People who know me know that I adore music. In fact, I’ve always wished my life were an actual musical… where at any given moment in time, I, along with those around me, break out into song and dance. It’s why so many friends and colleagues told me I HAD to watch a new series on NBC called “Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist.”

I’m behind the curve, so to speak, but I prefer commercial free viewing at my leisure anyway. Granted, the show offers the appropriate level of cheesiness that one would expect, but it also has some really sweet and poignant moments. For instance, in episode 4 the following idea was shared…

Big moments make big memories.

I love that!

I think big memories come from little moments too, but something about that statement heard on Easter Sunday during the middle of a global pandemic when I’m quarantined at home with my girls… well, it resonated. Especially when, after a homemade brunch (complete with paper plate bonnets crafted from random materials pulled from a basement drawer), we clicked onto YouTube along with 1.2 million other people waiting for Andrea Bocelli’s Music for Hope live concert from Duomo di Milano.

As Bocelli is singing “Amazing Grace,” I kept thinking about how “big moments make big memories.” That was met with seesaw emotions of the past month and the warm fuzzies of a holiday morning that was anything but normal. All at once, so many thoughts and ideas started to bubble and meld in my mind.

I remember the very specific details of the Challenger explosion (I was 8.5 years old). I remember every detail regarding my whereabouts during the O.J. Simpson Bronco chase (1994); Princess Diana’s car crash and subsequent death (1997); the Columbine shootings (1999); 9/11 (2001); and, the Virginia Tech tragedy on April 16, 2007. These are not exactly happy memories, but they are big ones for sure. Moments… memories… etched in my brain… where I was, who I was with, what haircut I was sporting at the time, and so on.

I also remember the first time my heart was broken. It was the fall of 1990. I was 13 years old, in 7^th grade, living in Charlottesville, VA. His name was Chuck. He was an 8^th grader who wore suits to middle school… every single day. Snazzy, right? There was a school dance and I wore what I thought at the time was a lovely, eye-catching outfit from Gloria Vanderbilt (admittedly, in hindsight, I think of it more as a bright yellow banana suit).

I waited all night for the slow dance he’d promised me in the hall during school earlier in the week, only it never happened. I did have the unfortunate opportunity to slow dance with another boy I had zero interest in for ALL 8 minutes of “Stairway to Heaven” (#painful). Who remembers such seemingly unimportant details 30 years later? I suppose some everyday moments, like your first school dance and boy crush, are big too.

Big moments make big memories.

I have many HAPPY big moments and big memories too, like… when I became the Region IV 100m hurdle champion, senior week in Myrtle Beach, SC, Tennessee football games as an undergrad with the incredible Peyton Manning at QB, competing at Miss Tennessee, the entirety of my Up with People travels and Cast C98 shenanigans, my bachelorette party, the mother-daughter trips with my mom to Savannah and Napa, my Sunflower Cove and Kitty reunions, the births and subsequent awesomeness (dancing, gymnastics, t-ball, soccer, holidays, traditions, snuggles, cuddles, hugs, love, and laughter) afforded to me daily by all three of my beautiful daughters, and so many more.

It is in the big and little, the happy and sad, the good and bad moments that we are defined. ALL of these moments write chapters in the story of our lives.

Which is why I cannot help but think… and to be sad about… the high school and college graduations that won’t happen as they traditionally have. The fact that there will be no dance recitals, no choir concerts, no proms. No Saturday morning soccer games with Starbucks in hand and a 7 year old on my lap. My 5^th grader won’t have her elementary school advancement ceremony or get to tour the middle school in advance. There won’t be trips to the community pool, or cookouts and BBQs with friends over Memorial Day. Summer vacations will likely be cancelled or postponed indefinitely.

The question that I cannot get out of my mind is…

How do we make this big moment a GOOD big memory… a positive moment that we look back on fondly… one that leaves us (all of us) not just okay, but better than we were before?

Perhaps this question stems from my own hope that we don’t go back to the way things were before COVID-19. I don’t want the ridiculous pace, the constantly moving, the being unnecessarily over-scheduled. It feels to me like we (finally?) have our priorities straight… we are focused on ourselves, on our families and loved ones, on our health, on our communities, our children’s education, and the welfare of our neighbors.

