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.

-----

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

80/20

What happened to me? I used to have interesting things to talk about. I think the cosmos wanted to send me that message by randomly resending a post out the other day, one that I originally posted in January of 2010. Crazy machine. It got me thinking: the last book I read all the way through was "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett. That was over a year ago. I used to devour books, reading some over and over again. I used to watch TV. I used to read the New Yorker, the Wall Street Journal, Wired, Fast Company, People. Last few months?Nothing. Thank God for Facebook and Twitter or else it would nearly be caveman-like living in my world.

Well, that's not entirely true. I've been socializing up a storm, but I've spent a ridiculous amount of time talking about...what? I don't know. The men in my world? Likely. Divorce? Probably. My daughter? Certainly. It made me laugh recently—I was having dinner with people I really adore, but nearly the entire conversation was about wine, private airplanes and travel destinations. I can't tell you how much I love to enjoy said wine, said private airplanes and dreaming about said travel destinations, but at some point I had an out-of-body experience where it dawned on me how checked out I was. It's easy to scoff at the conversation and snub it because maybe it's the kind of conversation 'only rich people have,' but honestly, it's just the kind of conversation that people with very defined interests have. It would be no different than sitting with another group of opinionaters (my word) who might talk for two hours about composting and organic ovo-lacto vegetarianism. Another scenario in which I eventually might check out.

I don't think it's so much that these things don't interest me, I think I'm just the queen of moderation. I like to talk about a lot of things. I have a lot of interests. I am curious as to how a busy family of four composts in-kitchen without it smelling up the place and ruining the ambiance of oft-crowded marble-slab-island conversations. I am curious as to why someone feels so strongly that there be two pilots, even in smaller planes, where one is FAA approved. I'm curious why someone won't do flesh, but will do eggs, which is embryonic tissue. Hmm, I might go vegan after typing that line.

It's like the 80/20 rule (which applies to basically everything, right?) With probably 80% of things in general, I want to dive in only about 20%. I'll kill it in the remaining 20 (to round out the 100, if you are doing 'New Math'), but I think overall this makes me pretty average and...I'm ok with that.

My daughter is heading into the 8th grade in a little over a month. We will spend a big chunk of the next four months looking at high schools. I've been somewhat torturing myself with this topic for a few years. She currently is in a private Catholic school and has been for seven years. In theory, she has four private school choices and one public. Realistically, it will likely come down to two. When my brain gets all lit up on this topic, I have to remind myself that at the end of the day, wherever she ends up, she will be fine. It's just that sometimes having a choice feels like a nightmare. I can't believe I wrote that, but it's true, at least with me. All the options, the second-guessing, the questioning about the 'best path.' It's 50% stupid, and 50% incredibly important. (Just putting in percentages to keep on point.) Regardless of how much I over-think this topic, I have one goal that consistently floats to the top: I want her to have as well-rounded of a high school experience as possible. Go figure, coming from me. But does this make a person a jack of everything, master of none? Will this make her average or adaptable or both?

A friend's daughter just graduated from one of the above-referenced high school choices that is considered academically arduous. She chose to forgo, what I would consider, more of the same (ie: Stanford) and is heading to a southern SEC school with a strong Greek system. I've never met her but from conversations with her father, I take it she's ready for some new experiences, maybe a little more 80/20. A completely new environment on every level—a different part of the country and a very different social culture, but also a place where she can keep her remaining 20 sharp, a place where this is a definite value on academic and sports achievement. I'm excited for her.

In my own life, my 80/20'ness means I'm an average skier, but I absolutely love it and thank God I can participate. I haven't read all the Classics, but I devour books. I can't write a manifesto on why the financial market collapsed, but I can offer ideas on how to keep money coming in. I can't rewire my house, but I can install a new faucet. I am fiercely proud of my averageness (wow, no auto spell-correct on that one) because I think it's given me the freedom to be available to new things, keep my mind open, have enough interest in most things to learn something and participate. I know just enough about enough things that I can start and stay in a conversation with just about anyone. I know just enough about enough things to have the confidence to try new experiences. I know just enough about enough things that I can see when a door opens. I guess I would say that my averageness has allowed me to be in markedly non-average situations and I'm grateful.

This is what I want for my daughter: take 20% of things and go for the throat—be passionate, focused and engaged. Do well enough in school and work to have choices, do well enough in whatever activities interest you to be able to participate, give time and interest to your family and friends. With the other 80% be flexible and adaptable enough in life to see open doors. Doors which will inevitably lead to new things to be passionate about, things to include in the 20%.

