1. whenever you can, say YES

2.  when you leave a Blizzard on the counter it does not change it’s shape or volume, only temperature

3.  books are, in fact, better when you’ve broken their spines and written all over their pages

4.  you will never regret being in photographs, no matter how fat you thought you were that day

5.  if people have come to your house to visit you, they absolutely do not care how clean it is

6.  it is not good to bail your kids out of their messes, or to prevent them from disappointment, or to falsely praise them

7.  traveling is the one thing that will make you understand how insignificant you are (and by you, I mean me)

8.  people in positions of power and leadership are just like the rest of us – just guessing most of the time

9.  people will break your heart and redeem your hope every single day

10. some truly important attributes are these:  show initiative, talk less, be generous with your possessions, smile freely, ask thoughtful questions, drink good vodka

I read that on a bright pink tight fitting tank top recently, and totally wanted to buy it.  But I’m only 40 for another 3 months and from what I hear, it’s all downhill at 41.

I jest!  I just didn’t want to spend $29.95 on a tank top.  Badass ain’t no stupid!

It’s a revelation to accept the changes my heart and mind have made as I age.

Another case in point:  I saw an absolutely deplorable photograph of myself recently – so kindly tagged in another person’s Facebook post – thanks ever so much – but after a second of horrified recognition, I kind of sat back and thought “eh. It is. I am. So what.”

This is a colossal change from the me of my 20’s (the 30’s aren’t far enough gone to reflect.)  And it is wonderfully freeing.  It is also hilarious from a certain slant.  I feel more like I did between the ages of 4-11, when aware of myself, but totally unconcerned with others’ perceptions and just in love with and in awe of life – all at the same time.  Every minute of every day!  Take away:  what I look like isn’t important.  What I’m capable of is.  Thank you 40!

I am also kinder to myself.  I sleep more.  I say no a lot.  I involve myself only in things I truly care about.  I spend more time with fewer people.  I read more.  I keep my mouth closed while learning the clever and beneficial skill of wearing a poker face.  I reflect.  I look people in the eye.  I engage more completely in things I choose to pursue.  I watch less t.v.  I am more interested in other people and their lives.  I enjoy children more.

The List.  Goes.  On.

The photograph mentioned above, by the way, was taken as I finished running a 5K with my son Luke.  It was his first race over 1 mile.  I was proud and honored to be there with him.  And I will not always be able to run alongside my kid.  But I can today.

It is sad, and I actually feel a bit of rage, that I didn’t feel this way about life and about myself at age 22.  Youth, in some ways, is wasted on the young!  But it is what it is.  And I am.  So I say- so what.  One foot in front of the other.

I have friends, or have known family, representing every decade of life, including, as of April 1st, 100!  So my question is this, to those of you older than me:  what else do I have to look forward to??

I ran into a friend last night who I haven’t seen since before I left for Korea.  I think very highly of this woman, a miracle worker with kids who struggle with reading…brilliant intellectual and a biker babe, all wrapped into one. I was very happy to be at the Matchbox 20 concert – ohmyRobThomashotness – but I was happier, still, to have seen my friend.  (Hi Phyllis!  This one’s for you!)

So when she hugged me and told me that she often checks to see if I’ve updated my blog, I felt sheepish.  I haven’t written in this thing for months.  Months I tell you!

When I said that I’ve been very lazy busy, she understood.  Educators are busy people yaddayaddayadda.  I ventured to explain that though I love, love, love writing, that it makes me feel alive, it doesn’t seem real to me that anyone would really care about what I have to say.  She cracked me up when she said “it’s not about what you say. It’s just the writing I enjoy.”

Truth?  I could not be happier that no one is caring or paying attention to what I have to say.  I mean it sincerely.  It might help me get started again.  Read on.

Anne Lamott says that basically a writer should write as though there is no audience.  Actually, I think she said that you should write as though your parents are dead.  But what she meant was, that THAT way, the presumed offenses (because they’re probably all in my head) won’t matter at all and won’t make me so pinned with fear that I stop altogether.  Fear of what, you ask?

Do you know how many times I’ve written entire blogs and deleted them because I just didn’t sound … enough?  Tolerant enough?  Patient enough?  Liberal enough?  Conservative enough?  Smart enough?  Positive enough?  A good enough mother?  A good enough wife?  Friend?  Sister?  Daughter?  Auntie?  Teacher? Nice enough?

I didn’t sound nice enough.  It sounds so dumb out there in words.

Too many, that’s how many.

Ugh.  I get in my own damn way a terrible amount of the time.

The truth is, writing should be the baring of a soul.  If I write with a censor, let’s call her Balls-of-Goo, I’m simply not opening up enough to make the writing true.

I thought about these things on the (white-knuckled, harrowing) drive home from the concert. (Geez, weatherpeople, you didn’t see that snow and ice coming, did you?)  I thought about it a lot.  And I woke up this morning with a renewed sense of excitement about writing.

I updated the blog.  Chose a ‘theme’ for the appearance of it that I like a lot, one I created some time ago, and think fits the tone, and decided to make my writing a discipline.  This means two things: one, I will set a goal of writing 2 blogs per week and two, I will write without my stupid over-cautious inner censor, the aforementioned Balls-of-Goo.

That said:  for the record, and I’m just wading in here:  I don’t like whining and I never have.  I make a shit ton of mistakes in all areas of my life, and believe me when I say I am harder on myself than anyone reading this blog could ever be.  If I’m going to write, I better develop that thick skin I put into practice every day in my classroom with my teenagers.  Also, I better get my ass in gear.  I’m 40.  That’s past mid-life for a whole lot of us.

Thanks for the kick in the ass, Phyllis.  I’m on it.