We (finally?) realize and appreciate the critical importance of our teachers and educators, our nurses and healthcare professionals, and our “essential” employees (those on the front lines, and who often make lower wages). We see the gross injustices and inadequacies of our “systems”—systems that also oppress— for they have been put in the spotlight and under scrutiny like never before. The climate is seemingly healing itself, which I find to be nothing short of miraculous. We recognize and are drawn to the redemptive power of the arts and music. Rest, exercise, family meals together, even laundry are all more easily accomplished (if so desired).

I’m not naive. I’m not uninformed or wistful. I understand the economic impacts (individually and collectively) of continued stay-at-home orders, quarantining, and social distancing. I know that many people feel alone and isolated. This is a global pandemic where more than 118,000 people have already died… a dismal number that continues to grow. There is illness, pain, death, and despair. The negative mental health impacts are not to be overlooked or discounted. I know (or hope hastily) that this is not our new normal. I know we won’t, that we cannot, sustain it.

But what if there is a happy medium… a compromise? What if this big moment becomes more than a bad memory? What if we take the best of these moments and make… create… the best for our future?

Big moments make big memories.

It is my hope that this big moment moves us toward other big moments… and to big memories… of a time when we are/were all a little kinder, nicer, more patient, caring, creative, and loving… to ourselves, and to others.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading, writing, and coloring given COVID-19 and my best adherence to self-distancing. Virginia’s governor upped the ante yesterday when he gave stay-at-home orders. Executive Order #55 says we should basically home quarantine “until June 10, 2020, unless amended or rescinded by further executive order.”

OUCH. 72 days. That’s a long-ass time. But as noted in a previous blog, we can choose love or fear.

Psst…

As I was enjoying my morning joe and reading, I came across a citation about a Dove study on self-esteem, body image, and body confidence. I was intrigued. As the mom of three daughters, and as a woman myself who struggles with such, I wanted to know more.

You can certainly go and read Dove’s research, but allow me to pull out a few stats verbatim for those who desire a TL;DR version…

• Only 4% of women around the world consider themselves beautiful
• Only 11% of girls globally are comfortable describing themselves as ‘beautiful’
• 72% of girls feel tremendous pressure to be beautiful
• 80% of women agree that every woman has something about her that is beautiful, but do not see their own beauty
• More than half of women globally (54%) agree that when it comes to how they look, they are their own worst beauty critic

These stats got me thinking. I have 72 days of at-home, no one to impress, get to “just be me” time. How might I use that to impact my own thinking, and that of my daughters, in a powerful way? I decided to Google, “how long does it take to create a new habit?” I had once heard 21 or 28 days… but I wanted more concrete info.

It seems my sense of timing was good. It takes, on average, 66 days to form a new habit! Now, that’s an average, the range is 18 to 254. While I may be closer to the 66+ day number because I’m working against 42+ years of “me-ness” (meanness?), my girls are only up against 7-13 years of influence.

I’m hopeful (which feels nice right now). Maybe I’m onto something here.

I pondered the things I’ve said and read in just the last two weeks of social distancing. While I’ve tried to lean into the positives and possibilities, I’ve also joked about COVID-19 being the new Freshman 15. I posted a picture of my bare (very sad, non-colorful) nails on social media. I’ve talked about how happy I am to have let my hair go “grombre” before it was cool (aka: forced by default of salons closing).

I’ve also witnessed women be mean to themselves. As I think about the comments, they all stem from a place of meeting the expectations of others. But whose expectations? Society? Our loved ones? Our own after years of conditioning, complying, and conceding?

Perhaps we should adopt Lizzo’s “Good as Hell” (even if you think you look like hell) as our pandemic-inspired personal self-love anthem. Anyone want to join me?

Admittedly, you probably shouldn’t walk your fine ass (and, girl, it is FINE!) out the door without making sure you’re adhering to any stay-home orders, but maybe there is some inspiration here.

Woo child, tired of the bullshit
Go on dust your shoulders off, keep it moving
Yes Lord, tryna get some new shit
In there, swimwear, going to the pool shit
Come now, come dry your eyes
You know you a star, you can touch the sky
I know that it’s hard but you have to try
If you need advice, let me simplify

What if the “he” in the song is the (gender-neutral) critical voice in your head? If the “pool shit” is all the things you think and tell yourself about your body? (I can’t name a time when I’m meaner to myself than when I must wear a swimsuit.)

