If and When

I was talking to an old friend recently who was going through a rough period and during our discussion we both admitted that we had given up on our dreams, or at least don’t think about them anymore.

My senior yearbook quote was from Hamlet “Dreams indeed are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.”  The accompanying picture shows me at the end of a dock with my hands poised as if in flight – hurrying off to conquer the world.  Wow, what an optimistic, idealistic young woman I was.  Ambition?  I can’t remember the last time I felt ambitious.  (Well - I did clean out the kids’ lockers last week – THAT required some serious ambition.)  Now I am a jaded, middle aged, independent who no longer believes in our political system, and can’t even muster a dream (other than some about Christian Grey, but those don’t count). 

I looked back on a few of the dreams I had when I was younger to see how they turned out:

1. Be a successful business woman

After grad school, I joined one of the many high tech start-ups in the Boston area.  I was determined to put my newly acquired business management skills to work!  People were getting rich over night left and right at these companies.  When I started, stock options were at $40/share.  Within a year it doubled and split, and then doubled again and split.  I never sold any stock – thinking it would go on like this forever and one day I would have 100,000 shares worth $100/share.  This was the late 90’s when we were riding high on bloated budgets and money on paper that meant nothing in real life.  By the time the company was sold to Intel in 2000, the stock price was $6/share, well below the $40 I had options for.  I remember being in Florida for a sales meeting and we were dancing at a bar yelling along with the song “I get knocked down” by Chumbawamba.  We substituted the catchy yet more appropriate lyrics “I got 6 bucks, but I’ll get up again.”  While I considered myself successful in terms of being a good manager and getting promoted, etc., financially speaking it was a less than a windfall.

2. After my vast prosperity achieved in the business world, I planned to use my new- found high tech fortune to buy my mom a new car and a new house.

My mom is quite frugal and seems content in her house that is paid for and car that gets around town just fine, which is good news, because at $6/share, I couldn’t even afford to buy her a Hyundai.

3. Buy my grandmother’s historic home in Connecticut and turn it into a grand summer country retreat with a pool and horses for my extended family.

My grandmother’s house did come up for sale in 2008 and sold in less than a week to someone who had a family history in the house back in the 1800’s.  I never even knew it was on the market.  Thanks a lot Grammie!

4. Own or rent a beach house on the Vineyard or Nantucket shore where I would "summer" with my family.  My kids would have their “summer friends” that they looked forward to seeing every year.  They would scoop ice cream at the local sweet shop when they were old enough to get a job.  We would have nostalgic family reunions with my east coast family each June.   In the fall and winter I would return to our beach home solo once a month and walk on the beach in a bulky warm sweater, hair blowing in the breeze like the protagonist of a Danielle Steele novel.   I would drink Earl Grey tea, paint ocean landscapes and write my best selling memoir.

When we moved to Park City, this dream evaporated (just like every other piece of moisture in my life).  You have to be quite ambitious (or have friends in the right places) to get to east coast beaches from Utah.  Second home ownership is something I don’t even contemplate in these uncertain economic times.  In fact, renting my primary residence is sounding increasingly attractive. 

About a year ago, I constructed a second list entitled "If I sell the house, I will....."

5. Live in Italy for 3 months and explore the countryside, tour museums, take art classes, flirt with Italians, and eat eat eat. 

This seems to be a common fantasy among us cougars.  So much so that there was a book compiled and a movie produced in which Julia Roberts experienced it all for us.  But then she had to repent in some strange Indian land with silence and yucky cuisine.  I will put this on the back burner until it becomes less popular.

6. Vacation on a Greek island just like the one in Mamma Mia with Colin Firth, but without Pierce Brosnan attempting to legitimize his vocal chords. 

I could probably get a lot for my $$ in Greece these days, but alas – no big European vacation is on the horizon any time soon.

Looking back at these notions, I realize that they all sound simpatico in theory, and they aren’t completely selfish. In fact, they were damn good dreams.  But they mostly rely on “if” and “when”, which places me in a purgatory of yearning.  I’m never quite satisfied and always looking back or ahead.  However, when I cease to live in the “if and when”, there are some pretty awesome things taking place in the “now.”   Yes, Eckhart Tolle, I did read some of your book!!

Exhibit A) Being present and enjoying a quiet evening on my patio looking at the mountains with my husband and a cold beer (after a marathon weeding session).

Exhibit B) Driving my son around for the 8^th time yesterday because I know next year he will have his license and we won’t have that time together in the car to “bond” (aka argue, philosophize, bicker).

Exhibit C) Taking my daughter to an animated film – I know our days for these are numbered.   Pretty soon, she will want to take her friends to see Magic Mike (not sure where she gets these seedy objectives from!) 

Exhibit D) Waking up and viewing 5 hot air balloons outside my window, billowing around in the puffy clouds.   

Exhibit  E) Mountain biking through wild flowers for two hours and still feeling strong when I'm done.

I am living the dream, I just need to wake up every once in a while and acknowledge it!

Birthdays

Today I am 45 years old.  I knew that my birthday was quickly approaching when all of my friends started sending me cards.  My friends at the Sunglass Hut, my friends at the Vittoria Spa, even my friends at Knead a Massage (although I’ve only been there once) sent me a nice birthday card with a special offer.   My daughter pondered why “I even bother to celebrate my birthday at this point.”  This from the little blonde demon who plans her birthdays six months in advance!  I have to admit, I’m not terribly excited about this birthday and birthdays in general seem to have diminishing returns.  I picture myself standing in the middle of the see-saw looking back at my early forties and teetering on the edge of fifties.  Madly pushing weight on both legs back and forth like I did as a kid to see who got bumped off.  

