50 at 50: That Was Then, This Is Now

So earlier this week, I saw a meme that said....

And I didn't post it. Not because I was scared of the answers - more that I knew who I was back then and I didn't like me. I didn't exactly want to be reminded of who I was.

I was arrogant, aloof, standoffish, and snobby. There, I said it. But I don't think anyone at the time (myself included) really understood why I was that way. I honestly didn't believe I was better than everyone else. In fact, it was the opposite: I worked my ass off to prove I was a decent person.

No one -- classmates, fellow students, teachers, administrators -- had any idea of the daily internal battle I waged. Every single day, I had to navigate how to silence the inner critic, for whom nothing was ever good enough. No person alive could ever criticize me nearly as much as that inner voice. High school in a small town also isn't the place to try to find your own voice, especially when it's married to a personality that wants nothing more than to please as many people as possible.

Far too often, a 96 on a test wasn't a cause for happiness, but began a search for what I missed (one question out of 25), and figure out why I missed it and resolve to never do so again. Getting a D, the only one of my high school career? A 10-pound loss from not eating because I was trying to figure out how to tell my folks, how to spin it for college transcripts, how I could make up the difference throughout the rest of the year to counteract it, and OH MY GOD, IF I HAVE TO STAY IN THIS PODUNK TOWN I'M GONNA DIE (commence to breathing in a paper bag).

So I buried myself in books, in music (especially in music), and in my studies. These were lifelines to worlds beyond my own, with people and characters who might help me figure this crazy inner world out, who might let me breathe. And it did. Oh my gosh, books and music, words and notes. They are still my refuge and my peace.

Some of these things I still battle. My over-perfectionist tendencies mean I get incredibly frustrated when I can't get things to mesh together as I think they should. I have a very high set of standards for my fun and my work -- sometimes even a little higher than I should set them, and I still make the mistake of assuming everyone else does the same, too. After nearly 28 years in the real world, you'd think I'd know better. Optimism dies hard, I guess.

But what I wish I had truly known all those years ago is that it's okay .... it takes a lifetime to find your voice, to grow into it, to love the person behind the voice. I don't know why I thought I had to figure all this out by the time I was 18. I'm just over 2 months away from 50 and I'm not sure I will ever figure it out. And it's really okay, because I'm finally enjoying the journey.

I'm going to say that again because it's the really important part. Ready? I'm finally enjoying the journey.

I was so focused on the destination -- getting out of high school, getting out of Dodge, getting somewhere and finally being whomever they thought I should be, setting the world on fire -- I did not take the time to enjoy where I was. There are always those lovely "What would you go back and tell your (x)-year-old self?" and I usually answer "Lighten the hell up, kid" or words to that effect. But I also know that no variant of my younger self -- especially anything under 22 or so -- would have paid attention and listened. But I do wish I could go back and give that little 5-year-old, 8-year-old, 12-year-old, 15-year-old, and even 21-year-old a huge hug, a shoulder to cry on, and just to sit there with myself in that pain with years of wisdom gleaned from all those mistakes.

To anyone I knew back then and who was hurt by my attitude or my aloofness, please know it was not intentional and not personal. I didn't make eye contact often because I was petrified that you would figure out I didn't know jack about jack -- and back then, that was a fate worse than death.

If your parents ever said, "Why can't you be more like....?" I sincerely hope you weren't. I hope you had things way more together than I ever did, and that you were far easier on yourself than I was on myself.

And to the me to come in the future, I sincerely hope that when I'm 85, I can look back and read this and be proud of my 50-year-old self -- and also laugh and say, "My God, you were always such a navel gazer, weren't you?"

50 at 50: Idealistic Me

I went to bed last night with a heavy heart, with another mass shooting in our nation. I woke to the news of another mass shooting. I'm lost somewhere between numb and angry -- I'm not numb to the pain, just numbed by the idea of "how many more lives must be lost?" And damn right I'm angry. I'm pissed beyond all hell that as a nation, we have turned one piece of a 225-plus-year-old document into a mantra, something that has been placed on an altar where inanimate objects of death and destruction are worshipped as an inviolable right, while the lives they have taken are treated as casual losses, just part of the collateral damage of the business.

God help us all. Not by some magical immediate end to all the evil in the world (let's face it, ain't happening) but by changing our minds and hearts.

I firmly admit that I'm an old idealistic sort. I believe in the power of love and in hope and in real prayer to change things. I believe prayer changes things not by magic but by our actions and our being the agents of change. I believe that we can still make a difference.

But I also came along with a healthy distrust of the government, the everlasting legacy of Watergate. I have zero confidence in elected authority to do the right thing at any time. I voted for people who I believed could be agents of change, and then......

I will always vote. I will always believe in the power of the people to make the real change. And so it's up to us. I don't know how but we've got to figure out how to do it. We have to be the ones to stand up and say "ENOUGH IS ENOUGH."

Because the hatred and ignorance and seething fear and unchecked racism is not the America I believe still exists, it is not the America I know still lives in our hearts. But it is the America that has lurked in a dark underbelly. It is an America that is foreign to me, even as a white female. Maybe because I have chosen not to foster it in my life. Maybe because I want to see things through the eyes of my minority brothers and sisters, to understand how in my privilege I have failed to see their pain and suffering. How I can use that privilege -- which isn't much, but it's there -- to empty myself and make things better. Thanks always to my dear friend Kevin (whom I hope to meet in heaven someday), I have learned not to be colorblind, but to see each person's beauty and their story through their eyes and their experience and to honor and love them for that.

I remember very well the idealistic 17-year-old girl who went off to college, fresh-faced, scared, but determined that I could make a difference. Well, here I am, inching ever closer to 50, and the idealism has been tempered by reality, but only slightly. I still believe in the collective power to do good - maybe not on the global level that I imagined all those years ago, but certainly where I am.

I will do it by refusing to entertain those who believe the color of one's skin determines one's worth. I will do it by refusing to single out those who come to our nation to better themselves. I will do it by standing up for wrong where it exists.

And I will love. I will love wholeheartedly. I will love without reservation. I will love regardless of condition. 

Because love has the power to change the world. Of that, I am sure.