Woo girl, need to kick off your shoes
Got to take a deep breath, time to focus on you

YES! When else in our lives have we been able to focus on ourselves without so many other competing priorities, demands, and influences?

Boss up and change your life
You can have it all, no sacrifice
I know he did you wrong, we can make it right
So go and let it all hang out tonight

You know when I’m feeling good as hell? When it all hangs out. (Cheesy grin emerges.)

I love when I can rid myself of some of those expectations… like my bra. Don’t even get me started on what I think about panty hose or tights. Or, when I can be in yoga pants, Lularoe leggings, or PJs all day and just not care (like, um, yesterday today the past two weeks).

I love showers in the summer after a long day at the lake or beach when I just let my hair air dry naturally… when I don’t put on any makeup yet have a sun-kissed glow. I like eating a pizza because I’m hungry and it tastes good and not regret every calorie I’m consuming. I like staying up late, sleeping in, getting work done in the way I am most productive.

I could probably go on for days with examples. I’m betting you could too.

Who made these rules about wearing a bra, hose, or even underwear? Why do we think ourselves more beautiful with makeup? Why do we feel compelled to put on “work clothes” when we are working from the comfort of our home just because we might be seen on a video conferencing screen?

Why do we hesitate to break these rules… or feel bad/guilty/inadequate if we do?

I guess I just wonder what we might achieve if we all weren’t saddled with how we’re perceived?

Oh, Snap! BAM! I think I’ll just stop right there.

PS:

My daughter came home a few days ago pretty worked up for her normally calm, cool, collected self. When she’s worked up it registers as feisty and expressive. (I’ve no idea where she gets that from! 😉) She’d been in an argument with some boys at school where she was defending dance as a sport and dancers as athletes.

For their generation, technology is the end all be all. If it is online, it must be true. Leave it to some young man to Google, “Is dance a sport?” At which point, this was the top search response:

Dance is not a sport due to the fact that everyone can do it. For example, a sport like golf or hockey is a sport because it takes much talent to play either of them.

I’m sorry, say what?!             

I joined my daughter on the feisty fired-up barometer. But being an older, wiser, pre-Internet existing Generation X’er, I decided to investigate what these young men were citing as their overwhelming evidence of a definitive answer.

The article is from the Journal of Dance Education and written by Lindsay Guarino, MFA and professor at Salve Regina University in Rhode Island. Admittedly, I wasn’t willing to pay for the whole article, but the excerpt that can be read online further peaked my interest. First and foremost, I don’t see that actual quote in the excerpt available, but I assume it exists somewhere within the full text (validity, however, is now being questioned).

In reading more than just the top Google search response, Guarino seems to be arguing more for the unique artistic attributes of dance than the athletic prowess associated… almost that dance is historically, culturally, and empirically so important that it cannot be lessoned to the lowly title of mere sport. (Hehehe, I chuckle.)

But one quote and one excerpt from a journal article was not enough to satisfy me, so I kept digging… and it gets even more interesting.

Those who argue that dance is a sport might not be fully aware of the resulting implications. In sports there is always a winner, and usually a clear one. When dance is competitive, and likened to a sport, dancers might not be able to reap the rewards or experience great satisfaction without the ‘win.’

This additional excerpt from the same article goes on to say…

This debate is not black and white, and the edges blur when dancers assert that they are both artists and athletes. The gray areas of the debate expand in the presence of formal dance competitions that designate winners, and in a culture that extolls sporting events with religious fervor.

Wait. Wins and losses, in my experience, are never the sole focus of dance or sport. Sure, the state championship win that one year was amazing, but losing a game or competition doesn’t suddenly render the entire season, individual’s commitment, or team’s efforts fruitless.

Why would it be any different for a dancer who doesn’t win? Statistically speaking, there are always more losers than winners… and yet, people keep playing… and dancing.

And did you know this?

Statistics show that 80 percent of dancers incur at least one injury a year that affects their ability to perform – compared to a 20 percent injury rate for rugby or football players.

At the very least, that is an interesting statistic. Right?

Western culture is, no doubt, a competitive one. And while I like to win too, the article gives short shrift to the roles of both arts and athletics culturally… and the fact that, perhaps, dance is the perfect blend of both.

Just like our competitively minded civilization, we also love our labels and the dichotomy rather than a full spectrum of possibility. Why does dance have to be EITHER this OR that? Why can’t it be both?

