Two Ages -- Alive and Not

You’re only young once but you can be immature forever. At some point we reach an age we never thought we’d be. And then the decades just keep flying by. There’s some stinking thinking that can be triggered by children who are embarrassed by you, sagging flesh, unflattering photographs of yourself, the tendency to gain weight by merely thinking about certain foods, and those fun little forgetful moments. My personal favorite is telling someone one of my best stories and having them say, “yeah, that’s what you said,” as their eyes glaze over. It’s true that we change as we age. Some ways are inevitable, and some are not. You can think “old” in your twenties. And you can think “young” into your 90s and maybe even beyond. Bob’s 90-something Aunt Mercy gave a spirited performance of classic songs at the Lopez family reunion. I can still see Frederee, my second mom, putting on a CD and dancing a little on her 90th birthday. She kept up with the times. She told her stories of the old days too, but also stayed hip to the here and now.

What are other secrets to staying young at heart? Keep your aliveness and enthusiasm for life. I am not of my kids’ generation and I don’t try to be, but we are inter-generational friends. My life on Facebook isn’t all about them. There’s a “Sue” in there beyond all my roles of wife, mom, grandma, and employee.

I went out last Friday night to hear a friend’s band and I jumped on stage and sang some harmonies. Muscled in, I guess. While off stage I danced, met new people (some in their 20s, others in their 60s), and (perhaps annoyingly) bounced a beach ball around the crowd. I could tell who was old inside and who was young inside. Old people don’t want to play. They want to talk. And they rarely want to listen. Old is not an age. It’s a state of mind. I may have life stages, but I don’t need to make age relevant to my ability to bond with people. Love is ageless.

Popularity or Greatness?

At the risk of revealing my lack of humility, I was the most popular kid in First Grade. The other children used to follow me around, worshipfully begging me to play with them. I can still hear them saying, “Susie, Susie, please pick me today.” I enjoyed the attention, of course, and continued to focus on my schoolwork and piano lessons. I didn’t just want to be the popular kid, I wanted to be the smart kid too. Greedy? Maybe.

Then puberty worked its hormonal confusion and being popular with boys added a new dimension. They liked girls who were good at sports, which I was not. “Popular” girls had a certain look and a coolness about them. I wanted to be the cheerleader and the homecoming queen, but neither happened. I guess I wasn’t “perfect” enough. I felt disdain for my flaws. My focus was more on popularity than greatness. I poured out my powerlessness over it all in my poems. I was drawn to songs that spoke to the popularity dilemma, such as “At 17” by Janis Ian. Music is a great release for adolescent angst.

Fast forward to present day popularity. Reality shows. Tabloid news. Stadiums full of “American Idol” wannabes. WE ALL WANNABE. Our chance encounter with George Lopez was filled with encouragement that if he could “make it,” so could Sue and Bob Lopez. But the question is, make what? Money? Fame? Celebrity? Some people get there by being great. Elton John comes to mind. But not all popular people are great.

My conclusion is that we all need to define greatness for ourselves and go for it. If popularity follows, that’s the icing on the cake. But pursuing popularity is frustrating, and I found it pretty empty. A steady diet of icing would get old. My greatness is in my ability to express. It takes many forms, and all have their rewards. I make money. I’m well known by the people I know well. And the paparazzi don’t bother me. My foibles don’t make the news. There are benefits to non-celebrity life.

Last night I was playing piano in a hotel lobby. A few “supermodels” stood nearby and had a very loud conversation about someone or shoes or something. The contrast stuck me. I was happy to be me. I’d rather be the talent than the supermodel. And I’d rather be Sue than Susie. My imperfections had a purpose after all. They give me dimension, depth, and—perhaps most importantly—humility.

Finding Peace Amidst Imperfection

I only have a few minutes to share this thought. Must get ready for work. I like my job. But do I wish today were Saturday? Yes. Do I wish Bob didn't have to work from 12-9:30 on Saturday? You betcha. I have almost trained my mind to recognize that thought, capture it, and quickly jump to another thought. It's a beautiful morning. Very still today. The sun is angling in across the yard and the kitchen counter. The counter is clean. The stove burners are not. The carpet is not. The windows are spotted. The chores are never done. The chores of life are never done. We are works in imperfect process. If I search for more imperfections, I will find them. If I search for peace, I'll find that too. The slow in and out of my breathing. The quiet in the house. The knowledge that God loves me, that Bob loves me, that I've been blessed with caring friends who have helped me through many a lonely Saturday. They understand. They have their own imperfections, and I do my best to empathize and help them on the pathway to peace. Love helps everything. It's the brake pad of life that keeps hard things from hitting each other. I'm always free to choose love. And peace. The hippies sure had that right! Peace out.

