Ten Cooler Things

So here are ten things I like about cooler weather, probably in order of importance since this is the order in which they entered my brain from stage right.

1. Boots. And scarves.

2. Soups, stews, and chili.

3. My dog is happier in cooler weather.

4. My mom is happier in cooler weather.

5. Those ginormous harvest moons, and morning frost, and squirrels and chipmunks everywhere. Oh, and those huge racks on the fiesty male deer.

6. Crayola-colored leaves scattered around chubby pumpkins.

7. Hot flashes that don't last as long.

8. Sort of like #7 -less sweating overall.

9. I don't have to shave my legs so often.

10. Fleece jackets come out, swimsuits go away.

Next up: the top 100 things I hate about cold weather.

The First Time

One of my sons told me it's been scientifically proven: the first time you experience something, it's the most intense. I started to wonder if that's really true so I thought back to some random experiences in my life.

1. The first time I got lost? Yes, intense. It was downtown Chicago, I was age four. I can't think of a worse time I've been lost.

2. The first time I picked an apple? Yes, because I bit into it and found a tooth and fresh blood. It also happened to be the first time I lost a baby tooth.

3. The first time I went skiing? No. It was intense (especially that cackling laughter of some moron on the sidelines watching us all fall down on the bunny slope) but it wasn't the most intense. There have been plenty more memorable times on the slopes, like the time I got stuck in a racing rut (how embarassing) or the time I was paralyzed in fear on an icy, steep slope (all alone) or the times my son made me go places I didn't want to go...and then patiently waited to be sure I made it down safely.

4. The first time I made out: yes, pretty intense.

5. The first time I had sex: not going there, not in this domain.

6. The first time I was in the company of wild bears: yes, which explains all the flailing and running and screaming, which no doubt perplexed the creatures beyond measure.

7. The first time I made a pie: yeah, I guess so. The blackberries were freshly picked from the back 40; you can't beat that.

8. The first time I got married: yes, definitely. But the second one was pretty nice, too. :)

9. The first time I held my kids in my arms? Well, that's a tough one. They were all incredibly emotional and intense but yes, I suppose the first time was probably the most intense time of all, one of the most intense (and precious) moments of my entire life.

10. The first time a loved one died: yes, losing Dad was horrible. But at this point I have no way of knowing if losing him will always be the most intense experience of grief and loss.

11. The first time I loved someone deeply? I honestly don't know about this one either. Love is so different in each situation, each relationship. We love in so many ways. If it's love, it's by definition intense. I don't think it can be ranked and rated and measured against another love. So I don't think this theory applies to love.

12. The first time I watched a sunset? I think sunsets are a lot like love.

The bottom line: I disagree with the theory, and I'd like to know who these scientists think they are.

Perfect Little Teeth

People are like teeth.

Teeth grow whichever which way feels right to the individual mouth, and then at some point they get rearranged. With some study and some pain, they're shifted and sometimes even re-shaped, and eventually they're expected to line up and behave. Most of the time they do, until sometime in midlife when they decide they want to go back the way they once were. That's what my dentist told me is happening to my lower teeth, and now I'm looking at orthodontic work decades after my first round of braces came off.

We tell our kids they need braces just as we tell them they need to go to school and follow rules. We say it's for functionality but we also know it's because that's what society expects, and that's what will make others like you. People with crooked teeth are judged more quickly and more harshly than those with a Pepsodent smile, and so are people who don't fit the mold in personality, interests, and actions.

Fitting the mold makes life a lot easier. But sometimes, in midlife, something happens inside. It's often referred to as midlife crisis, and normally it's associated with extramarital affairs and fancy cars. But this midlife shift can be something much more personal and pervasive than that. It's subtle, and sometimes it takes a long time before even the slightest movement occurs, but eventually there's a part of you that says what the heck, I think I might want to go back to the way I was, even if it was a little crooked.

And then your dentist comes along and tells you to fix it once again.

High School Seekers

Some things never change. High school kids wore rolled up jeans in the 50's and bell bottoms in the 60's and they're wearing saggy (or skinny) jeans now. But they're all doing the same thing: searching for their identities. And for the most part they're searching in the same places: school hallways, athletic fields, parties.

What's even more interesting is that the identity profiles are also the same. There's the tall, athletic guy, for example, who's seeking fame and glory with his power shot. There's the kid who's just looking for popularity by hanging out with the "right kids". There's the kid who's aiming for a prestigious college, sitting in the front row and spending after-school time with his nose in the books. And there's the loner who can't seem to fit in with all those others and is left behind feeling like his pockets have been emptied.

It doesn't matter whether we're talking about boys or girls, straights or gays, stoners or jocks or whatever. It's the same in all the groups. It's not about gender or sexual preference or outward appearance, it's about the inner quest for identity. And while some of these kids can find that identity independently, needing only their own mirrors for validation, there are others who need a peer group to reflect back to them who they are so they know which path to follow.