But back to the 7^th grade debate at hand, I suspect that there is a maturity factor, a gender divide, and that the artistic nature of dance makes it SEEM potentially less physical… less sports-like. That said, I have a thirteen-year-old who dances more than 13 hours each week, equal to or exceeding the one-to-two-hour weekday practices and competitive endeavors (scrimmage, game, meet, etc.) of most community/school-based extracurricular sports. She can plank for more than 8 consecutive minutes and contort her body any manner of ways. She participates in competitive dance competitions… sometimes she wins. Sometimes she doesn’t.

She is a dancer. 

And, she is an athlete in every sense of the word.

What I’ve discovered in going down this rabbit hole is how limited our vocabulary is… or is made to be… and how shallow our argument for “being right” is too. A Google search alone doesn’t yield a full answer. Beyond the cleats vs. pointe shoe debate is a far more holistic consideration.

Why do dancers dance? Why do individuals play sports? Both are physical endeavors. Both have historical and cultural context, as well as tradition associated. Both are expressive activities—whether double-digit fouetté turns or a Hail Mary pass. Both elicit powerful audience reaction, support, encouragement, critique, and occasional disappointment. There is individuality and camaraderie.

What if traditional gender roles didn’t skew our perceptions of who we call athletes? What if we defined athletes from an individual’s physical exertion in the name of health and well-being, or from their contribution to their craft and community? What if we focused on the entertainment and engagement value of the arts and athletics in equal measure?

I’m not sure I’ll change the minds of any middle school boys, but my feisty middle school daughter has an equally feisty dance mom cheering her on!

** EXPLICIT CONTENT… Not for the prudish or faint of heart. **

Online dating.

Yep. Two little words… two little words full of awkwardness, innuendo, and perfectly posed photos meant to initially entice and later disappoint. Now granted, with full disclosure, this online dating thing is still new to me and, suffice it to say, not exactly my cup of tea. In fact, I’m pretty sure the decorum associated with enjoying a cup of tea and the somewhat crass nature of online dating are opposites.

I’ve learned a lot. I mean A LOT. A good number of those things I wish I could forget.

There is a whole language and online dating culture. But does anyone tell you that? Do you get a warning? A tutorial? Nope. I didn’t. Not of the real stuff anyway. It reminds me of when everyone talks about how beautiful childbirth is, but then leaves out that you might poop yourself while pushing, or rip from one orifice to the next, or bleed out during a c-section. Just sayin’. It isn’t all Hallmark picture worthy y’all.

Therefore, as a lover of humanity who wants to leave the world just a little better than she found it, I want to give back. Allow me to share just some of the lessons learned that really, truly, should be readily available to all of us lonely souls looking for a mate in the cesspool of online dating…especially if you’ve been out of the game since Y2K.

Consider this a learner’s permit before you start driving; I’ll offer just a few tips for the road ahead should you be on (or thinking about) this journey. After all, experience is the best teacher… and I’ve had some exceptional lessons. I’m like a walking-talking land-grant… just sharing my knowledge with the people.

First and foremost, allow me to share some commonly used acronyms and terms. After all, per psychiatrist and social/political philosopher Frantz Fanon*…

“To speak a language is to take on a world, a culture.”

(*Quick Note: If you legitimately care about race and social justice issues, you might want to learn more about Frantz Fanon, though I shall not digress herein this satirical work.)

This online dating “code” felt so foreign and elusive to me initially. Perhaps I was just sheltered and naive. I am now a bit more enlightened thanks to my BFF in this endeavor… Urban Dictionary!

But there is no need for you to bounce between the Bumble, Tinder, or Farmers Only apps to look up every instance. Allow me to offer a quick 25-word/acronym “cheat sheet” of the most common vocabulary I experienced (in alpha order because no other order makes sense for these diverse terms).

BBW = “big, beautiful woman” (someone who desires a plus sized female); will also often see BBB for “big, beautiful, blonde” (which is weird since brunette starts with “b” too; hmmm, damn blondes always having more fun)

BDE = “big dick energy” (confident but not cocky; no pun intended)

Breadcrumbing = a flirt or tease not interested in actual connection; dropping the elusive “breadcrumbs” that technically lead nowhere (But remember, nowhere is better than a torture chamber.)

