The Truth Shall Set You Free

As I grow older (and hopefully wiser), I can't help finding cliches a little funny. What a timeless testament of the stubborn state of mind we have in our younger days. Cliches used to annoy me! I found them to be a thoughtless, cheesy way to trick people into thinking things weren't as bad as they seemed.

And now? Now I realize why these statements have withstood the test of time... they're true! I also realize that my acceptance of their validity, combined with my need to profess such validity, makes me a genuine "old person!" For years I have made the following declaration: "You know you're 'old' when you find yourself giving someone else the very same advice you didn't listen to when you were young."

What provoked this blog is that I stumbled across "evidence" that my ex is indeed seeing the woman that his friend's girlfriend felt compelled to tell me about. (It's also raining, which means I can't paint my house and have nothing better to do at the moment.) Not lacking in intelligence, it was obvious to me that I had been traded in; just as the girl he had dated before me, and the girl before her. He was a serial dater. An eager to commit, yet afraid of commitment guy. A mess, you could say, and none of that bothered me a bit. What I found irritating, and, quite frankly, sad, is that at 41 years old, this guy just couldn't admit it.

Far from perfect, I'm a very understanding person. Things change. People change. People want different things. People don't know what they want... and on and on it goes. But why do people confine themselves to tangled webs of untruth? Did he really believe I didn't know? Did he actually believe that the little stories he concocted would somehow transform reality and change the facts? He could have saved himself two weeks of excuses and months of awkward hellos in the hallways if he had just simply told the truth. But considering he did the same exact thing to the two women he dated before me, I suspect he finds some type of unhealthy reward in the drama that results from his overlapping of women. In fact, his "m.o." with me v.s. the girl before me, was almost exactly replicated in the me v.s. the girl after. His wooing is practically scripted, and creepily repetitive.

Regardless of my discovery of who he (un) truly was, our life goals were so very different that a long-term relationship had little chance to be successful. It was fun when it was what he told me it was, what I thought it was. And if he had had the courage to tell me the truth when he should have, I may have still had fond, untainted, memories of him.

I won't say that I have never bended, twisted, manipulated, or recreated the truth in my own life. My confused late teens and early twenties seemed to demand that you do so. I'm not really sure when this revelation occurred; when I discovered that the truth was the quickest end to most any situation. But since that discovery, it is a very rare occurrence for me to deviate from the instant escape that honesty provides.

The truth. It really does set you free. It sets you free of those internal expectations to be super-human... perfect. Speaking the truth means you have peace of mind, courage, and respect; that you may have even... made a mistake. (GASP!) Truth is the one-stop, direct way to resolution, a kind of conversation convenience store; whereas lies require a never-ending creation of cover-ups and fear of exposure. Not only is telling the truth the "right" thing to do, the reward is instantaneous... which means our American instant-gratification-seeking nature should embrace truth. Masses of people should be crowding the city streets shouting:

"I cheated on my SATs!"

"I only married my husband because I was afraid of being alone!"

"Homeless people mean nothing to me, I just like the attention I get when it looks like I care about them!"

"My socks haven't been washed in three days!"

"This isn't really my hair, it's a toupe!"

Okay, maybe mass public confessionals would be a little disturbing. However, I think a little more truth in everyone's lives would truly be...

liberating.

No Pain... No Gain?

It's Tuesday morning. Instead of sitting at my desk in the office, I'm laid up on the couch! My valiant attempt to train for the upcoming 5K has left me handicapped and couch-ridden. I heard a couple "pops" during my aerobic workout last night but thought nothing of them. That's what I get for not thinking.

My neck and back muscles are so tight that I'm barely mobile. Turning my head to the right brings me the most discomfort. Perhaps I'd better approach my training a little less aggressively!

Spirited delusions of grandeur had me believing I could dive into a daily workout regimen and make this 5K-in-3 weeks happen without fail. The inspiration from my workout even spilled over into my other life dreams and led to rainstorm-inspired ramblings with an ink pen in an old spiral notebook. I felt like writing all night! However, I forced myself to go to bed, foolishly thinking I was going to be physically capable of working.

Instead of solving our community's problems in an office chair, I'm simply draped with a comforting blanket, listless and struggling to decide if I should watch "Price Is Right" or "Judge David Young." And I think that is what hurts the most.

Soapbox Confessions

I think to say you have "grown up" you must learn the art of forgiveness. I know most people expect you to grow up by your mid-twenties... but, hey, we're all different; and some of us really seem to like doing things the hard way.


I'm happy to say, that at the "young" age of 35... I truly started growing up. When we let the pain of the past wrongs, or the embarrassment of past mistakes control our minds, we prevent ourselves from living life in the present, let alone having any hopes for happiness in the future. Unfortunately, although time stands still in our hearts and minds... we still physically grow old. Bullshit, I say!

Anyway... I've had the pleasure of running into several people I hadn't seen in over 15 years, in the past several months... people that may have not seen me at my best. And how could they have? I was an emotional mess when I was young! And after talking with a few of them, most of us were! I might be turning into a "super sap" in my old age... but there is something truly beautiful, and liberating, about forgiving people for simply being human.