As for me, I got the cosmic message and I'm back on the horse*. I read the Wall Street Journal cover-to-cover the other day. I cracked open this month's Consumer's Report and I even caught an episode of "Khloe and Lamar" right after a double-header of "Real Housewives of New York." Hey, I'm not ashamed. I am pretty sure both will come up in conversation someday soon.

----------

*A few things I read last week that might be of interest:

"14 Ways to Save America's Jobs" by Bill Clinton, Newsweek, June 27

http://www.newsweek.com/2011/06/19/it-s-still-the-economy-stupid.html

"Harnessing the Power of Feedback Loops," Wired, June 19

http://www.wired.com/magazine/2011/06/ff_feedbackloop/

"City vs Country: Who is Healthier?," Wall Street Journal, July 11

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052702304793504576434442652581806.html?KEYWORDS=urban+vs+rural

A documentary that I watched this week that was heart wrenching and beautiful: "Steal a Pencil for Me" http://www.stealapencil.com/

taking the pot.

I had a great moment at around 3 a.m. on the 4th (ok, 5th) of July. I took the pot. It was not a particularly elegant win, nor a clean one (in that I was brought back into the game after getting knocked out), but it was a damn fine capper on a fantastic vacation. I think it may have impressed my companions, which of course is always a plus, but the truth is, I won because I've played with these friends before. I knew what the last two standing might do and I went for it. Since then, I haven't been able to shake a comment a male friend of mine said recently about dating at this age and stage—"everybody's played a few hands."

It's easy to link poker analogies and dating. We can go all in, float, bluff, check, raise, ante, show your cards or muck. Sometimes you realize you are just drawing dead and sometimes you need a backdoor. I've played a few hands myself.

Over a year ago, my ex posted a profile to the dating website, match.com. I found out about it because he came up as a suggested match for a friend of mine. In reality, outside of the no way in hell was he going to date my friend part of it, I really didn't care that he was on there. Frankly maybe he'd be nicer to me if he was getting some lady attention, but I heard he posted a picture of me on his profile. Uh, no...also not going to happen. I've been brought up to speed by many male friends about why someone would think it's smart to do such a thing, but I still shake my head and laugh. Am I seriously supposed to be flattered? I'm going to call that an overbet.

I had to sign up in order to see the photo so I could ask him to promptly remove it. Mission accomplished. I also allowed myself five minutes of unbecoming behavior by reading how he described himself. Now THAT's an experience—reading how your husband of 14 years describes himself. Things that make you go...hmmm.

Cut to last week. I'm bored and inquiring minds want to vacation trawl. I sign back in and look around, which I never did the first time. I know a few men and women who have been on match.com. I truly don't have any cliché reason not to want to be a joiner. I get what it's supposed to be, why you might choose to be on there, and how it can work for many people. I'm not a snob about it (I don't think), I'm just, let's say, not there yet? I'm not wholly comfortable with the idea of this particular medium I guess. I've been totally open to being set up and asked out by mutual friends, so I'm not shy about the stranger quotient, but I think the idea of total anonymity is freaky. I think a couple of good tells are helpful.

Pause.

Hmmm...well, what the hell? I'm on vacation and I might be a little bored right at this very moment. Let's throw something up there and see how this crazy machine works.

So this is what I wrote, direct cut and paste:

Profile Header:

Is it acceptable to wear my NorthFace with heels?

About Me:

"Dont ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." — The last line in The Catcher in the Rye. Not sure I totally agree Mr. Salinger, but for now I might exercise some caution...I'm not so sure about this match.com thing, so I might take it a little slow...

Two photos: one 'hiking' (but wearing tennis shoes and jewelry) and one basic head shot. Took me a total of about 10 minutes, tops.

A few hours later...oh my God: 308 profile views (many are repeats), twelve "favorites," 32 winks, seven "they're interested" and 16 emails. Shit, I can't breathe. I just winked at someone by accident, replied to an email with nothing in the box, added someone to my favorites and other tragic technological errors. Huh? Who is this guy? 58 stubbedmytoe from Canada? My required "Looking For" window is so tiny, on purpose: 39-42 within three miles of my house. Stubbedmytoe, easydoesit, hellooonewman and bringinthecharm really don't like to follow rules I guess. Creativethinker69 is HOT, but is he really looking for a woman 25-38 within 1,500 miles? Yep, he is. Man, this is like watching a train wreck. I can't take my eyes off of it. Quick...hit refresh.