Catfishing = fake online identity (aka: predator; If it seems too good to be true, it probably is trust me on this)

D/D free = “drug/disease free” (I appreciate this one. Not sure that 7 characters and a space are enough to really convince me, but whatever. D/D free or not—use a condom people!)

Demisexual = someone who must have an emotional bond/intimacy for sexual attraction to exist (I imagine these folks have an even worse online dating experience than me.)

DMV = an acronym that stands for “DC, Maryland, Virginia” Living in VA, this one surprised me because I was unfamiliar. (Of course, it is way better than the GWDCMA. Only my Virginia Tech peeps might get that reference; but, trust me, it’s better!)

DTE = “down to Earth” (sometimes is a helpful disclosure that they at least think they are normal)

DTF = “down to f*ck” (No judgement in this one. You do you, boo! Just be safe out there.)

DTR = “defining the relationship” (WOAH, it’s about to get serious. Prepare for the labels.)

ENM = “ethical non-monogamy” (Full disclaimer that you are not going to be the only other person in the relationship); also, “Open Relationship” and “Polyamorous”

FWB = “friends with benefits” (You know them, like them, care about them, and have sex with them… but you are not in a romantic relationship.)

GGG = “good, giving, and game” (Good in bed, willing to give, and game for anything.)

Ghosting = The totally passive, coward-like disappearance of an individual after established online dating dialogue.

GSOH = “good sense of humor” ~OR~ “good salary, own home” (Neither is a bad thing!)

HMU = “hit me up” (Text or call me if you want to chat.)

HWP = “height/weight proportional” (This is how to avoid listing your weight while describing your physique; truth seems optional I’ve found)

LDR = “long distance relationship” (You put in a dating radius, so this one always intrigues me. But mostly it is people saying, “Not interested in LDR.”)

MBA = “married but available” (Yeah, not what I thought either.)

Misanthropic = people who don’t like people, loathe them actually (Why are they on a dating app then?)

NBM = “never been married”

NSA = “no strings attached” (These folks are in the moment, no expectations beyond the right here, right now- whatever that may be.)

ONS = “one-night stand” (aka: a hookup)

Pansexual = individuals open to all sexual orientations and gender identities

Sapiosexual = an individual who finds intelligence sexually attractive or arousing (Yes, please, although maybe a bit elitist to state it outright. Of course, “I don’t do dumb” would be rude too.)

For those living the dream or otherwise under a rock, you may be shocked. But this, THIS is what it’s like out here for over-40 single folks. Glamorous, eh? I mean, technically, this is what it is like for everyone in the online dating world. It’s just maybe a little more shocking for us middle-agers.

While understanding the language code of online dating will be incredibly helpful (albeit the above being a short and tame introduction), there are a few other tips I’ll offer. Take them or leave them, but at least read them. After all, if I can save you a painful and terrible date, I’m fulfilling an important civic duty.

First…

If decent teeth and dental hygiene are important to you, but the person does not smile and show their teeth in any of their pictures– swipe left. Trust me on this one. I had NO idea teeth were so important to me until I started online dating. Yes, you may miss someone amazing… but you’re far more likely to meet someone with jacked-up teeth. (I know how shallow this makes me sound; but, in the name of attraction, I own it.)

Second…

If politics/political affiliation or religion/spirituality are deal breakers for you, put it in your profile and save yourself the hassle. Online dating is not the place for you to implement your salvation work… not if you want a date.

Third…

Agree to coffee, tea, or a cocktail for the first meet up; Do NOT agree to a full meal. (And, from experience, most definitely do not agree to lunch at an outdoor public café on a beautiful day in a busy thoroughfare where you’ll see lots of people you know.) Seriously, if it is going well, you can decide to linger and dine—but don’t commit to a meal before you’ve met face-to-face, unless you’re just hungry.

Fourth…

Even though you have the option to express preferences, for instance (with me) “attracted to men”— it does NOT mean that the men you match with are solely attracted to women. Yes, I learned this through experience. No, I won’t tell you that story here.

Fifth…

Throw out the window any preconceived or old school notions you may have about chivalry and a man paying the bill. It’s a different world out there. Gender equality comes with some compromises. BUT it should at least be 50/50. That said, yes, I have been stuck with the bill… so just be prepared.

