Tag Archives: truth

detour

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Detour sign

I think many of my single women friends can agree with me that being a middle aged single woman isn’t easy. Certainly, it isn’t the worst thing life can hand you, by far — many people live lives much more challenging than a single woman living in the suburbs. But I think we can agree that this a couple’s world. At least my world is. And moving through life without a partner is hard at times. Satisfying in many ways, but often lonely.

I’m thinking of those times that present challenges that aren’t unscalable, but would be so much better if there was someone else there, if for no other reason than moral support. Fighting with the IRS. Fighting with a teenager. Fighting with the frickin water heater when the pilot light goes out. (So much fighting!) It’s not that I can’t manage those things on my own. I can and I do because I have to. It’s that I’m just tired and I’d really love a person there to say, “It’s ok. You can do this. You aren’t alone.” And maybe also to light the damn pilot light.

So, like many of my friends, I have hoped and dreamed and prayed for that person with whom I can navigate the hard times and celebrate the magical ones. And having found the above methods fruitless, I have turned to the delightful world of online dating.

Know that I tiptoed into that world because of the stories I’ve heard that so-and-so met their spouse on that app and really it’s a numbers game and hang in there and your guy is just around the corner. (I’d like to say on record that many – not all – “coupled” people have this strange vested interest in finding single persons a mate. I’m certain it is with the best intentions, but putting the primary focus on one’s relationship status is by default ignoring all the other awesome things about that person. I can’t tell you how many times the first thing out of someone’s mouth after not seeing me for some time is a variation of, “Are you dating anyone?” “Have you found your Prince Charming?” or “Why are you still single?” There are so many other questions one could ask in that situation. “How are your kids?” “How’s work?” “How’s your backgammon game coming along?” If we put our minds to it, there are lots of options. AmIright?)

Why am I still single? I’ll tell you why. Please let me regale you with a sampling of recent dates I’ve had:

  • The scientist who could not look me in the eye and did not ask one question.
  • The gay Korean pastor (If history has taught me anything… Trust me on this one).
  • The promising VP of a Fortune 100 company who turned out to be a major d-bag. ‘Nuff said.
  • The ecstasy-dropping atheistic pansexual rabbi (I learned these fun facts and many others in one two-hour lunch.) (PS: I had to google “pansexual.”)

Hand to God, these are men I have gotten excited about and then quickly learned… well, you see.

Facebook is no help in building your confidence in this area (shocker). There is this weird phenomenon that comes over me as I scroll through my feed of smiling couples and intact families. I somehow come to the conclusion (delusion?) that I too am promised a fairy tale ending. Now, we all know that what we see on FB isn’t the whole picture, that what people post is a sliver of their real lives and they most likely have struggles like the rest of the people on this planet.  But that doesn’t stop me from hating them a little bit.

I am FB friends with a particular woman who is a knock-out. Dazzling smile, gorgeous figure and a perfectly lovely person. I also know that she has had her share of tragedy. Truly, she has suffered hardship I cannot fathom. She was recently divorced and then very quickly found a hunky, tall, successful man whom she married. Bitch.

I KNOW. I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON AND I AM GOING TO HELL. LEAVE ME ALONE.

I was jealous. All I saw was that she found a guy and was incredibly, outrageously happy. I was so stupidly jealous. I may or may not have unfollowed her.

———-

A few lame dates later, I was having lunch with a dear friend I’ve known for decades. After I shared with him my tales of dating woe, I said, “You know, I think I’m due. I think I’m owed some sort of back credits, right?”

This is what he said: “Why the hell do you think that?”

“Sure, your life didn’t turn out the way you thought, but really?” he continued. “Laura, there is no guarantee you’ll find a partner to spend your life with. And so what are you going to do with that? Be sad and bitter the rest of your life?”

I sat there dumbfounded.

No one had ever said that to me before. Seriously, people all around me say, “You’re going to find someone any minute now.” Or, “The right guy is just waiting for you.” Or something equally as patronizing.

Until now, no one has ever said, “What if he isn’t? What will you do with that?”