Ok, so Intense-Interest-in-the-Cultural-Study-of-Internet-Dating Hour is over. Profile is now hidden. A male friend that I told this story to suggested that the winking thing is just guys sitting on their computers winking constantly until they get a hit and then shouting to themselves, "Fish on!" I did get a wink that had a follow up email that said I deserved more than a wink. How is he so sure? (Insert snarky emoticon.) The emails ranged from entire novels of explanation and emotion, to "Just saying hi." One guy said I was so (bleep'ing) beautiful that he didn't expect me to respond. Um, ok, belief manifested I guess. One said he is a 'change junkie.' I think he was maybe trying to sound spontaneous, but all I could picture is me being discarded at the needle exchange. Another one in particular caused me to pause. He said my Salinger quote suggested I am smart, the photos suggested I am kind, and being on the site suggested I am sad. WTH? He was doing so well up to that point ('well' being somewhat subjective here.) Honestly, I know I am probably coming off like an incredibly vain, snobby, anti-joiner, but the truth is, it was overwhelming and totally terrifying. Who's holding the big slick (did you just go there?) and who's just a calling station?

I guess I think about it like the poker game at 3 am: In that game, I was engaged, I was investing, I was willing to push it because I knew enough about the game and the other players to not be timid. To really use my skills and be present. But let's be real, I'm not going to show up at The World Series of Poker and last even beyond the first round. I don't really know how to be in the game blind. It'd be like my first hour on match.com—inappropriately winking at people, betting out of turn, wearing ridiculously over-sized sunglasses and asking if anyone thinks it's good that I have an eight and a nine, off-suit. At least they are serving free drinks.

Joking and poker analogies aside, the idea of what I would write as my "About Me" is intriguing. There's something about that process that is really illuminating. What would I want to say about myself and what I am looking for? What are the non-negotiable traits or deal breakers? The idea behind doing a really honest, well-crafted profile seems to me to be critical. It's what makes monthly poker games with your friends so much more interesting. The more you know, the better you play, the better the game. Even the best players in the professional circuit spend an unbelievable amount of energy looking for tells and researching the top players. It's why we could play until 3 am—it's just a better match up.

So, after some initial thought, I thought I take a stab at maybe what I would write.

---------------

About Me:

On paper I think I'm a total cliché—small town cheerleader, city sorority girl, tennis player, professional woman who recently installed bathroom faucet all on my own (hear me roar). I'm passionate, willful, driven and loyal. I prefer not having a schedule. I'm independent, but prefer the company of friends and loved ones. I love the madness of large, boisterous families. My mother and my daughter are my heart and soul. I think two of the best things I own are my driver's license and my car. I notice and am attracted to good writing and well-crafted expressions of ideas. I'm wordy. I need funny to be a noun. I live more as a verb. I can be grey. I like the idea of getting on an airplane having made plans that morning. I love my home. I think I am aware of the energies around me. I think I am sensitive to the diversity and relativity of our lives. I like to debate. I don't like loose ends. I believe people by and large manifest what they believe, a.k.a.: we drink our own cool aid or poison first. I can overcomplicate simple things. I can make simple things meaningful. I think I make people feel heard. I like to be heard. I like it when a man orders for me. I like to be touched. I am sentimental and romantic in the Big Idea sort of way. Music, mountain air, cut grass, dirty tennis shoes, boat engines, snowflakes, sweat, laughter, big cities, back roads, singing at the top of our lungs, words and books and good human souls are like oxygen to me. I push. I can back off, sometimes away. I will look for and see the other side. I will engage and invest. I am spirited but responsible. I don't like to be talked about, but I love to do or experience things worth talking about. I try and live with intention.

What I'm Looking For:

The big funny. An advocate for self and others. Creative, adventurous, generous, intentional. Structured enough to be responsible and successful, flexible enough to be present, and smart enough to know how it all comes together. Someone With Ideas. A measured risk taker, a confident and patient listener, an opinion former. A family man. Comfortable in nearly any environment, comfortable in his own skin. Someone who thinks the sun rises and sets within the walls of his own home and his own heart. Someone who wants to come home every night—home being wherever she is.

---------------

It's probably true, we've all played a few hands and maybe sometimes we fold maybe too early, maybe too late, but I'm still game and I fully intend on taking the pot again. I think for now though, I prefer to ante up at my friends' houses (shout out to the 6-pack!) I think it's ok to have some tells.

invest.

