here comes the boom.

I'm tired of the Millennials (also called Generation Y). And for the record, I have one, as in, I birthed one, although she doesn't fit most of that label. Supposedly that generation ends in 2000 so my daughter, who was born in 1998, is at the tail end of this quixotical and much-talked about generation. Wherever she falls, I've spent the last 17 years living in the Millennial parenting paradigm and I'm over it. I want something different for her, and for the three other littles that are now in my life. 

Millennials are the topic du jour. The command center for this generation are those currently aged 22 to 35'ish and they are having a huge influence on our culture and society. Within the last couple of years, nearly every major media outlet has discussed some aspect of how to address their influence. They don't give a lot of money to political campaigns, but they vote in big numbers. They don't like to stay in their jobs for more than two years, but they have changed how boardrooms work. They don't like to talk on the phone, but they have revolutionized communication. And maybe most disturbing of all, they don't mind if their entire life is meta-tagged because, well, so is yours. 

The oldest Boomers birthed Generation X'ers (me), and the younger Boomers birthed the bulk of the Millennials. I think this makes perfect sense. In general, Boomers, the "Free to be You and Me" do-gooders tried to give their kids what they didn't have - self-awareness - but it was applied in two distinctly different time periods and the generational effect was very, very different. 

For the Gen X'ers, who were raised during the 70's and 80's, "self-awareness" took the form of telling us we could be anything we wanted to be, as long as we still fit in. We were the first generation where it wasn't a guarantee that we would be as successful as our parents. The first generation where a significant percentage of us were raised in a dual-income or divorced household. The first generation where we were asked, "How do you feel about that?" while also being told we were the Lost Generation and had no real collective thought. We were sandwiched between Reganomics, a recession, and a threat of nuclear war during one of the biggest cultural shifts in our country's history, coupled with an evolving family and home-life model, in a period of significant self-exploration and expression.  Whew. It simultaneously felt empowering and stifling. We were told to make something of ourselves! The sky's the limit! But, oh yeah, the sky might fall due to inflation or the Russians, so maybe do a gap year or technical college. So for us, the focus on self-awareness netted palpable angst, grounded skepticism and a strong sense of survival. We are most definitely not bandwagon-ers or early adopters, but we are creative, resilient, adaptable and independent. 

Cut to the 90's where college-age and young adult Gen X'ers slogged their way through the decade wearing oversized Gap anything and bashing Courtney Cobain for buying a Lexus with Kurt's money, while the younger Boomers gave birth to the generation that is right now, today, making it difficult for me to use the restroom without bringing my cell phone with me. 

The younger Boomers, having waited to have their children until the Berlin Wall fell and when they could afford a four bedroom house, pushed the notion of self-awareness to new heights. Everyone is special, everyone should be included, everyone should have their own space. Participation trophies, no full court press until the last two minutes of the game, "All About Me" week-long class celebrations, and all-inclusive full-class birthday parties dominated the formative years of this generation. They were not only asked how they felt, they were asked to draw it, paint it, frame it and enter it into the school's auction whereby their parents would purchase it for $1,000 with all of the proceeds going to the "Art in Robotics" after-school program. Based on my thinly veiled attempt at poking fun, I'm guessing you realize I think these are cultural missteps. Not totally, because I think in general, self-awareness is absolutely critical to developing empathy, which is at the very top of my list of Big Ideas I want to pass onto my daughter, but here's the rub — I think the Young Boomers + the 90's equaled the birth of a generation of kids who's idea of self-awareness is not that far from the Charlie Sheen'ism: "I'm winning!"

"Traitor is only a term of a time." 

I'm fairly confident that quote was from the movie "Cold Mountain" with Nicole Kidman and Jude Law, which is a love story based during the Civil War. It popped into my head as I was thinking about the generational application of big ideas like self-awareness because I believe it's ultimately defined by the time in which it's being applied. Culturally speaking, how self-awareness was manifested during the 70's seems quite different than in the 90's. In the 70's and 80's it felt like a progression from being one for the many (during the Kennedy years), to being one in the many, ie: how we saw ourselves as individuals but in relation to each other. In the 90's and beyond, it feels more like, "did you guys see me?" ie: one standing out from the many. It feels like a non-relative, ego-centric and self-imposed view that ultimately is somewhat rudderless. Ironically, for all of the (over) self-exposure, I think it has also been isolating for these Millenials. They may have 231 participation ribbons, but only 62 likes on that #tbt selfie. "If I'm so special, why don't I get noticed more?" They've been called "Generation Vex," "no collar workers," the "Trophy Generation" and the "New American Idle." In study after study, they happily say that they would rather work at a minimum wage job than do something they don't love, leaving a generation of under-employed still hanging onto their parent's health care plan until age 26. 

I know I'm painting a grim picture and honestly, I'm not trying to trash on the Millennials, but I'm really worried about my daughter's future - about the generational pressures she is facing - and I think it's time for Generation X to step up and Bring the Boom. We are the ones raising kids right now, today, and we can do something about this generational application of self-awareness. Our time is NOW, we are raising the next generation NOW and we can define the term for our time, with our experience and our unique generational sensibility. It is widely felt that we are the the most moderate, independent and analytical generation. We think before we act, we walk through ambiguity, not around it, and we give credit while also assigning responsibility. We are grounded and flexible and inclusive while also lauding our individuality. We are the ideal generation to not let technology, amongst other things, own our cultural and own our kids. 