If you were to have asked me, even five years ago, if I would ever consider opening the lines of communication with my very absent father... I would have said "hell no!" and maybe even told you to kiss my ass! But somewhere along my journey through this crazy little thing called "life," I realized that every single one of us has had some sort of struggle, hardship, tragedy, or emotionally devastating event occur in our lives. I realized that maybe my dad wasn't a dad because he literally couldn't be one... maybe he didn't know how. I'm not going to say that his lack of involvement in my life didn't hurt me, and I'm not going to say that exchanging a dozen or so emails with him magically erases any past wrongs or regrets. What I will say, is that just about anyone will tell you that life didn't quite go the way they planned it to... and I don't believe that anyone intentionally makes bad choices. They do what they know... and do what they can.



Does this make it right? Of course not. But if we spend our lives keeping score of who was "right" and who was "wrong," who was "good" and who was "bad," we immediately slam the door of opportunity... the opportunity to love and to learn from other people. The opportunity to forgive. The opportunity to have peace and forgiveness; true happiness in our lives.



Yesterday does not matter! We cannot change the past. We can't change the things we wished we wouldn't have done or said, anymore than those who have hurt us can. But what we can do, is accept things for what they were... what they are... and forgive. Most importantly... forgive ourselves.



Of course I wish that things could have been this "easy" when I was younger, but if I hadn't gone through my own hard times, who's to say I would be the person that I am now? And although I do think it's sad that it took me this many years to be able to talk about those "terrible" things that held be back from being truly happy for so many years... I'm very thankful that I can now say, I just plain don't give a shit! I punished myself for things I had no control over, things I didn't do, things I didn't ask for... and if being blatantly in-your-face honest prevents someone from taking the hard, and painful path... or suffering a life in painful silence... I'll risk the gossip... the "oh my God can you believe?"s...



That's me. A peace-love-and-happiness-can't-we-all-just-get-along kinda girl. And if you haven't noticed, I'm not apologizing for that anymore. I'll proudly stand on my soap box and let you make fun of my obnoxious eighties hair, shake your finger in shame about the guy I shouldn't have slept with, or wonder why I didn't "make something of myself" sooner... because I know if you're reading this, you've got a big heart in you, somewhere (smile!)...


Uh-oh! That big fat clown is coming across the stage now with that big, shut-the-fuck-up cane...

The Root of My Problems...

This morning I decided it was time to get to the root of my problems: my roots! A handful of randomly placed silvery strands were trying to blow my cover. Trying to lead people to believe that I'm old.

It was time to fight back!

Before I could even fully open my eyes this morning, I was mixing pungent chemicals and pulling on plastic gloves. Reading directions wasn't necessary. I'd done this before. Soon after, I was dropping the applicator brush, dotting my face with color, and losing the battle to keep an old towel on my shoulders. Touching up your roots before you're completely awake... before even having your morning coffee, isn't the best plan of action against those tattle-tale tresses, although it's hard to get frustrated, when you aren't even sure that you're conscious.

I really don't have many gray hairs (yet), but I do have evil ones! It seems they have decided to sprout in the most obvious areas... like each side of my part. Because I have dark hair, even one solitary silver hair shines as bright as a lighthouse beacon in an oceanic storm. I had been watching them get longer, growing more obnoxious as the days passed by. I was just lost in a state of perplexity... analyzing how I truly felt about the fact that I am getting older; so I allowed myself time to get to the root of the problem.

I've either aged a lot in the last year, or I've just had too much time to pay attention to the most minute things while I've been unemployed. I see little lines around my eyes, and on my chest. And those pesky gray hairs... My eyes are taking longer and longer to "de-puff" in the morning...

It's happening. I'm aging!!!!

Hello!

You're soon to be 38 years old.

Okay. So, I'm at an age where I'm expected to have wrinkles and gray hair. But, I'm also expected to be married, have children, a stable income, and a 401k with more money in it than mine has. Instead, I'm single, barely dating, childless and lacking a ticking clock, employed part-time temporarily, and have less than ten grand for retirement. The problem is, there isn't really a problem!

I'm pretty happy!

Practical-thinking people must think I'm nuts, but the only thing I'm concerned with is being physically unappealing when I'm 70 and still looking for "the one." But then again, I won't be the only wrinkled soul in that age-bracket, just maybe the only one wearing a skirt!

I was/am a late bloomer. I get this. Perhaps I fear that I'll run out of time before I truly find my way. Before "my calling" actually gets through my busy mind. I'd like to have kids, maybe, but not now... and the shelf-life on my carton of eggs shortens every day. Am I on the right track, or on a runaway train full of regrets? Why did I make life so difficult if it was really this easy?

Life seemed hardest when I worried about other people; other things. Now that my life has become literally simple, the intrinsic value of my very own existence is simply more clear. So what if I'm not the next Octo-mom, Donald Trump, or blushing bride! And so what if I have a couple gray hairs! I'd like to think of them as little reminders to make the most of what I do have; the most of my life... because even though the gray hairs might, my life, won't last forever.