A while back, I paid $14.95 to post my mug on the Internet and view myself in a variety of different hairstyles and colors.  Somehow, my female brain believes that all of the woes of turning 45 will be resolved with a new hairdo.  I will look and feel younger, spend less time styling my unruly mop, and in the process -- forget that half my life is over.  On the bright side, my kids are very supportive of the change and both chose the same new hairstyle and color for me.  They don’t think there is anything erratic about my behavior; I’m just playing some games on the web. 

My husband seemed to take this last act in stride.  “You’re crazy” was all he said as I emailed picture after picture of me sporting a chestnut bob, eggplant waves, or an auburn shag.  He insists that I’m crazy several times a week, so this was nothing new. Yet another friend said she would continue to like me no matter what my “frickin” hair looked like.  This of course leads me to another revelation that I’ve had as I get older.  Women were meant to live with other women.  If my husband had made this type of comment (or perhaps worded even more thoughtfully like “your beauty comes from within, I will love you no matter what your hair looks like, or how fat your ass gets, or saggy your neck...”) I probably wouldn’t have madly tracked down my hair stylist for an emergency appointment after my online recon mission. 

One of my friends looks forward to the day when all of our husbands move on to their trophy wives leaving us divorcees to live together in a blissful state of female utopia. Painful hair removal, anti-wrinkle injections and marathon workouts will be things of the past.  We will all be fat, lazy, hairy, and happy.

I still feel like I’m 28 years old most of the time (except when I’m climbing royal street on my bike, trying to exceed that 5^th mile on the treadmill, or consuming that third cocktail).  If I could turn back the clock, that’s where I would set the alarm.  I was confident, successful, happy in my job, I lived in the city, I ate healthily, worked out moderately, my skin looked clear and non-wrinkled, children had not yet wreaked havoc on my body, yanked away my memory, and created fine lines around my eyes.   28 was a damn good year. 

The twenties are all about finding yourself and defining what you want to do and who you want to share your life with.  The thirties are about taking care of that person and the little people you create with him.  In your fifties you are back to taking care of people, most likely your parents.  In your 60’s, you’ve got to take care of yourself again, but it’s no longer about manicures and facials, it’s colonoscopies and cardiograms.  There is a lot of pressure to make the forties a truly superb decade, one with no regrets.  Thus the great buildup, the incredible pressure to reinvent, rejuvenate, re-evaluate, and if necessary re-do. 

I keep wondering why my husband didn’t have any of these issues when he turned 45?  He just breezed right through it! He seemed happy, fulfilled and confident.  He didn’t buy any night creams or spend hours at the gym.  He didn’t even contemplate a facelift. 

Then I performed the old compare-and-contrast exercise that I learned in college.  First, he believes that he will live to be 120 (with the help of the human growth hormone) thus placing his mid-life point at 60 – no need to worry for another 15 years at least (he is blissfully unaware of the trans-fats I inject into his dinners).  Second, he has accomplished many of the dreams on his list (with support from that other person in her 30’s that patiently followed him around the country and watched his triathlons), and third – there isn’t the huge societal pressure on him to look ten years younger than he is.  Women will still be attracted to him well into his 70’s.  What, in God’s name, does he have to worry about? 

The optimistic side of me (those that know me well will agree, my optimistic side rarely reveals itself) says I should be grateful for what I have accomplished during the first half of my life and modestly adjust my goals for the future.   I should be thankful for the good genes that I got from my parents, and reserve hope that I can alter or buy new ones if things take a turn for the worse.  I should smile (even though that will create the need for Restylane in my smile lines) and take every day that comes to me, enjoy the wonderful children that I’ve nurtured, and look forward to tomorrow.  Maybe even 50 years of tomorrows.  And above all, maintain faith that some scientist will discover a replacement for Botox that lasts years instead of months.

A Real Conversation

Date: February 13, 2012

Me - “I’m heading into town to pick up some Valentine’s things for the kids”

Spouse - Long groan - as if in stomach pain, “Oh my God is Valentine’s Day tomorrow?”

Me - “Yes”

• Translation - Valentine’s Day has always been on February 14th.  Every year since you were born, and more importantly, every year since we have been dating/married since 1987.  It is not like Easter which is tied to some random, dubious religious myth, it is always February 14th.

Spouse - “I’m buried and getting on a flight in a couple of hours, there is no way I will have time to get anything”

Me - “That’s ok, I will get cards and small gifts from both of us for the kids.  Valentine’s Day is a manufactured holiday by Hallmark, I don’t need anything - really.  And please, no chocolate.” 

• Translation - (I already consumed a bag of hershey kisses yesterday) I am truly sympathetic to his lack of time and agree that it is a lame holiday that puts undue pressure on the already overwhelmed male psyche.  And if at other points throughout the year, romanticism was prioritized, it might be ok to overlook the processed holiday that V-Day has become.  However, that is decidedly not the case.  He did propose on February 13th, exactly 20 years ago - thus acknowledging and in some way rebuffing the holiday all at once.   His relationship with Valentine’s Day has been strangled ever since.

Spouse - “Ok thanks”

Me - “No problem.”

• Translation - Disappointed again.  Why do I set myself up for this?  As a reader of both the male and female brain books, I know that men cannot read our thoughts and are not on the same frequency as women.  In the back of my feminine brain, I knew this was going to happen, yet I continue to maintain some hope that things will change.  That some year in the future, in early February a bell will go off in his head (or on his calendar) that says, “hey - a romantic holiday is coming up and perhaps I should prepare myself with some token of affection - or pick up the phone and make a reservation.”   For now, I continue my work on the next generation in the hopes that my son will be thoughtful, romantic, and check his calendar where his mother has placed alerts for the next 20 years.