Take two classic Generation X sensibilities — skepticism and a general anti-joiner attitude.  I think it could be incredibly powerful if we more effectively leveraged the grounding that those sentiments can bring to our parenting style instead of doing what I think we are doing today, which is applying it to ourselves, but not our children. Some of us proudly say things like, "I'm never on Facebook" and, "Snap-what?" but we let our kids engage in these arenas, patting ourselves on the backs for our screen time, no technology at the dinner table, and no texting after 10 pm rules. We bandaid it with rules, but in my opinion, we aren't really investing in understanding the technology and why, or more importantly, how our kids engage with each other through these mediums. We know very well why we are anti-joiners when it comes to ourselves, but don't we need to understand it relative to how they see it/use it in order to provide effective stewardship for them? Generally speaking, we are flippant and even critical of new media. Sometimes loving it, sometimes hating it, writing thousands of parenting articles about how to handle it, but always acting like we can take it or leave it. However, we claim that we understand that they can't, it's "just their generation," so we plaster rules all over it, citing expert opinions and feigning that we totally have it under control. Truth is, for most of us, we don't have it because we don't get it, because we haven't wanted to get it. There are days when I feel like we've willingly given our kids a loaded gun, told them the obvious, "it can kill you or others," and told them not to bring it to the dinner table. Box checked. 

We are not the young Boomers, handing out iPhones like candy because our kids "earned it" for not quitting violin. Things have been changing and there is a trend away from participation trophies. I think enough of us have had enough, but our voices are still just a murmur and we've got our work cut out for us. How do we combat powerful realities like instant gratification when nearly everything is available in one hour or less? How do we win the battle of influence, when everything they see on social media is severely weighted towards the Kardashians, Dance Moms or memes that make fun of the word "bae" instead of what's happening with the refugee crisis in Europe? How do we reconcile the fact that our nine year old learned negotiating skills from "Animal Jam?" 

One of my friends, a superstar Gen X mom, started doing "Ted Talk Tuesdays" where they watch a Ted Talk during dinner. Last week they watched, "I am the son of a terrorist. Here's how I chose peace." She has three kids, all 5th grade and under. I watched the Democratic Presidential Debates with my daughter, pausing often to discuss policy issues brought up during the debate, and we also have watched episodes of Vice News together. And don't be fooled — she wasn't a totally willing participant, but I think it's important to do, even if they protest (and maybe even more so because they protest). I think we have to be super intentional about a lot more things because we are battling a massive influx of information that is hard to control, especially as they get older. We have to actually create space for boredom (so creativity can blossom...or chores :)). We have to ask them how things are going socially for them during the day. We have to stop leaning on the "TBD" (Too Busy Disease) excuse and make our moments matter. It's tougher than it was for our parents and I think they would admit that. We have a lot more cooks in the kitchen of influence. 

I think as a generation, we are inherently wired to be the founders of best practices for this new parenting paradigm. We want to raise kids that think before they act, walk through ambiguity, not around it, and give credit while also taking responsibility. We want them to be grounded, flexible and inclusive while also lauding individuality. We want them to not let technology, amongst other things, own their culture and their lives. Don't we?

Generation X has been called a lot of names, and maybe some of them were warranted, but I'd like to believe we've just been waiting for our collective generational thought: "Here Comes the Boom."

forgiven.

In honor of Dr. Angelou's passing yesterday, I felt inspired to write a poem in her style - raw, open, emotional.

Am I forgiven?

Seems not quite the time.
Developing new boundaries,
I moved your comfortable line.

I unraveled it all by choice,
And this is what you judge.
No accidents, no tragedies,
Hit a wall that wouldn't budge.

If you could claim me victim,
Pain caused by happenstance,
Would you let me realign myself
On your path of indifference.

Am I forgiven?

Forgiven for the choices that I made?
None of which affected you,
All of which you've shamed.

The world is filtered through our lens,
Narrowing our view.
But is it really me you judge,
Or is the lens for you?

Am I forgiven?

iHope.

Earlier in 2012, Apple announced an updated release of their wildly popular iPad, the iPad 2 with Retina Display. They called it "Resolutionary." Kitchy, cute. In the maelstrom of press on that release, I was struck by a conversation on NPR about how Brazil is the 6th largest economy in the world, and the interviewee kept bringing up the iPad 2. He honestly had to be reigned in by Steve Innskeep to stay on topic. Then they released the iPad Mini to compete with Amazon's Kindle and other electronic readers, and I was warned by Apple Store staffers to steer clear of visiting the store on launch day if I needed anything other than an iPad Mini. So I carted my aging and buggy iMac home with me and tinkered with it on my own. 

I have no less than 14 (!) Apple products currently in use in my personal and professional life, plus five other products that I just need the time to refurbish/update, and one that is out of commission but I'm keeping it for posterity — an original iPod. I have never once, in 25 years of owning Apple products, taken my products into the shop, with the exception of a forgotten password on my daughter's laptop. The in-product help features, coupled with the online help community, is so thorough that it makes us DIY'ers fearless. These products are reliable, user-friendly, elegant and relevant. While I am not an early-adopter (of anything really), I certainly get why the product release buzz exists. 