In that moment, I realized, consciously or not, I had been pinning my future onto some unforeseen person that may not exist. Holy crap. Now that is delusional. Since then, I haven’t stopped thinking about that possibility. That my future may not involve a soul mate with whom I share my life. I am thankful that I am capable of building a good life for myself and my kids, but the idea of doing it alone takes a minute to get used to.

So. What to do.

Here’s what I know:

I have an incredibly satisfying life.

I have two daughters I am proud of beyond expression.

I have a deep bench of faithful friends, without whom I wouldn’t be standing.

I am loved.

I will never be alone.

And though self-pity sometimes rears its ugly head, if I can remember the truth, if I can take a breath and remember what I already have, I will be okay.

I will be more than okay.

I will be FABULOUSLY okay. And that is something, for sure.

–ld

WOWZA

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YOU GUYS. THEY PICKED UP ONE OF MY BLOG POSTS. You may have heard me go on about how fantastic Darling Magazine is, how it celebrates women in all their beauty…beauty not defined by a dress size or the thickness of one’s eyelashes or a number on the scale. This magazine values the intelligence, wit, style, creativity and wonder of all women. I just love it. And THEY’VE PUT ONE OF MY POSTS ON THEIR WEBSITE! Words cannot describe how excited and honored I am. I have to go now and do a happy dance!
http://darlingmagazine.org/the-view-from-here/ IMG_8868-1

the view from here

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binoculars

Recently, I sat across my friend at an outdoor cafe in a trendy LA neighborhood. Beneath the twinkle lights in the trees, we plowed through fancy burgers and shared an unspeakably delicious slice of praline chocolate cake. As the food settled and the sun set, we continued an ongoing conversation of relationships, friendships, and career paths, laced with gut-busting laughter and random people-watching comments.

My friend is fantastic. She’s whip smart (don’t play her in Scrabble. You will lose handily). She and her extensive vocabulary are hysterical. She is strong, as those who have raised boys alone need to be. She is compassionate and generous and sees profound goodness in everyone she knows. And she’s a beauty, on the outside, for sure, but also on the inside where it’s most important.

I’m not exaggerating when I give you this list of her best qualities. But what’s most unbelievable about her is that she doesn’t know these things about herself. She doesn’t recognize who she is. She struggles to see how the people in her life see her and how God sees her.

That evening she tells me the story of a challenging situation she is in with someone she cares about. This person isn’t treating her with the respect and dignity she deserves—any human deserves. It’s not an isolated incident and it’s full of judgement and condescension. But as she explains it, she recognizes her own brokenness and wonders aloud if maybe she should give this person more grace and patience and hang in there.

I nod and listen, but inside I want to punch the person she is talking about. I want to yell across the table, “KICK ‘EM TO THE CURB!” But instead, in my most evolved, zen-filled state, I remind her of who she is and what she’s worth. I remind her to honor herself enough to set boundaries with the person and own the belief that she deserves better than this in a friend. She really does.

The conversation moves and shifts and I share with her some of my desires and dreams and plans for my career. I share with her the inspired vision I have for the future and then without skipping a beat, I go on to suggest why those things probably won’t happen and why I’m not sure I have an audience for my work or have anything worth saying.

My sweet friend says to me, “Laura, you don’t even know. The sky’s the limit with you! There is nothing you can’t do and you are going places!” She goes on to say some really great things about me, which feel weird to write here, but the point is, she cheers me on, reminds me how others see me and reminds me of who I am.

That dinner conversation got me thinking: why is it that we see so much beauty and strength and loveliness in our friends, but we cannot—dare not see it in ourselves? Why is it we feel compelled to camp on the parts we perceive are lacking and fail to see the magnitude of who we really are?

Of course, we know ourselves. We know the yuck of the unsavory parts of our personalities or histories. We’ve got dirt on ourselves. We think, “If she really knew me, she wouldn’t think those nice things about me.” But what if we put a pin in that and then looked objectively at the parts of ourselves that are worthy of honor?

I’m not suggesting we walk around touting our most fabulous qualities and expect trumpets to announce our entry into a room. I don’t believe we should move through the world as if everyone else are extras in our own epic movie. There is a difference between self-centered delusion and self-confidence. And it’s more than the cheesy (but awesome) Daily Affirmations of Stuart Smalley. I believe we must walk in humility, but with the quiet confidence of being perfectly and wonderfully made. And because of that, it’s okay to want more for our lives—for our relationships, friendships, and careers. It’s more than okay. It’s necessary.