Unfortunately, those peers are so busy seeking for themselves that they can't, or won't, help the ones standing alone back there.

I wouldn't want to be in high school again if you paid me. Partly because I wouldn't want to have to go through all that as a teen all over again. But also partly because I know that the search for identity and those high school seeker profiles don't go away when the diplomas are handed out.

In fact, those diplomas are really tickets to proceed with the rest of the identity journey, a journey along which we continue to find the same profiles even decades later: those who seek fame and glory, those who need to be in the center of the circle, those who strive for success, and those who - because of sensitivities or insecurities or countless other reasons - are left behind.

My hope for those who are left behind is that they inspect those empty pockets and therein find hope. In time, hope can lead them to the right path, the one that leads to inner acceptance and peace. From there, they can watch their peers amble and scramble along all those other paths. From there, the left-behinders (at any age) will have the view and see, perhaps even before their peers do, where all those other paths really lead.

The Value of Slow

I guess I'm getting old. I say this not because I feel old or even because I'm starting to look old (yes, I know I am). I say this because I've made a discovery ... the type of discovery that old people make.

I've discovered the value of slow. I've always been one to enjoy a lazy canoe float on a lake or a gentle zigzag down a ski slope, but now I've come to enjoy a lot more slowness. The chairlift ride up the hill, a stroll through downtown at night, a careful reading of a page. Slow means noticing colors, listening to sounds, feeling the breeze. Slow means situational awareness (a lovely term I latched onto while watching the movie "A Perfect Getaway"). Slow means living each day, and taking each breath, more fully.

Now if I only could remember all this when I get behind the wheel, where (much to my neighbors' disappointment) I'm still actually quite young.

Sealant for the Soul

We seal our driveways and we seal our teeth. We wax our cars, we polish our furniture, we spray our leather boots. We slather sunscreen on our skin. We spend countless hours and dollars protecting our investments and even protecting parts of our selves. But what we seem to have not figured out is how to protect our souls.

Some would argue that faith protects the soul. Others might say a healthy body helps. Love seems like it would be good for the soul (but only when things are working out.) Work distracts the soul, and substances like drugs and alcohol mask the soul's pain. But the soul is the deepest part of us, the center of our very being. To protect the soul would be like protecting the center of the earth. Impossible, right?

In a recent workshop, women who barely knew me or each other revealed their inner pockmarks and potholes. All were in the midstage of their lives; all had lived and loved and lost. On the outside, they'd seemed successful, content, pulled together: they sported that image we're all expected to maintain, an image we all spend years cultivating until its aged to perfection. But the image, much like driveway sealant, is limited in its strength. It doesn't last forever and it's not completely impenetrable. Cracks begin to surface, and once that happens, the driveway's integrity becomes compromised. It's vulnerable to more cracks and bumps and over time can even break down. Same with the cavities that form in the tooth when the sealant fails. They eventually deteriorate.

And when the soul deteriorates...well, that's bad.

It may seem we need to invent a soul sealant, but I believe it already exists. I think that when we all come together and bind ourselves like bouncing little molecules in a solvent, we can protect one another's souls from deterioration. Someone said, "when people come together, good things happen." Of course, this means setting aside egos and agendas and judgments and competitive aspirations, sometimes only for the good of one single solitary person, one lonely life. It sometimes means giving in to things that don't always make sense and letting go of ideas that we know are better than others and even sacrificing time when there's no guarantee of payback. But in my mind it's the ultimate investment. What could be more valuable than a soul?

The driveway and the car and the furniture and the boots are nice. And yes, the skin and the teeth are pretty important, too. But I would give up all the sealants in the world for these things if it meant I could bring enough people together to protect just one soul.

When the Nest Empties Early

I wonder what happens when nature's course takes an unexpected twist. What happens when the nest empties early?

Whether a chick flies of its own will, or falls from the nest, or is snatched from it by some giant unforeseen talons, what do the parents do? Do they hobble around on broken twigs and strands of forgotten hair, peering over the edge to look for morbid remains? Do they immediately take flight in search of their lost offspring? Do they tuck their feathered little bird brains under wing and wait?

These parents had instinctively prepared for that empty nest, had known pretty much when it would come about. They had set aside their lives of fun and freedom during those chick-rearing times to devote their energies, even their entire souls, to the wellbeing of those little darlings. They had known that someday it would change, maybe even abruptly, but until that day came they knew what they had to do. But then! That day came so soon, when they were least expecting it, and what had once been their cozy little home suddenly looks like an ugly bin of collected junk. It is empty, cold, and barren. Do they celebrate their premature freedom, these aviary parents? Do they wallow in confused despair? Do they peck at each other and wonder what went wrong? Or do they simply hope?