It's no secret to my very small cache of readers that I am 'refurbishing' my life and creating a new model. However I feel less like an Apple product and more like Windows 8, with a lot of glitches, crashes and weird user-experiences. So I'm feeling like I need to channel a little more Apple, a little more Steve Jobs.

Three years ago this spring I filed for divorce. That day in March 2010 was the last time that I sat across from my ex-husband for any extended period of time. It was the last time we talked extensively about anything. It was the last time we rode in a car together. It was the only time he said he was sorry and the last time he said, "I love you." Yes, it was a weird day. Sometimes when you look back, you really can say — that was the day, that was the moment. From that day forward, everything changed. I talked to him every single day for over 16 years and then one day, that was it. 

I'm not sure how that paragraph sounds, but let me be clear, I don't look at that day with some sort of bittersweet, poetic reflection. Three years later, it's just easy for me to look back and see that it was the turning point. It was the day that everything changed and I find that to be interesting. What do I do with that knowledge? How does identifying that day or giving it some additional poignancy really change my thinking about this path? What does that day say about what came next and how did it inform the new model? 

I've never developed a product, or enhanced a product, so I don't know what's involved in that process, but I imagine at a very basic level the designers are likely asking questions like, 'What does this function serve?" and, "What are barriers to the successful functioning of the product?" In learning about the iPad, I noted that the new one has something called an 'oleophobic coating.' Merriam-Webster defines that as, "having or relating to a lack of strong affinity for oils." Or in other words: anti-fingerprint. Seems as though fingerprints, or specifically the depositing of oils, can make touch screens less responsive. Knowing the user won't maintain it for optimal performance as well as they could/should, they developed a solution that keeps the user and the product in optimal harmony. I like it. 

My new model has something I call a 'dependaphobic coating.' I haven't found it in Merriam-Webster yet, but basically it's, "having or relating to a lack of strong affinity for being relied on for everything." The idea is to prevent overuse and therefore, auto-shutdown. I have to admit, it's still in development and I don't think I have it calibered right. Seems overly sensitive right now, but...more on that later. 

When I think back to that March day, it's bizarre to me how really fearless I was. As I sat across the attorney's table from my then-husband, he lobbed ridiculous demands that I knew would be difficult to navigate, and yet I didn't fear what was ahead. It was one of the few times in my life where I was very present in the moment and felt solid about why we were there. Then later the same afternoon, when we were alone, I stood across from him as he did a complete 180. He said he was sorry for things he knew I struggled with (for the first time ever), said he loved me and didn't want to get divorced, said he knew it could be better. When I did the obvious — which was to freak out at the Jeckyll and Hyde aspect to the day (and our life together, to be frank) — I wonder if he assumed the tears were an encouraging sign of a woman who didn't want to change her life. A woman who had too much to lose. A woman who was admitting to the vulnerability of history. This wasn't how I saw it. Not then, not now. The simplicity of it all came crashing down on me. Nothing would ever be the same and it shouldn't. It didn't work. The user-interface was fatally flawed and a new model had to be made. 

One of my favorite design quotes from Steve Jobs is, "Simple can be harder than complex: You have to work hard to get your thinking clean to make it simple. But it's worth it in the end because once you get there, you can move mountains." Three years after that March day, I've learned that I can easily muddle my design process with complexity. New applications, new packaging (and I don't mean a boob job), new user-interactions and required functionality. Many days during the last three years I honestly felt like a flip phone trying to be smartphone. (I may even be getting dangerously close to over-complicating the tech analogies!) Bottom line, that day was more simple than it was complex and being grounded in that simplicity helped me make the tough decisions that came next. It was a day that I eventually landed on the simple, and as Steve Jobs would say, the "intuitively obvious." 

So what's happening now? Why all of the glitches and crashes? Have I lost my radar for the intuitively obvious? Am I so wrapped up in the complexity of the change(s) that I can't find the simplicity? I think it can look and feel that way, especially to those close to me, but what I really believe, as a wise friend noticed, is that I am finally in a place where I can let down a little and cry. Cry from exhaustion. Cry for my daughter. Cry over the disappointment of divorce. Cry over my credit score. I think in truth, it's just a lot of emotion that previously didn't have a place to land. I find myself overcomplicating the emotion because I didn't always feel comfortable having it or that it was acceptable to have it. Now I guess I do. And that is the intuitively obvious simple answer. I am finally comfortable having, what anyone on the planet would assume are normal, post-divorce emotions. And most importantly perhaps — the very fact that I am able to have the emotion tells me that I trust this path. 

I don't have to have all of the answers for how I will successfully navigate every step of this new life. I just need to trust that everything that has led me to this moment will ground me in the next. That my emotions and the vulnerability those bring, however uncomfortable, will simultaneously help me heal and ground me in my growth. And I do trust that in concept. That's the 'simple' that I needed to land on. This is a good design incubator for me and if I really focus on keeping it simple, maybe I can work on my version of the A6x chip — better memory with a longer battery life.

##

As always, RIP Steve Jobs. 

the bubble.

When I was about five years old, I contracted a rare, severe case of the chicken pox — a neurotropic strain that entered my central nervous system and caused me to lose my eyesight for a week or so. At the time, they had no idea that I would ever regain my eyesight, so it was a particularly stressful event for my parents. Just prior to the chicken pox outbreak, I had seen the movie version of the rock opera, "Tommy" (yep, don't judge my parents too much...the soundtrack was by The Who after all). I suffered horrible nightmares while blind, including thinking that the itchy pox were spiders crawling on me, and the nightmares were scored by a running loop of the movie soundtrack. In the movie, the main character, Tommy, goes into shock after a traumatic event rendering him blind, deaf and mute — all of it self-induced. 

