and the rules can be a little confusing. 

For all that and more, I just want to say, today I am basking. I think we made some friends and it was as simple as taking a chance. Thank you B & R. 

Sold to the Highest Bidder

I grew up in the country and auctions were not only a way to liquidate, but a good auction also was a social event. Locals gathered from near and far to participate in the selling of their neighbor's goods. Sort of like a garage sale on speed. 

Things came and went as quickly as it took to raise a hand. The instant gratification was the impetus behind the decision to hold an auction to liquidate most of our belongings as we navigate an out of state relocation. Alas, in this time of COVID-19 precautions, our auctioneer assured us that an online auction would still accomplish the goal. 

Skeptical, but committed, we signed on to use a virtual auction to liquidate. We were not necessarily comforted when the first few days netted little interest, despite our auctioneer's assurances that most of the bidding comes at the end. 

Selling your personal belongings is a strange beast. We place an inordinate value on those things, yet not enough value to keep them. In other words, we don't want them, but are seemingly astounded when nobody else does either. 

I was married in 1990. The first thing we did on our wedding registry was include fancy things like porcelain and crystal-- because if we didn't get it for a gift, we may never have it. (I appreciate a generation that is much more practical-- if we never have it? We didn't need it, right?)

However, we proceeded to fill and furnish entire rooms dedicated to this stuff known as fine dinnerware -- buying tables, chairs, and cabinets to store and occasionally use those valued belongings. Then one year the top shelf on our cabinet collapsed, breaking most of our porcelain and crystal, but still leaving us with a room of appropriate use storage and furniture. A cabinet for our fine dishes, sans the fine dishes. 

We moved, and found ourselves with another room dedicated to the same pursuit of dinnerware. We owned the furniture, but not the accoutrements that went along with the furniture. Alas, without the appropriate numbers of porcelain and crystal, we wound up renting the necessary place settings and still gathered around, sharing meals and never noticing the plates. 

Today, we sold our cabinet and I repeatedly bemoaned the fact that it sold for pennies on the dollar. Yet in that moment, I realized, the reason I was selling it was that I no longer had anything to display in it, that I borrowed things for that once a year event I needed them. How could I possibly presume that others had the need we had over 30 years ago? Times change. 

However,  I observed the online auction closing and friends were messaging me. I am going to share a few messages, with context to lead up to my point. 

One friend is a local business person that I bought a wall clock from in the past. She would have no way of knowing (until now) that when I bought the clock, it was because we couldn't afford to fix one that was a family heirloom. My plan was to hang a clock in that space until we could fix the other one. But shortly after buying her clock, we saw that my beloved aunt had the SAME EXACT CLOCK on her wall. It felt like we needed to keep that clock. And now that same friend has a handful of things that we once owned. I look forward to hearing the accompanying stories. 

Another friend is a bit further away, but we have bonded over the years through shared life experiences and similar politics. We originally met online and felt an instant kindredship. Life made it difficult to be in the same space at the same time (or perhaps the universe really needed to prepare?). We met once in the most unexpected way possible, and were so thrilled to meet that folks still mention it. 

That same friend had the winning bid on two of the things we're selling and is traveling to pick them up. I believe (she can confirm yay or nay) that the pick up is as much about our friendship perhaps more so, than it is about the "stuff". 

What I've learned in my 50+ years is that stuff is just that. It is stuff. It is the memories, not the ability to touch it, that matters. I'm saying goodbye to several dear possessions, fully realizing that there just is no place to put them in our next abode. 

I'm saying goodbye to my daughter's armoire/chifforobe. I bought it for her as a toddler for her "big girl" room. It was part of a strategic purchase of a guest bed and her trundle bed from the same furniture line. We are keeping the beds, but there isn't a ceiling in the next house tall enough. I feel like I am breaking up a family. 

I am saying goodbye to a beautiful, albeit uncomfortable, chair. It is an antique, probably once was altar furniture as the original set had another chair and a settee. I used to curl up there as a child and read, and felt very fancy. It sold to the highest bidder. 