Dreaming

How much time do you spend dreaming every day? My answer is "not enough." I've become accustomed to life's can'ts instead of the cans. And just last weekend I was singing the song "Impossible" from Cinderella -- the quintessential song for dreamers. It says "impossible things are happening every day." And those things begin with a dream. The moment we stop dreaming, or believe a dream is stupid, our spirit dies. Not good. I dreamed of being a singer. I did it. I dreamed of writing songs. I did that too. I dreamed of finding my true love and marrying him. Wow, three for three! Then the obstacles got bigger. A work schedule that not only keeps us from spending time as a couple, it keeps us from having time to do our music. The obstacle hasn't won in reality. But maybe it has won over our spirits. Oh no. Not good. If it's possible for a plain yellow pumpkin to become a golden carriage, it's possible for two people who love each other to reclaim their lives and share their music. Because the world is full of zanies and fools who don't believe in sensible rules. And won't believe what sensible people say. And because these daft and dewey-eyed dopes keep building up impossible hopes, impossible things are happening every day. Thanks Rogers & Hammerstein!

Just say Yes!

One of my favorite songwriters wrote a song called “I Can’t Tell You No.” If you could see James Dean Hicks, you probably would have trouble telling him no too. But I digress. I love his line “all it takes is your sweet kiss, and yes starts rolling off my lips.” So much of life is about what we say yes or no to. This past weekend I said yes to almost everything. Yes I consumed too many calories…yes I lost sleep…yes I had a hangover three mornings in a row. Yes let’s meet after work at The Landing. Yes I’ll have some wine and yes I’ll have some real butter on that sourdough bread. Yes my mother-in-law can stay with us for the weekend. Yes let’s make that “not so easy” chicken pot pie recipe. Yes let’s drop more bucks than we can afford to see “Cinderella” at the Civic Arts Plaza. Yes let’s coordinate it so my sisters and brother-in-law can join us. Yes let’s buy cupcakes for $3.50 each, and let’s eat them. Yes I’ll go get a pizza. Yes I’ll give my testimony at church for both services. Yes I’ll sing too. Yes we can take Mom to mass. I did say “no” to Scrabble. I should have said yes. I would be batting a thousand. And I did pass on the Tequila shots because the headache isn’t worth it. It wasn’t really a no, because nobody asked me. The power of YES comes from its contrast to NO. If I always said yes to these things, they wouldn’t be as much fun. But do I wish I could say yes to all these things and more every weekend? YES, YES, YES!!! Here’s to more YES and less NO in life!

The Everythingers

Envy or gratitude, which one will you choose? I think envy is etched into our hearts through the illusion that there are people out there who have it all. I call them the “everythingers.” In high school they had good looks, good grades and good luck. They were the cheerleaders, jocks and homecoming court. Everybody liked them. We all wanted to be like them. If we were lacking some key ingredient, we felt defective. The marketers know this. They sell us weight loss pills, plastic surgery, overpriced make-up, steroids, and expensive online degree programs. They whisper “you can still make it” and “you may not have been born with the goods, but you can buy them.”

First of all, the everythinger perception is a myth. Someone may appear to have it all, but no one has it all for their whole life. Just like us mere mortals, they gain weight, get divorced, lose money on investments, struggle with their jobs, get frustrated with their children, lose loved ones and eventually die. Does it make any sense to envy them, or to try to become like them, or try to be like anyone else for that matter? Really? Ya think? What a recipe for misery.

I woke up a little grumpy this morning (as usual) and the unseasonably gray skies didn’t help. So I just started saying “thank you.” Thank you for my job, thank you for this breakfast, thank you for this car that still runs and gets me to work. Thank you for my husband, he’s a peach. I have my imperfections, just like the everythingers. I’d like to be in Hawaii snorkeling. My hair won’t do anything in damp weather. Oh well, I’ll hit the pool instead. My hair will look the same. I can eat a little healthier today, work out and firm up. I can choose less coffee and less alcohol and feel better. I like my eyelashes. And I like who I am today. Not every day, but today I can start over.

How often do we ask God “why?” when something bad happens? But do we ask “why?” when something good happens? No, that’s just expected. It’s a mixed bag. We can’t choose everything. But we can choose gratitude. That’ll do.

Superficiality Snob

I'm losing my patience for small talk. Not that I ever had much. I don't want to hear about how much you saved on your car purchase. I'm not that interested in most television shows, especially the "ego on parade" reality shows, and I don't think consuming 2,000 calories in one sitting at a restaurant is all that worthy of note. I guess I would call it "consumer talk." I feel it just consumes precious minutes that could be spent connecting about something more personal or sharing an activity. I love water volleyball. I like bowling. Swimming is life affirming. Every time I lose a loved one I am reminded how valuable, and short, our time on earth is. And how relationships are what matter. I am energized to truly live my life with less talk and more action. And more meaningful interaction. This is the desire of my heart and the deepest whine from my soul.