Also in the mid-1970's, Aaron Spelling gave us a made-for-tv movie starring John Travolta called "The Boy in the Bubble." A story based on the real-life experience of David Vetter, a young Texas boy with a rare and deadly immune-deficient disorder. He spends his entire life living in a sterile bubble with zero flesh-on-flesh contact with another human being. In the movie, he falls in love with his neighbor and then takes the risk to move out of the bubble and they ride off on a horse. In real life, David underwent an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant and died at the age of 12. 

Depressed yet? Where am I going with all of this?

I've had a lot of instances recently to think about the concept of intimacy. How we crave it and need it and when do we shut it out. And what does real intimacy look like? I think we often mistake it for concepts like 'unconditional love' or even just love in general. You don't even have to be in love to know someone intimately or exist in an intimate relationship. Intimacy is loosely defined as 'a close personal connection that is developed through knowledge and experience with another person.' And this level of knowledge and experience is achieved through dialogue, transparency, vulnerability and reciprocity. Thus I think back to the bubble and to "Tommy" - both of which had barriers to intimacy in their story lines. Can we really live, or should I say, thrive, without intimate relationships? 

I read an article recently (although it was from January of this year) about punk guitarist (slash) actor (slash) co-creator and writer of the IFC series, "Portlandia," Carrie Brownstein and her co-creator and co-star on the show, SNL regular, Fred Armisen. 

 - - - I have to diverge here a bit and say that I am more than a little fascinated by Carrie. For starters, she is listed in Rolling Stone as one of the "25 Most Underrated Guitarists of All-Time," - yep...of all-time. Further, she specifically was named as their highest-rated female guitarist of all-time. She's also a writer and an actor, and in the various roles she co-authored on "Portlandia," I believe she's as good as any sketch actor I've ever seen. I am so interested in women who are creative in a gritty, outside-of-the-box way (i.e.: punk guitarist) but even more so, I am interested and inspired by Carrie's ability to feed all of the different sides of her personality - and well. She claims she doesn't see the contradictions that maybe we see, i.e.: sexy, roiling presence onstage vs. the wry social portraits created for "Portlandia" vs. the more cerebral, modest personal side (as described by the New Yorker article). She doesn't see these things as contradictions because she understands exactly how each thing relates to who she is, i.e.: when she's performing, she is very aware that it's a performance. She is ultimately feeding her passions through utilizing her talents. I honestly believe this dichotomic problem exists for most women, and maybe even people in general, and I applaud anyone who can so elegantly develop all sides of who they are. It is something I am working on for myself. I'm sure there is a blog entry in my future on this one. - - - 

Back to Carrie and Fred. Here's the article if you want to gander at it sometime:

http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/01/02/120102fa_fact_talbot

The part that relates to this big idea of intimacy is that Fred and Carrie seem to have an off-screen plutonic relationship that I think many of us would want in our romantic relationships, minus the no sex (insert smirky emoticon). A 'like-family' feel that, even after nearly ten years, still gives them, in Fred's words, "that sense of anticipation about seeing the other person, the secret bond...I'm not thinking, I'm doing this because you are my girlfriend, I'm just thinking, I love Carrie." And Carrie, "I told Fred he could stay in the car. But he insisted on joining me out on the wet, muddy grass, tolerating not only the elements but a typical dog-park lady who overshared about her pair of jacket-clad whippets. When I saw Fred bundled up in his parka, wearing his brand-new REI hiking boots, I felt so happy and lucky; there are few people for whom Fred —a classic New Yorker, not a nature guy at all—would brave the outdoors"..."Sometimes I think it's the most successful love affair either of us will ever have."

Doesn't that feel all fuzzy and good? So then what is it that challenges us from creating bonds like this, plutonic or romantic? What are our barriers to intimacy?

Tying back into my illustrative examples above, is it some trauma, like in the case of the Tommy character? Or is it a barrier that is self-constructed that leaves us isolated like the bubble? A barrier created because of some dysfunction in ourselves? Like an intimacy auto-immune disorder?

I am very lucky in that I do have some successful intimate relationships. And they are successful precisely due to the definition above: dialogue, transparency, vulnerability and reciprocity. And for me, vulnerability was, and still is, the most difficult. When I was younger I suppose the barriers were self-created: I am an only-child who is very self-reliant and independent. I was raised to be self-accountable first and foremost, tapping into my own well of strength or motivation as the first line of defense. Solid traits, but they don't leave much room for an outside helping hand. As an adult, some 'traumas' were added to the mix—life-changing professional, personal and financial stresses and divorce. Initially these traumas forced me to pull deeper into my self-reliant self, but as the stresses overwhelmed me, those closest to me initiated the kinds of transparent dialogue needed to open up my vulnerability and 'break the mirror.'*

*In "Tommy," his mother, out of frustration, smashes the mirror that he had always looked into without registering what he was seeing and he then was cured of his sensorial afflictions. 