We watched over 200 groupings of our items sell. As always, with an auction, it's shocking what people want, and what they have no interest in. We sold our lawn and garden equipment for an amount we expected. Some of the furniture was a dud. I caution anyone against buying fine furniture in a trendy color. Mauve leather recliner couches will not EVER make a comeback, despite what my 1990s sensibilities said. Also, just say no to golden oak. 

In the end, it's all just stuff. I am delighted that I can follow the stories of some of it. My one friend bought the luggage that was a traditional high school graduation gift from my grandparents. A full set of burgundy, hard sided American Tourister luggage. It has taken me around the globe, filled with hopes and dreams. My family jokingly referred to my big suitcase as "Big Red" but Big Red and I had many adventures. We explored life and now I find it apropos that I pass that torch to a friend whose own daughter graduated from high school today. 

That luggage doesn't come with baggage, it comes with stories. It comes with the hopes of a life well-lived and the people it touches. 

Because without the human touch? Stuff is just that. I am okay with passing it along and I hope that the next people who touch it find something worth holding onto.  

Emptying the Nest Even More

 In 2016, I embarked upon chronicling the emotions and changes taking place as our second child moved to college and our house truly became quiet. 

I blogged a weekly column for 18 weeks living the emotions and changes I was experiencing mentally. The intention was to write a book about it. So much for intentions. In my desire to wring every last drop of angst out of the experience, I also found employment, new projects, and a renewed sense of purpose. I put the book project on hiatus to revisit at a later date. 

Then came COVID-19. The child who emptied our nest found her job prospects in limbo with the pandemic and moved home, almost exactly a year ago. She finished her college career online and had a you-tube commencement. Frankly, it was pretty lame and a bit of a let-down for such a stellar college career. But she's been under our roof again. 

I cannot pretend to know her stress, but for the better part of this past year, we have been each other's sole companions. A nest of three, but mostly two, as she and I have been engaged in work-from-home ventures. She has been tutoring and consulting, I have been doing content creation for a local boutique marketing firm. 

Then the bomb dropped. My husband was offered a new job in another state (one we never lived) and he took it. Suddenly the nest of the past 13 years needs to be emptied. Talk about a clean sweep. We are moving 805 miles away. Time to assess everything. Marie Kondo maybe lives in a condo? I don't know but I have never looked at all our stuff with such a critical eye in my life. I am purging and emptying. 

I spoke to auctioneers who will help us liquidate. I am debating every single item we own. Wow. 

Our daughter will be heading to law school in the Fall, the year at home helped her pivot her career trajectory. Things are coming full circle in many ways. We began our marriage in a city neighborhood, on a city lot, in a 1920s home. We walked to the store, park, library, and post office. 

Thirty years later, that is our plan again. 

In a way, it will be nice to break from our current town and neighborhood. Admittedly, I still get a little sad walking around and seeing all the school spirit signs and realizing that each year takes us farther away from those days. But we are closer again to being that couple that fell in love and built a life together 30 years ago. We didn't really empty a nest, we simply shifted it to a new location. 

Yesterday things got even more real. I held a "house-cooling" (versus house warming) party to say goodbye to all my local friends. Today, our household items went live on the auction site and tomorrow the new buyers do their final walk-through. (Thank goodness they've already committed to purchasing because the house is a maze of boxes! Certainly not showroom ready.)

As I sorted through a lifetime of memories, really trying to cull what matters, I flashed back over and over. I found notes from long-lost friends, photos of my children when they were little, so many things that sparked memories. I found an autograph book I received for my 13th birthday, that I proudly took to all my family members and had them sign. My eyes welled up as I saw the notes of so many relatives who are now gone left for that new teenager. 40+ years of loving wishes. That will be making the trip. 

Home is so much more than a roof, so much more than walls or tables, chairs or decorations. Home is where there is love. Love cannot be contained and love is not location-specific. So as scared as I am of the uncertainty, I also am confident that if the first thing I unpack is love, I will be home.