I love the Talking Heads. It always feels like David Bryne is struggling to burst through his shell at any second and just lose his mind in a kooky, organic way. He's just feelin' it, man, and I love it. It speaks to my own kooky, organic side and I love the way music can make you feel something on a visceral, physical level. Maybe for this entry any reader should be required to YouTube-up, "Once in a Lifetime" and feel it in the background.

Pause for YouTube search.

It's been about five months since I last wrote anything. I was afraid that would happen. It's not as though my material dried up (HA!), but there's an interesting rhythym to the process of any major personal transformation and I've been mired in the "debris clean-up" phase, which also has a nice layer of "ok, what's next?" and a dash of "Dude, where's my car?" tucked in there. All of which puts a serious crunch on the desire for more vulnerability, the kind that writing this blog can suggest. And not because I know people read this, but because at times I have been exhausted by the self-examination, the problem-solving and the re-building.

When I first separated from my ex-husband, the emotions were overwhelming and intense, but often there was also a sense of giddy anticipation. The latter was partially a reflection of the relief I felt over having finally reached the day when I had the courage to make a change, and partially the excitement about the promise of a different kind of future — one in which I knew had to be better, whether we stayed married or not, because it was finally intentional. I was focused on making things right, better, more grounded and more fulfilled. I was focused on saving myself, and the momentum of that intention often felt really good. I can hear it in my writing at that time. Much was opening up around me and within me. Those close to me know that much of last year I found myself having some of (if not 'the') hardest, but also the best moments of my life. Finding yourself again and investing in yourself and others is an incredibly powerful, emotional, exhilarating thing.

So what is ridiculous about the last few months is that I've let that slip, and just yesterday I had the kind of quick, but poignant conversation where the mirror was held up for me and I saw it clear as a bell. I didn't like it. I have not been wholly myself for months. I had stopped investing even though I had convinced myself that I was. After the shock, I ended up laughing. Oh, how hard habits are to break, right?

One of my strengths, I think, is that by and large, I invest. It's made me a more capable and conscientious mother, a successful professional, a loyal and considerate friend. I am present. Being invested, in my mind, means bloom where you are planted, see and look for good and valuable things in others, empathize (much more intentional than sympathizing), remain flexible and be up for most anything. Be open to change and ideas. I'm competitive, so I am a goal-setter, but I don't often think too far down the road. I'm investing for today. I get up in the morning and I am choosing my day, my actions and my reactions to the best of my ability and all of this is pretty intentional. I feel a true obligation to my life and the people in it to invest and, as I was just having this conversation with a close friend today, living with the intention to focus on an obligation is powerful. I think it means you are conscious of the investment and this opens you up to be more present, more available, a better listener, more informed, more empathetic — there's just flat out a bigger energy to your life. I think it can take you places you never thought possible.

In my own life, I have always seen the power of intention and investment, but I would venture to say that most of us have lots of reasons why we fall short in this area. Making an investment inherently also creates vulnerability. There's real or perceived risk, insecurity, uncertainty, change. I have battled the vulnerability, more so in the past few months, and I have not been wholly myself in all areas. In some ways, I was even paralyzed by it. Not just emotional vulnerability, but also financial and physical. The positive aspects of the momentum created by the separation and divorce waned, as I was afraid it would, and real life and debris clean-up forced down any desire to stay open and vulnerable.

Investing takes time and there is no clock, nor even any milestone for the vast majority of things worth investing in. Being invested means that one thing breaks open into the next and amazing things can happen, but you have to be open for the ride. I know this and little by little, through a series of recent events, I am waking back up to all of this. This week alone, I am grateful for more than one thing that helped break my paralysis, including valuable conversations, even the uncomfortable ones. Thankfully I listened. I was present.

Tonight I'm headed over to celebrate two friends' 40th birthdays infused with good friends and a ridiculously fun 80's theme. My silly 80's aerobics instructor outfit is ready to roll and I'm feeling grounded and good. I am excited to celebrate two men who, no question, invest in their lives and for people like this, you can't help but feel grateful to know them. I'm also certain there will be some Talking Heads goin' down and I'm excited to be very, very present on that dance floor.

You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife

You may ask yourself, how did I get here?