Somewhere along the way, even as I was struggling with my own ability to be vulnerable, I was able to be transparent and present with others on things related to their lives. We have shared an extraordinary amount of dialogue and experience and it's that reciprocity that makes it all work. I reached out of the bubble and they reached in just enough to make the kinds of connections that would eventually lead to greater bonds. And I think this takes courage. Courage to reach out and courage to reciprocate. The times in my life when I have had the greatest amount of faith in myself and others, I have found the courage to be vulnerable. I am keenly aware of the delicate balance of it all. The vulnerability in the quest for vulnerability—it's an axis that is hard to always rotate smoothly around. 

So now I think back to Carrie and Fred, and Tommy, and the Boy in the Bubble, and I see all the ways in which we struggle with but need intimate relationships in our lives. I understand what it feels like to see someone you love standing in the rain in new REI boots just to be with you. Friend or love. What it feels like to smash the mirror and see your life in front of you. To touch someone through the bubble and simultaneously crave the real touch but fear the life-altering result of doing so. It took me a very long time to understand that being vulnerable would give me the courage to be in that cycle of intimacy that I so crave and need. 

I think it's ok that in the movie version of the "Boy in the Bubble" he falls in love and rides off on a horse. I like that version. Tommy ends up singing in front of an enormous crowd— a song with the apropos title of, "Listening to You." My sight was restored and I suffered no long-term affects of that trauma. My love has symbolically stood in the rain for me, wearing uncomfortable new boots, over and over again. And just last week, on my 40th birthday, my best friends gave me an artist engraved silver bracelet with the quote, "Courage, strength and hope possess my soul...I will stand firmly and without fear." ~ Goethe. I cannot think of a more appropriate gift from these people who know me so well. 

lyrical counseling.

I was busy in 2010. I separated from my husband, got divorced and started two blogs. This one, well...if you are here, you know about it...the other one was a music blog and I think only my neighbor might have read it. I stumbled across an entry recently and I remembered why I wanted an outlet just to talk about music—sometimes when I cannot find the words, I find them there.  

I have a laundry list of song lyrics, sometimes just one liners, that help shape my voice. As a result, sharing my list is such a window into my soul. It helps me explain my passions, my frailties, how I want to live my life, how I see myself, what I value, what I fear. I have found over the years that I need music. It helps clear my head, fosters some clarity, gives me a chance to just feel and emote, strengthens resolve, and often gives me a new perspective, and sometimes even permission to feel what I need to feel—a lyrical counseling session. I am open to these messages, I'm not threatened by them, I am totally open to what they might be trying to say and then I find my own voice lying somewhere in there. When I listen to music, often I find a synergy with what my heart and mind are trying to say to me and when it hits, it sticks. I don't think this is a unique user experience, I think we find what we are looking for and sometimes it's not even close to maybe what the songwriter intended, but I think most of us absorb it like we do poetry. Letting the words tumble over us and we hear what we need.

I just returned home from our first 'whole clan' vacation with my boyfriend ('C'), his children, my daughter and her two friends. One evening, as our clan drove back from dinner, we snaked through the sunset-lit hills of my favorite mountain town and all eight of us sang along to a James Morrison version of Michael Jackson's "Man in the Mirror." Two adults, three teens, an eight year old and a six year old (the 3-1/2 year old currently sticks to the lyrics in "Jigsaw" by Radiohead and doesn't seem game to learn a new tune :) all singing in unison with the sunroof and windows open and feeling whatever we each individually let come over us in that little moment of time. For me, it was joy, contentment and a very grounded realization of how different my life is...and a sense of peace about that. This sense of peace doesn't come as easily as maybe one might think and in that moment, I let the music, the lyrics, the voices of the people I love, the mountains and the air wash through me and let me exhale. Music can do that.

Later on we got to talking, the teens and I, about how we always assign a song or two to every trip. For example, the soundtrack for a fortunate trip to Hawaii in 2011 was "Pricetag" by Jessie J (no worries, I get the irony). A summer road trip through Montana, pre-C with just me, my daughter and her friend, was scored by "American Pie," and this summer's ten days in an Idaho mountain town was "Ho Hey" by the Lumineers. We also played Bon Iver, Hey Marseilles, old Tracy Chapman, The Allman Brothers, Radiohead (a 3-1/2 year old is very convincing), Airborne Toxic Event and many one-hit-wonder songs. The latter leading to an unforgettable dance party on the back of a pontoon boat with the teens and a six year old girl beaming in the center. We discussed new music, Shazam'd some more, played a full Madonna playlist to get ready for the fall concert, and snuck some N.W.A. onto the golf course. Of course Justin Bieber was also a regular guest at our party, and we unabashedly joined voices with Katy Perry and Jay-Z. It was a blast.

Back at home, I took a walk and put my iPod on full shuffle. Obviously I only got through a few songs, but the exercise reminded me that there are some lyrics that hit me through the eyeballs every single time I hear them. Many will always remind me of a specific place and time, like the 'vacation' songs, but some also ground me to a feeling, a part of my story, a way I have lived and a way I want to live in the future.  So in that spirit, I thought I would list a few of these lyrics, like lines of poetry that I could recite over and over again, and see how they looked in black and white:

After all of the dreaming, I come home again. (Counting Crows | Rain King)

Walking in the wild west end, walking with your wild best friend. (Dire Straits | Wild West End)

You've been waiting for some magic to come. You should know by know that you and I are the one. I keep on wondering why a woman like you keeps on resisting this. Can't you see that I am in love with you, it's not just that I know the right things to say.  (Renegade Saints | Know by Now)