The encouraging words I say to my friend are like a mirror I hold up to show her who she is. She does the same for me. But why can’t we do that for ourselves? Why doesn’t the self-talk in our own minds sound like the important reminders we share with those closest to us? We’re really good at layering Insta-filters over other people’s lives (Sierra? Walden?) to blur out the rough edges, but we see our own lives as raw footage laid bare without flattering lighting.

I think this is part of the reason we are hardwired for community. We need others to reveal our beauty to us because for some reason, we just cannot see it. And we must do the same for those around us.

I recently looked at pictures of myself from 10 and 15 years ago and I marveled. Ohh, I looked cute then! But then it dawned on me that when the photos were taken, I thought I was overweight. I thought I looked old. I look back now and say to that young woman, You are amazing and you have no idea.

Will you do something daring with me? Will you take a moment to recognize how kind and generous and smart and clever and funny and sexy you are?

Today, in this moment, what are the beautiful things you know about yourself? Write those things down. You don’t have to tweet them or post them for the world to see, but I want YOU to see those things in you. Look at the list when you feel beat up or less than. Because you MUST remember that you are made for a purpose and you have everything you need to fulfill that purpose.

YOU are worth celebrating.

-ld

mammajamma

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melonsIn honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I’d like to do my part to remind the ladies in the house to take good care of yourselves and get checked out. I love you and I want you to be around for a long time. If it’s something you’re putting off, read on. I’m certain it will inspire you to rush right in and get ‘er done, because you know, it couldn’t be worse than this…

The mammogram. Ah, yes. That time-honored tradition where Women Of A Certain Age get pictures taken of their breasts sans flattering lighting and mood music.

There’s not a woman on the planet who thinks this is awesome.

Gather ‘round, dear children, while I regale you with the story of my first mammogram… (you’ll laugh, you’ll cry…it’s better than Cats.)

The first thing that hits me is the fact that I’m old. I mean, there’s no pretending you’re 29 when you get referred for the doctor-mandated mammogram. Your boobs have been around long enough, they may be killing you. Not nice, people!

After filling out reams of paperwork and holding in the mauve waiting room for 14 hours, I am ushered into a small dressing room. I’m instructed to remove everything from the waist up and put on a gown (I use the term “gown” loosely), opened in the front. And then I’m to sit and wait again in yet another mauve waiting room.

OK, well, whatever. So I put on said paper “gown,” open in the front, and if a strong breeze blew through the corridor, I’d be arrested for indecent exposure. I sit down in the only seat available, in a gray plastic chair I swear they stole from the DMV. This only open seat is between two women. One woman is large. So large, she spills over into my seat. And she’s burping. No joke, every couple minutes she burbs what I’m pretty sure is garlic shrimp. Niiiiiice. The woman on the other side of me is talking on her phone, loudly, about the dinner she was at last night and what-he-said-then-what-she-said-and-then-can-you-believe-no-I-swear-I’m-not-making-this-up-I-know-right? She has three-inch long neon pink acrylic nails. (What am I, in a sit-com?)

I pick up a Cosmo magazine (it was either that or Golf Digest) and start flipping through. Wrong thing to do in this moment. Of course, the pages are filled with beautiful people, tips about having fantastic sex, and how to look good in skinny jeans. Not fun to read when I’m wearing what amounts to a McDonald’s napkin, sandwiched between Long John Silver in need of a Tums and 50-year-old Snookie.

Mercifully, my name is called and I’m taken even further into the bowels of the hospital. Joan, the technician, orders me to approach the machine. Joan has the warmth and charisma of a cage fighter. Here’s the fun part: she literally man-handles my boob with her cold talons and places it onto the machine, slowly lowering the plate thingy on top of it so it resembles a deflated balloon. Holy Sweet Moses, it hurts. No, really. There are seven curse words I’d like to employ in this moment. She could’ve at least bought me a glass of wine first.

Joan steps away and commands, “Don’t move. Don’t breathe.”

