Filed under: Middle Age | Tags: adulthood, aging, Boomers, GenX, mental health, Middle-Age, time management
I was recently talking to a friend and asked what he was reading. He said 4,000 Weeks – Time Management For Mortals. Apparently, it’s a book about the challenge of how best to use our four thousand weeks, the average length of a human life.
So I started thinking – how do I want to spend my remaining weeks? I immediately had visions of world travel, novels and stories I want to write, things I want to buy (and sell). I’m in my 50’s, so my weeks are dwindling. If I’m lucky I’ve probably got somewhere in the neighborhood of 1300 weeks where most of the big ideas would still be options.
I will still be working for the next 350 weeks or so, assuming all goes well. There are very few weeks in those 500 for world travel and other big bucket list items.
The pressure is on.
But I would caution that thinking of time in that way could have some unforeseen repercussions:
Creating bucket list goals that may not be attainable or that takes away from current “quality” time being spent in other ways.
Minimizing the value of spending time doing regular-life things. Doing chores allows you to appreciate the result of those chores. There is satisfaction in accomplishing little goals as well as huge life-changing ones.
Minimizing the value of being part of someone else’s quality time. If we all have limited weeks, it may be hard to appreciate the value of being part of someone else’s bucket list item or lifetime goal. Walking the dog may not always be the grandiose or high-quality way we’d like to spend our time, but to the dog it means everything.
Instilling unnecessary regrets for “wasting” time in the past. Regrets over the fact that you spent an entire weekend watching Beavis and Butt-Head are wasted thoughts. Those hours at the very least provide a roadmap for how you might manage your time differently moving forward.
But if you still have regrets, think about it this way: what if you did spend that time trekking to New Zealand or climbing mountains or whatever you think is the high-quality way you should have been spending that time? You don’t know if it would have been as amazing as you think it would, or what you might have missed in the interim, or even if the things you define as quality time now would be the same as what was important or vital at that time in your life.
Forgetting to be grateful for what you have in your day-to-day life. Instead of begrudging the fact that you have to spend half your Saturday going to the dump, picking up laundry and grocery shopping, consider the fact that there are many, many people who would love to be able to do those things, if only they had a car, or the funds, or didn’t have a disability or other circumstance preventing them from doing so. Instead, take a second and appreciate that you are able to do those things at all.
It’s always a good thing to stop and check your roadmap. Make sure you’re still heading in the direction you want to go and that you’re on track to hit your goals before you run out of gas.
Just don’t forget to look out the window.
And for God’s sake stop spending your time reading books about how to spend your time. Read something you truly enjoy.
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts | Tags: adulthood, health, humor, mental health, Middle-Age, new year
New year, new me…blah, blah, blah. I don’t like resolutions because I never stick to them. Last year’s resolutions included:
- Drinking less
- Eating healthier
- Losing 10 pounds
- Stretching
- Start jumping in my horseback riding lessons.
Let’s see…in 2023 here’s how that went:
- I honed my bourbon taste buds, took a trip to Ireland and Scotland and discovered after two weeks of tastings and more liver abuse that I still prefer bourbon
- My eating habits leaned farther to the Oreo and pizza side than veggies and protein; therefore I…
- Gained 10 pounds and went up a size – I am now embracing clothes that actually fit instead of trying to squeeze into jeans like a sausage
- I took a stretching class and managed to irritate already gimpy shoulders because…wait for it…I’m weirdly competitive at stretching – against myself
- I had a couple of concussions from falling off horses – not even jumping.
So, screw the resolutions. But I did come across a couple of ideas that might make more sense.
First, someone asked, “Are you acting like summer in winter?” Meaning, why are you working at life with the same energy in winter that you do in the summer? Traditionally, animals and humans in the age of foraging and farming used winter as a time for resting and saving energy – through hibernation, fixing equipment, making and mending clothes, etc. These days it’s often the only quiet time we get, except for that “retreat” somewhere in a mountain setting which costs and arm and a leg, and half your PTO. Winter is a natural time for a lot of us to reflect, to eat hot, nourishing meals that warm our body and soul, and figure our shit out. So, unless you’re an avid winter person who relishes outdoor cold-weather activities, slow your roll and stop acting like its summer. Sometimes having no agenda is an agenda.