One foot in, one foot back. It don't pay to live like that. So I cut the ties and I jumped the track. Are you aware the shape I'm in? My hands they shake, my head it spins. (The Avett Brothers | I and Love and You)

Home. Where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there. If someone asks, this is where I will be. (Talking Heads | This Must be the Place)

Did you say, 'no this cannot happen to me?' (Jeff Buckley | Last Goodbye)

One wing will never ever fly dear, neither yours nor mine. (Wilco | One Wing)

Somebody remembers the rose while the other forgets how it grows. (Whiskeytown | Somebody Remembers the Rose)

So show me family, all the blood that I would bleed...I belong with you, you belong with me (The Lumineers | Ho Hey)

Happiness, it come like a train on a track. Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back. (Florence and the Machine | Dog Days are Over)

Put your trust in me. Give me a chance, I will try. You see it's been a hard road. Just sayin' so you understand that right now, right now, I'm doing the best I can. (Tracy Chapman | At this Point in My Life)

You think I want to run and hide. I just want you to find me. I'm not lost, just undiscovered. (James Morrison | Undiscovered)

For fear of living in regret, I've changed since from when we first met. (The Ting Tings | Shut Up and Let Me Go)

All of these places have their moments, with lovers and friends I can recall, and in my life, I've loved them all. And in my life, I love you more. (The Beatles | In My Life)

Nothing panned out as I planned. Standing at the fork in the road, you can stand there and agonize until you agony is your heaviest load. When you are learning to face the path at your pace, every choice is worth your while. (Indigo Girls | Watershed)

Stay with me until time turns over. I want to feel my feet leave the ground. If I could I would and I'd take you now. (Phish | If I Could)

Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers turn around and say 'good morning to the night' for unless they see the sky, they can't and that is why, they know not if it's dark outside or light. (Elton John | Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters)

Momma once told me, you are already home where you feel loved.
      Is that bridge gettin' built, are your hands gettin' filled, won't you tell me my brother? 
     ...We can start moving forward. (The Head and the Heart | Lost in My Mind)

Wow. That was helpful. A lyrical counseling session made possible with $1 deposits into my iTunes account. 

upswing.

I have this visual in my brain about my divorce: Upside down bell curve with reasonably steep slopes on both sides. At the top of the left side of the curve is the pre-separation frenetic 'high' aka 'denial'. The fall and sharp slope downward is probably fairly obvious (exhilaration, fear, confusion and resolve). And in that low basin at the very bottom is the debris field where everything collected after sliding down the slope. Loads of paper, some ash, some rocks, some stumbling blocks, fragments of lost momentum, pools of pride and tears, relationships and memories swirling around, some heavier than others, and a dusting of shaved ego. Standing in it was almost more difficult than the slide. That was a little over a year ago. Today, I'm solidly on the upswing side. It smells better, feels better, looks better, IS better...AND (not 'but') it's a new slope. My life is very, very different. I am happier than I've ever been in my life and that is a solid, maybe over-anlyazed (insert smiley emoticon), but hard-fought statement.

When I decided to take a step off of that ledge, I made a decision that caused me to lose nearly everything that I had worked for up to that point - my marriage, my financial stability, my desire for a specific type of family life for my daughter and myself, my work momentum, parts of my well-being and health, my money. But I am still standing, and now thriving, and I have no regrets. This is an incredible thing to say out loud.

I tried to go through the process, that initially was a separation, then a divorce, with respect and generosity. I was forced to make decisions during a time of deep pain, stress, confusion and fear and I made some mistakes, but I have to say that the mistakes were often more informative than the catalysts that required the reactions. The lessons I have learned are not just fuel for this upswing journey, but the inspiration. A friend reminded me, just today, of a Grateful Dead quote that I love, "Sometimes you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right."

So in homage, here's some of the 'light' I have been shown:

I have learned that I don't have to respect my ex for "who he is" (as some would suggest), I only have to respect him as my daughter's father. This is a solid, healthy distinction.

I have learned that I don't have to regret those 16 years for the decision to be sound. I invested in that life whole-heartedly. I just have to appreciate that I was present in those years.

I have learned that time and timing matters.

I have learned that being loyal is more about giving love than taking it away.

I have learned to expand my lens. Question more, but maybe judge less.

I have learned that I don't always need to explain, but I do need to listen.

I have learned that it's ok to fail.

I have learned that I am not broken, that marriage is not broken, that my family life and commitments are not broken.

I have learned that those that know you well, love you well. That the vulnerability required to be known well is sometimes exceedingly painful, but turns out, vital.

I have learned that I am highly capable, but I need help.

I have learned that what kids need most are visible efforts on the micro level —their value on the micro becomes the macro. Let's face it, probably adults too.

I have learned that what Newton said is right - there is no new energy in the world. When you suck up all of the energy, you have to put some back.

I have learned that the biggest failure of my life was the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I am still working very hard to make peace with the experience — for me, for my daughter, for what's next. It has been a hard, but ultimately amazing journey. My life spilled out, down a hill and settled in a big mess at the bottom. I am taking all of that good, worthy stuff and heading back up the next hill. That is what an upswing is...a climb.

I have a companion now, a love, an incredibly bright light. So when I think about my visual of the bell curve, I can't resist the idea of another Grateful Dead quote, "One man gathers what another man spills." I'm most certainly being gathered and I am grateful for his love and the love of my family and friends. I know that this is the undeniable fuel required to foster a new climb, this place I'm in — the upswing. Thank you.

raw steak.