Here’s the thing: I’m an inappropriate laugher. I’m one of those people who giggles while sitting in the front row of a funeral (sorry Uncle Raymond), shoulders shaking, tears streaming down my face, hoping to God people will think I’m grieving. When I’m in a meeting, I’ll read an inappropriate joke on Facebook and snort out loud and have to bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t burst into the Julia Roberts-in-Pretty-Woman laugh. If for some reason, I’m embarrassed in front of a group, my heart starts racing, my face turns beet red and I start to giggle, mumbling and trying to find something funny to say and usually land on, “That’s what he said…”

So when Cold Hand Joan orders me to silence, I do the opposite. I burst out laughing. Regardless of the fact I’m now surgically attached to a device of torture, I start laughing and shaking and wiggling. Joan sighs heavily and impatiently barks out, “Well, now we have to do it again.” Jeez, Joan, lighten up.

Mammogram, Take 2!

Mammogram, Take 6!

Mammogram, Take 9!

It’s a wrap!

Thank the Lord.

I slink out of the room, wrapping my arms around my middle, trying to keep the gown shut until I reach the dressing room. I walk in and all my clothes are gone. Seriously. They are gone. Someone took my clothes. WHAT? EXCUSE ME! SOMEONE TOOK MY CLOTHES! Oh wait…wrong dressing room. I’m relieved to realize once again that I am directionally challenged and simply took a wrong turn into a different, but identical mauve hallway. Wouldn’t that be something, though? Me driving home in the napkin?

So, snaps of my boobs are on record and I’m thankful to report they are perfect, medically speaking. Inside, where it counts.

Whad’ya say, Joan? Same time next year? I’ll bring the wine.

daring rescue

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tug-o-war

I really didn’t think it would go like this. I really thought God would show up and everyone would see how good and faithful He is and there would be this grand celebration of His goodness and faithfulness.

I guess I thought wrong.

There was a Great Big Prayer I was certain God would answer. Other people were skeptical, but I knew, just knew God would answer it in an amazing God-sized way and people would shake their heads in wonder and be awed at His provision. I really had no doubt He would come through in the way I planned.

Maybe that’s the problem.

I kind of feel like I was betting on a horse. A long-shot for sure, but I put all my money on him and cheered as hard as I could from the stands and I envisioned myself hooting and hollering as he rounded the stretch. I’d be shouting, “You can do it! I know you can do it! GO!” He’d burst away from the pack and people would be on their feet and they wouldn’t believe what they were seeing! It was sketchy for a moment, but he’d show everyone what he’s got! The crowd would roar with excitement! I told you he would win!

It seems God doesn’t work that way. Maybe God isn’t a trained monkey who performs on my command to the amazement of onlookers. (Mixing metaphors, I know.) Maybe the answered prayers He delivers aren’t necessarily a way for me to prove something to other people.

I’m sad. I’m so disappointed. The Great Big Prayer was a good thing and it was important to people I love. I don’t understand the outcome. But even as I write this, I wonder if maybe He’s saying something different to me. Maybe He doesn’t need me to direct the way He shows up for other people. (Really, God? Because my plan was brilliant.) Maybe He is answering the Great Big Prayer not in the way I suggested, but in a way I need to understand. Maybe there’s more to this than I realize.

Here’s what I know: By His very nature, God is good. His love is unfailing. He wants great things for us. He sees. And He is involved.

When I look at the circumstances, it’s easy for me to doubt those things. And then I try to control or bargain or just plain give up hope and get angry. But I have seen Him do the miraculous in the past and I know He is a God who keeps His promises. I know this because I have experienced it.

That tug-of-war between faith and doubt is real. I move toward what I know to be true, then I’m yanked back across the mud pit and doubt seems to be winning. I’m knee deep in the muck and can’t get the traction to climb out. I so long for that daring rescue that pulls me out of the pit and onto soft green grass. Stable. Firm. Unmoving.

There is no bow on this. I don’t know if there will be in the way I envisioned. What I know is that without a doubt, God is working. I’m trying to remember to trust Him not based on what I see, but on His unchanging character and His unfailing love. I have no idea how things will work out, but He reminds me that His plans are not my plans; they’re better.

“For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.”  Isaiah 41:13

-ld