Letting the days go by, let the water hold you down

Letting the days go by, water flowing underground

You may tell yourself, this is not my beautiful house, this is not my beautiful wife

Into the blue again, after the money's gone

You may ask yourself, how do I work this?

Remove the water, carry the water

Time isn't holding us, time isn't after us, time doesn't hold you back

—favorite lines from the Talking Heads', "Once in a Lifetime."

marcia marcia marcia

There are days when I'm stunned at how all of this technology seemingly came down at once. I barely had put the cover on my Smith Corona when all of a sudden I was in an AOL chat room pretending I was a writer from Miami being flirted with by a guy who was pretending he was older, semi-retired and living on the Gulf side of the same state. Hmmm. Ok, maybe he wasn't pretending. When he didn't see me being interviewed on the Today Show a few weeks later, like I had proclaimed, maybe he figured out that I wasn't who I said I was? Now that I think about it, what chat room was I in? 'Over 60 and Sexy?' Rookie mistake.

Technically I never had an AOL account. I had the standard Gen X'er approach to the whole thing at the time: No way was I going to be a joiner (insert scoffing sound). First of all, everyone was a liar, weren't they? I remember feeling distinctly vulnerable in that overloaded AOL homepage interface. What the hell was all of this? No, I am not interested in playing online poker. Ok, maybe I am, but how do they know that?! Why is there a heart next to my fake chat room name? That's entirely too cheeky and suggestive. Why are people up at three in the morning talking about cat poop and engine oil and how they could 'totally relate to Alanis Morissette's new song? Yes, I remember these things. Who were these people? Crap, I'm one of them.

I signed up with Earthlink.

From there it seemed we were all curious enough about the new fangled technology to at least attempt to integrate it into our lives. We used our brick-sized flip phones (I think Mattel fashioned their toddler version after this circa 1995 gem) and payed our $300/month cell phone bills (and yet, AT&T wonders where the aggression started?) The World Wide Web was intriguing, but I don't remember anything useful at all on the internet at that time. For one, who could possibly remember an entire address? Didn't matter, I was too busy making sure my cell phone calls were just shy of an emergency and it took too long to 'surf' anyway. Of course at the time, that word only meant water, waves and wedgies.

People that are a lot smarter than I am are debating whether or not all of this technology is saving time, increasing productivity, bringing down walls that divide us socially and economically, but the irony is that with my generation (hello X'ers!), what I hear most often is, "I don't have time for it." Oh the pessimism, oh the ennui, oh the anti-joiners...I heart my little niche generation of Rage Against the Machine'ers.

We are the generation that is sandwiched between the "I went to a bunch of Dead shows, dropped out, but now I'm your doctor" Boomers (80 million and some change) and the "I thought I wanted a career, but really I just want a big paycheck" Gen Y'ers (78 million and some change). At barely over 45 million, we are like Jan Brady — the largely ignored middle sister stuck between our do-gooder, save-the-world older sister, and our fame-seeking, lisping, blondentourage younger sister. We had the bad hair, the bad economy, the bad attitude.

So cut to 2011 and get a load of us - I saw some statistics recently that suggest that we make up close to 30% of the Facebook demographic here in the US (they don't break it down by generation, but I did some "New Math" and I feel pretty good about that statement). At over 100 million members stateside, that means that nearly two thirds of our generation joined up! I'm not surprised, but I love to laugh at how we act annoyed and reserved and reluctant. For all the reasons that outwardly it seems counter-intuitive to have these kind of numbers come from the likes of Jan Brady, I think it makes perfect sense.

In the past year or so, having separated and divorced, I've been dating again. There are dozens of funny technology dos and don'ts that seem quite obvious, but some of them really make me laugh. I like 'The Office Guy' on Daily Candy's blog. His economic, quick-witted delivery slays me. I saw one recently where he was giving tips on how many post-date texts are appropriate for a woman to send. I'm a one text post-date sender and it goes something like this: "thank u." The Office Guy lays out the slippery slope after just two texts and all I can envision in my head is the Jon Favreau character in the movie Swingers calling a woman he just met at the bar, over and over again in a row, with the final message on her answering machine being, "This just isn't going to work out." (By the way, I just Googled Swingers to make sure I spelled his name correctly and this is what I got in return: "The word"swingers" has been filtered from the search because Google SafeSearch is active." WTH? a) I had no idea I even had SafeSearch turned on! b) Really? It's that offensive? and c) What else have I been missing?!) I think this is where our reluctant-to-join attitude serves us well. I don't consider text messaging a conversation, I don't think many in Generation X think so either, but we think it has its place. I will admit though, we might be dangerous with the answering machine (aka: 'voicemail' for you Gen Y'ers). Boomers leave short messages (they just want to get you on the phone), X'ers leave entire one-sided conversations, and Y'ers just hang up and text you, or they don't call you at all. I don't have a single babysitter who listens to her voice messages. The answering machine was our technology and ultimately, again, we are like Jan Brady: we want to be heard.