Somewhat recently, as I was standing in line at the grocery store, I noticed that Time Magazine had a picture on the cover of the $1 bill with a black-eyed George Washington. It took me back for a second. Well, longer than a second. In the middle of glossy magazines with pictures of Jennifer Aniston, Kim Kardashian and the Real Housewives of New Jersey, it was startling to see something that so aptly visually captures the current state of our being and I have to say, out of all the odd states we have been in in my lifetime, this seems like a weird place right now. It feels paralyzing. What the %$&! are we going to do to heal that black eye? What cut of raw steak do we use, how big, who is going to provide it, who is going to hold it there and who is going to check the progress?

Just in my lifetime, we've certainly had many instances where we experienced a shared consciousness about the state of our country and our world, and in the moment, they were pretty profound. I can remember waiting with my parents in long gas lines during the oil embargo, being afraid of poisoned Tylenol, and overhearing them complain about an 18% interest rate on our home. I remember being genuinely afraid of a nuclear war breaking out while I was asleep—we had an emergency plan at school specifically related to this possibility—and wondering if my odd next-door neighbor was really a Soviet spy. He had an awful lot of clocks. Like...a lot. My father, who was a radio disc jockey, interviewed me on air about how a nine year old felt about the Iran hostage crisis, with an underlying track of Barbra Streisand singing "Silent Night." (Which is triply weird if you think about it: a Jewish woman singing a Christian song as the background music on a story about an act during an Islamic revolution.) The Alar scare and law suit against CBS, John Lennon's murder, the junk bond scandal, the NYC subway shooting and gun law debate, the biggest one-day drop in Wall Street history (1987, almost 23%), the Challenger space shuttle explosion on live TV, AIDS, our invasion of Panama (huh?), the Exxon Valdez spill, Monica Lewinsky, pipe bomb at the Olympic games in Atlanta, the Rodney King riots, the first Gulf War, the Oklahoma bombing, Ted Kaczinsky, Bosnia, Somalia, Germany, Kuwait, Jimmy Swaggart and prostitutes, Nancy Reagan consulting with psychics, Jesse Jackson negotiating with Syria (double huh??), Dudley Moore in "Arthur II, on the Rocks"...we are accustomed to uneasy times.

What is it that feels so different right now?

Earlier this fall, I watched the Tea Party-sponsored Republican debates. The first real political conversation that I've had the brain power to absorb recently. Don't hold your breath, it was still tough to absorb. No matter what side of the aisle you may be on, or lean towards, I find that most often I am wondering who is really telling the truth. Admittedly, yes, there is a lot of subjective information, as well as different ways of analyzing the same data, but aren't there are also some flat out 'truths,' even if they are somewhat elusive? It's a frustrating experience. I feel like we have become a country where our top line analysis of our candidates is how trustworthy they seem. Isn't that an analysis that is frighteningly flawed? What's objective in trying to weigh the truth in their trustworthiness? Just if they 'seem' like they are telling the truth? Lots of question marks in this paragraph. Ugh. I think if applying the beef is the answer, we may be trying to buy it at Claire's.

It got me thinking about one of my favorite quotes, "Losing an illusion is greater than finding the truth." — Ludwig Borne.

Here are some examples of how I translate that quote on a (let's say) less academic level:

1. It's not that he's unattractive per se, it's that you shouldn't have to have three cocktails to find him so.

2. It's not that you are not a good poker player, it's that being dealt four aces doesn't make you so.

3. It's not that he controls you, it's that you are co-dependent.

4. It's not that she is a former NFL cheerleader and you are getting a lot of action, it's that "She is a former NFL cheerleader and I'm getting a lot of action" was only a slightly altered direct quote.

5. It's not that you can't be spirited and responsible, it's that you are spirited and responsible.

6. It's not that he has OCD, it's that he likes to have control and he has OCD.

7. It's not that #10 was the best running back ever to pose as a QB, it's that my team was the national champ a long time ago. (20 years ago this season, to be exact.)

8. It's not that the Idaho senator does or does not have a wide stance, it's that he thought he was invincible.

9. It's not that he can't make a decision, it's that that's the decision.

10. It's not that she didn't love you, it's that she didn't know how.

The biggest one-day fall in the stock market, ever, was in 1987 — approximately 23%. Numbers 2—8 in the top ten are not in my lifetime (and I'm 11 months shy of my 40th birthday), then there's another one in 1987, and then about an 8% drop in 2008 to round out the top 10. There is a 15 point spread from #1 to #10 on the list, and #10 is the only one during the years of this Great Recession, as I've heard it called. In the 1980s, foreclosure rates went into triple digits and general business failure rates rose, as did inflation, mortgage rates, etc. and yet historically, this is largely seen as a time of strong economic growth and prosperity. I'm not going to pretend like I understand the nuances of all of this, but I'm curious about what the truths (the actual numbers) tell us about our illusions, historical or present? For whom was that a time of growth and prosperity? Don't we have similar illusions today? Has everyone suffered during this Great Recession? Why is it a perceived evil to learn from those who are prospering? What truths do we not talk about in relation to those who are suffering?