The other thing I thought was a good idea was to change the inner voice that groans at 6:00am, “Fuuuuuck, I have to go to the gym,” to “Fuuuuuck, I get to go to the gym because I can afford it and all of my limbs and faculties work well enough to let me get stronger.” Changing from “I have to” to “I get to” may sound like a bunch of new-age think strategy, but it really does help. However, I swear if any of you hear me say anything about a person’s “journey” you get to punch me in the face.
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts, shopping, Spring Break, Travel | Tags: adulthood, Exercise, fitness, humor, mental health, Middle-Age, travel
Ok, so Imposter Syndrome (see my previous blog) doesn’t just happen in sports – it happens as a parent, and even worse, in the mirror.
I don’t know when exactly that it happened, but at some point I started feeling like an imposter in my own body. I would walk by the mirror and catch a glimpse of some person I didn’t recognize, who now has more gray than blond hair, a less curvy body and wrinkly hands,. Then I’d realize that person is me.
WTF? I would think. That can’t be me. After all, my brain hasn’t changed that much since I was 25. I still think poop jokes are funny, that I can do way more physically than I actually can, and I still laugh inappropriately at funerals. My brain also still thinks I’ve got my 25-year-old body – until I go shopping for a bathing suit. Then, I have to deal with my current “beach body.” (Oh, and if I see one more TikTok with some lithe, 18-year-old worrying about getting “beach body ready,” I’m going to…ok, I’m just going to swipe up again in a really, really irritated way.)
Here’s the truth, though: no one else on the beach gives a shit that I didn’t lose those extra 10 pounds, or didn’t go to the gym an extra session a week so I could have a flat stomach.
NO ONE.
And even if they did notice or care, they sure as hell don’t know my body’s story, that the lines on my face are laugh lines and worry lines from years of soccer games, horse shows and family vacations, or that my stomach, with it’s new shape and distribution, housed two other human beings and somehow still supports my spine so I can work at my computer to pay bills.
Appreciate the story your body has to tell. Nobody wants a story that has no plot, no twists and turns, no growth for the main character. Those stories are boring. Be your favorite story and embrace the cover.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: 1980s, adulthood, humor, Middle-Age, mindfulness, music, songs, teens
Whenever Hubby and I go on a road trip we like to listen to podcast called “The Moth.” In this podcast regular people share true stories along a single theme. This weekend the theme was how music shapes or affects your life.
I started thinking and realized I have several pivotal memories that had songs associated with them. To this day, they can dredge up what I was feeling at that time.
When I was 12, I had a huge crush on a boy at my school named John. We were at that awkward age where we still wanted to play, ride bikes together and climb trees. But somewhere between pretending we were the Duke boys and the middle of 6th grade, things changed. By the time the first middle school dance rolled around, I was head over heels. On the night of the dance I shimmied on my Jordache jeans that were way out of my newly-divorced mom’s budget, smeared on some purple eye shadow because I read it accentuated green eyes, and drew what I thought were dramatic black circles around my eyes with eyeliner. I’m pretty sure I looked like a raccoon in drag.
When the first notes of Purple Rain came over the gymnasium speakers, I looked for John and my heart dropped into my shoes. My beloved was dancing with my friend Becca. Then they were kissing – French kissing, no less! I literally felt my heart break, and today I still hate Purple Rain with a passion.
A year later at a 7th grade co-ed party, several of us were sitting in a circle playing the obligatory game of Spin the Bottle (I have no idea where the parents were). I hadn’t had my first real kiss yet, and butterflies were jumping on a trampoline in my stomach. REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feelin’ Any Longer” was playing softly in the background. Finally, I looked down – the bottle was pointing at me! A boy named David, who had braces just like me, came in for the kiss. It was just what you would expect: spitty, messy and completely unappealing. But I had crossed over some invisible threshold, and REO Speedwagon was with me. It’s also not a current favorite.
All through high school, songs and bands marked various events. U2 was a date with Colin; Echo & the Bunnymen played during rides to school in John McGarity’s car; Free Bird signified The First Time (of course it did); The Cars were a beach party; The Clash and Erasure carried me through summers lifeguarding; Blister in the Sun was every party in the woods; and, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were the summer after graduation.
Then I started thinking about what our song is. Hubby and I have tried a few times over the last 30 years to identify one, but no single song has ever really stuck. Bad Company drove with us on road trips to the mountains; PM Dawn carried us up and down 95; Poison by Bel Biv DeVoe kept us dancing ‘til the wee hours at the clubs in Bermuda, and Carbon Leaf has stayed with us from college to the present.