This is one reason why I am not surprised that we are big Facebookers. In our own way, we are still trying to be heard. When you are sandwiched between Reaganomics and a recession and are fed lines like, "you can be anything you want to be, as long as you fit in," our angst and lack of a solid rudder created a generation of kids who devoted ourselves to grounded questioning, authentic reflection about our feelings, and determined introspection. Not the doped-up introspection of "free to be you and me" or the coked-out introspection of "we can have it all," but the "what the hell are we going to do?" introspection. What were we going to get behind? What was our collective thought...irony?

I haven't researched this, but I'm pretty sure irony existed before the first X'er could talk, but we mastered it, we owned it and it became our way of being heard without being wholly transparent. Brilliant. We took feigned ignorance and interest to a new level, making Eddie Haskell look like a bit player. Think of everyone you know between the ages of 35 and 46 and I think we just about corralled all of the smart asses into one corner, yes? Not that irony is just about that. To be truly ironic, you have to be a thinker, and maybe even a brooder, and I genuinely love this about my generation. I think it's what makes us unique. We often think as we speak, question why we are leaping, and I think we feed off of perspective and experience.

We are not credited with much outside of irony, Nirvana, Winona Ryder and Eddie Bauer barn jackets, but our middle-child angst has contributed to some significant cultural building blocks. We are the generation that spiked the number of women in the workforce and we are the most ethnically diverse generation than any before us. Not having a defined path for ourselves, and due to being raised in the midst of ambiguous social change, we created our own path based on tolerance, adaptability and fairness. We were often the product of two-income households, or divorced households, with over-worked parents, during a time of economic uncertainty. As a result, us "Latch Key Kids" are more independent, skeptical and resilient, and we are the first generation to put a value on balancing a successful work life with a strong home life. We have supported advancements in personal technology (to get us out of the office), and now that many of us are parents, statistics show that Gen X fathers spend more time with their children than Boomers did.We decided we wanted more than what it seemed was ahead of us.

Some of this means that we've often been brashly dubbed, "Generation Me," but I think our cautious confidence, independence and adaptability laid critical groundwork for the lighting-speed integration of technology into our cultural norm. Yep, I put that inBOLD. Sergey Brin and Larry Page, co-founders of Google, are Gen X'ers. So is Jeff Bezos, founder of Amazon.com and Michael Dell of Dell Computers. Many top executives in ground-breaking companies such as these, and others, are Gen X'ers. We are widely considered the most entrepreneurial generation in history. Unlike Boomers, who maybe on average are more linear thinkers (think: 'step one leads to step two'), and Y'ers who are more intuitive when it comes to technology (because they've always had it), we are more independent and analytical and I think this led to astonishing innovation with measured and thoughtful integration.

So we Facebook, we Twitter, we text our babysitters and return our voice messages. We use our bluetooths and listen to Pandora and rent movies online. We pay bills online, but we would never dream of using our debit cards, and we are the first to share internet privacy and safety messages. We will accept your .ics's, but many of us also carry around our handwritten date books, and we still handwrite birthday cards and love notes. Ultimately we have been good stewards for change. We've been nearly an ideal bridge between the days of typewriters and party lines, to smartphones and Facebook. You can count on us to continue to apply our skepticism with poetic optimism, and our craving for fairness, authenticity and grounded progress.

By 1990, The Brady Bunch was reinvented as a dramedy, The Brady's, and Jan's character had marital problems and then fertility problems, culminating in her and her husband adopting a Chinese baby girl. I was just starting college and immersed in my own dramedy, so I barely remember the series, but I think it's hilarious that this is what happens to the fictional Jan. It couldn't have been scripted as a more perfect middle-child Gen X ending. Meanwhile, I started college with my Smith Corona and ended college with my Smith Corona, but I drove off of that campus with the distinct feeling that everything was about to change. Our little niche generation was just getting to work, in the middle of a recession, with a guy from Arkansas in the White House, and 'RSTLSSPEN' was just about to sign on...