In my personal life, I've had many opportunities to reflect on what illusions I have lost and what truths have therefore then been revealed. I think the greatest one is believing that my ex will learn and grow from the experience of the divorce. Not owning that illusion has allowed me to see the truth: maybe he has, maybe he will, but maybe he hasn't and maybe he won't. That truth has allowed me to manage my expectations as a co-parent in a way that I think allows for more grounding, less emotion and therefore, better outcomes. In essence, I bought the steak from the butcher and I am learning how to apply it to the wound.

I think what feels different about these times is that even with the information availability at a historical high, I think we have become more skeptical than analytical. More focused on emotion than objectivity, perhaps buying into more illusion than truth. As usual, I don't have the answers to the big questions I am asking about our government, nor our economy, but I think it feels like a balanced place to start, to question ourselves on some of these very basic ideas. What illusions do we need to lose, what truths will that reveal and then maybe we will be better prepared to say, 'Where's the beef?'

check the box.

Yep, I'm one of those people. People who are candidates to purchase something like a book called List Yourself. I like to make lists. Not shopping lists or to-do lists (maybe I should), but lists that provide context to something, or help define my interests, or help me see the big or small picture, or just because they make me laugh. Technically I own List Yourself, but it was a gift and truth is, I prefer more organic, corner-of-a-napkin kind of list making (just sayin' in case you are thinking of buying me another book in this category for my birthday). My sister-in-law, with her heart and mind in the right place for sure, bought me Where Will You be in 5 Years? Crap, I don't even plan five weeks in advance, let alone five years. If this blog survives, we'll all know where I am.

Some of the lists I create end up being pretty funny, but always illuminating. I've done lists around reasons why someone is in my life, music that makes me happy or reminds me of something/someone, foods I can't live without, experiences I still want to have, experiences I will never do again, men I've dated, pet peeves (partially linked to why the word 'dated' is past-tense), favorite restaurants and why...and the lists go on (wah wah, bad joke). Sometimes I get really nerdy and challenge myself to use just verbs, just one word, or only stream-of-conscious adjectives.

Maybe I need more hobbies.

In the past couple of years, the catch phrase, "bucket list" has been thrown around a lot. I like the idea (even though I'm not a big planner and hopefully 'the bucket' is a long, long way off) but I'm wondering how grand the idea needs to be to qualify for a list of this magnitude. I mean, a list of things you want to see, experience or do BEFORE YOU DIE?! Damn. Am I supposed to be that ridiculously grand in my pursuits? What about things like: remember to put your garbage cans out on Sunday night for four consecutive weeks? Or, go to Costco and not spend $300 when you only went in for toilet paper? Or, try the GFI button before calling the handyman to fix your garbage disposal. Or, pay the parking ticket before you get assessed the late fees. Or, go out just one time in your white pants and not get something on them. (Or, stop so much parenthetical writing.) The "bucket list" is just a one-time thing, right? Ok, I can do this. I definitely have some boxes I want to check.

So here's a "bucket list," or at least a stream-of-consciousness one, penned on a waning day of summer in the 38th year of one woman's life:

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Do a somersault in the pool with my daughter, before she's tired of somersaults, without getting dizzy.

Ride the subway in New York City.

Ski a black diamond without wanting to kill whomever took me there.

Love to ski black diamonds.

Ski every day for at least a week.

Visit my daughter in college.

Visit my daughter while she studies abroad.

Help my daughter move into the first house that she owns.

Publish a book.

Take singing lessons then rock it out at karaoke for my 40th birthday (I had better hurry).

Boat from the city to the islands. CHECK! √

Finish A Man in Full.

Be a 4.0 tennis player.

Show up for an outdoor conditioning class at least eight consecutive times.

Write and deliver a speech celebrating someone I love, preferably not at their funeral.

Give my daughter the wedding she dreams about.

Hold healthy grand babies. A bunch of them.

Experience what it feels like to go over 100 miles an hour in a BMW on a road track. CHECK! √

Have a house big enough to have big, rowdy Sunday dinners. Or at least, a table big enough.

Bike in Italy. Bike in France. Bike in Greece.

Fly in a helicopter. CHECK! √

Learn to fly a helicopter (sorry mom).

See Madonna in concert.

See The Grateful Dead in concert before Jerry died. CHECK! √

Wake surf!

File my taxes on time (aka...don't file an extension).

Build a house just outside of my hometown, looking west towards the foothills, with a wall of windows.

Walk down a cobblestone street in Paris with someone I love.

Expand my family.

Be vital to at least two people. CHECK! √

Sit on the floor at Madison Square Garden.

Walk the Golden Gate Bridge. CHECK! √

Walk the Brooklyn Bridge.

Have a big island in my kitchen.

Celebrate at least a 20th anniversary.

Take a volunteer vacation with my daughter before she graduates from high school.

Celebrate at least one grandchild's college graduation.

Plant a (very small) garden and don't kill it.

Run a leg of a relay race, preferably under 10 miles.

Take my daughter and her friend on a (long!) road trip, just the three of us. CHECK! √

Bake a peach and raspberry pie (with fruit from down the hill) on a summer evening and serve it to a gaggle of my daughter and I's friends/family as we play cards, sitting in our swimsuits and not worrying that we didn't eat dinner first.

Check off at least 75% of this list.

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I guess I better start planning after all. As aptly said in a favorite song of mine, The Samples', "Feel Us Shaking," I have a lot I want to do. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOx055r77Rk