I realized we don’t have just one song that’s ours because we’ve changed and grown up along with the music we listen to. It makes sense now why my 50th birthday playlist was so long. That’s a lot of big moments, and music was more often than not a large part of them.
If you have a lot of songs that bring that old anxiety, joy, relaxation, or nostalgia back, consider yourself lucky – it’s proof you were in the moment. Choose your next songs carefully – you never know what feelings will become entwined with them.
Our memories may be faulty, but the songs stay true.
Thanks for indulging me on my trip down memory lane!
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulting, cancer, cologuard, health, humor, Middle-Age, New Year's
I’m not a big fan of New Year’s resolutions, mostly because I don’t stick to them. Now that I’m in my 50’s, there are a couple of things that probably should go on the resolutions list:
- Stop cussing so much, even though social media says you’re smarter if you do
- Try Dry January
- Learn how to do the backhanded Southern compliment thing (“You are so brave to stop drinking – people won’t recognize you!”)
- Say no to the good so you can say yes to the great!
- Do the Colonoscopy Thing*
When I had my latest physical in December, my doctor and I agreed that I’m a good candidate for ColoGuard…you know, the commercial you see on the TV where they deliver the box to your door, you poop in it and send it back. I’m a 70-percenter, meaning there are a lot of things that are “good enough” for me. I’ve accepted it, my family and friends have accepted it. So, being a 70-percenter, doing the ColoGuard screening makes sense – why go 100% with a free, covered-by-insurance colonoscopy when you can take the also-free shortcut, and then possibly pay for the full colonoscopy if the results come back positive?
Anyway, I was excited to not be put under and go through the prep of a colonoscopy. Pooping in a box sounded way easier.
(WARNING! This is somewhat descriptive, so don’t read on if you’re not into talking about stuff like this.)
Turns out, there’s a little more to it than that.
You don’t just poop in a box, seal it up and mail it. There’s a wand you have to swoosh around in your poop and stick in a tube like a Covid test, and preservative to pour into the poop container. It’s a pretty gross process and takes a little locked-door private time in the bathroom if you ever want to have sex again, or if you have children who barge into the bathroom with you and you don’t want to scar them for life.
The instructions are lengthy and explicit…as in an entire booklet. Then there’s a separate booklet for how to pack it up and mail it. There are even diagrams showing people sitting on the toilet doing their thing, and step-by-step instructions on how to untwist the top of the poop container, in case you’ve never opened anything in your life.
Instructions aside, there are also several warnings throughout the booklet telling you not to drink the preservative. Several warnings…as if this has been a large problem in the past and now, they have to spell it out for folks. As in…Don’t drink the bottle of stuff that was made to keep your poop fresh. Who is doing that? You are literally in a bathroom next to a sink with water, but no…some people are reaching for the sketchy bottle from the poop company and drinking that instead.
They also tell you not to fill the poop catcher up any higher than the preservative will cover.
I actually paused when I read that and thought, Let me get this straight. You’re supposed to poop into a container that is under you, where you can’t see it, and try to judge how much is too much? I’m willing to bet there’s a lot of containers shipping with a little bit of extra baggage. I’ve got a pretty strong stomach, but unless they give me a spoon and a gas mask, I’m not measuring it out like I’m baking poop cookies.
Then there are the warnings not to get any urine in with the poop.
So they’re telling 50-year-old women not to accidentally pee on something? While sitting on the toilet? Have they met any 50-year-old women? We can’t do anything without accidentally peeing. So, yeah…good luck ladies.
Long story short, I got it all accomplished and took my very identifiable box to the local UPS store, who I use for all my shipping needs. They know me. To their credit they didn’t even flinch as they gave me the tracking receipt (which I promptly lost). Oh, and word to the wise: keep your tracking receipt. Those boxes do occasionally go astray, as I learned from a friend. Apparently, her box never reached its destination and is still traveling. Now she has to do it all again.
I never received confirmation that my sample was received, and since I lost the tracking receipt I had no way of knowing if there was a box of my leftovers floating around some warehouse or lying on the side of the road. Thankfully, a couple of days ago I received a text with my results: all negative.
In the end, it was a weird, kind of gross experience, but thank goodness for the advances of science that make this process possible, and for the discoveries that lead to early detection.
So here’s my PSA – do whatever test is right for you, check your insurance policies, and for God’s, sake don’t drink the preservative!
*It is extremely important that you get tested. While I chose ColoGuard, it is not for everyone. Ask your doctor what test is best for you and get it done!
Subourbon Mom 