My generation, if they’ve raised children, will likely be familiar with Dora the Explorer. And to pseudo-quote a famous Dora phrase, I don’t want to go around shouting…

I do, however, want to share what has been surprising (in some cases, downright shocking) to me in this process. To cite another generational reference (thank you NBC), it really is about…

Have fun out there!

P.S. This is a personalized, satirical look at my own online dating experience. Many of my friends have found great happiness and a life partner through online dating. Cheers to those with the courage to seek love in the most unconventional ways!

It’s no secret that I’m a fan of counseling and talk therapy. I’ve been seeing the same counselor for more than five years. She’s helped me navigate a divorce, job changes and challenges, parenting, “childing” (I made that word up, but basically the opposite of parenting; interactions with my parents as a grown adult), relationships (professional, personal, romantic, etc.), depression, anxiety, and so much more.

She is amazing! While the professional-provider boundary is a clear and respected line for both of us, I consider her a mentor, friend, cheerleader, truth teller, enlightenment giver, inspirational provider, amazing listener, challenger, and consummate professional. She is easily someone who is on my shortlist of life-changing human beings.

It’s normal for her to say something insightful and for me to say, “Oooh, hold on, let me write that down.” At a recent session, we were discussing my current stage in life—too young to be considered retired, but unemployed (by choice) after more than 18 years at the same institution. She piped in and said, “Oh wait, I heard a phrase the other day and immediately thought of you!”

The phrase was Dolce Far Niente. It’s Italian for “the sweetness of doing nothing.” Quite literally, it’s intentionally doing nothing and enjoying it. The art of being idle. Merriam-Webster defines it as, “pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness,”

Isn’t that a lovely concept?

Apparently the movie Eat, Pray, Love made the phrase famous, though I’ve read the book by Elizabeth Gilbert and seen the movie and it didn’t stick. But like all things, you tend to notice that which applies to you. (Like when car shopping and you suddenly notice your desired car on the road more often than ever before? Or pregnant and notice all the other pregnant women? Or is this just me?) In either case, this phrase was quite applicable to me in my current state… so it stuck.

We discussed how it could be a new mantra for me… given my tendency to never slow down, much less stop… how I might intentionally practice Dolce Far Niente. The phrase is already proving quite helpful, especially in this “Two Year Cycle” of intentionally slowing down, gradual progress, and great patience. I found an article online that offers 7 Steps to Experience the Sweetness of Doing Nothing. I, personally, am drawn to and focusing on, “Get rid of your guilt” and “Find your inner artist”– admittedly not where I started with my own, “Maybe I’ll stay in my pajamas and binge watch Netflix all day” idea.

People used to say, “Work to live, don’t live to work.” But that is what we all do– or seem to do: live to work. I’d venture a guess that the “Work Hard, Play Hard” mantra is far more prevalent these days. A quick Google search demonstrates how broken the American workplace is…

“American workers are more stressed, sleep deprived, burnt out and disengaged than ever before…”

“The American workplace is grueling, stressful and surprisingly hostile.” 

“For the college-educated elite, work has morphed into a religious identity—promising transcendence and community but failing to deliver.”

These quotes nail how I’d been feeling about work. I liked my job. I loved my office colleagues. We produced some amazing work and had fun doing so. But when the bad days (full of politics, drama, and stress) began to continually outnumber the good days… when the work just never slowed down and the expectations continued to increase… when my values seemed misaligned with my organization’s… when work became my life and I was missing out on things I claimed as priorities… when my mom expressed legitimate concerns that I was going to “stroke out and die from stress”… well, something had to change.

The last article above (“college-educated elite”) talks about “workism” (a legitimate medical condition more commonly referred to as work addition). Here’s an excerpt:

“What is workism? It is the belief that work is not only necessary to economic production, but also the centerpiece of one’s identity and life’s purpose; and, the belief that any policy to promote human welfare must always encourage more work.”

“…The centerpiece of one’s identity…”

This is a dangerous concept; and yet, it was so true for me. Hell, it IS true for me. My work—even now without a formal title nor paycheck (i.e.- how I use my time)—is not only a struggle of identity, but also of self-worth. In America, we often define “valuable work” as white collar, corner office, c-suite aspiring, six figure salary, long hours, unused vacation days, coming to work sick, missed lunch hours and not taking breaks, etc.

Dolce Far Niente challenges the negative voice in our head that says it’s lazy to be idle. Let’s put down the technology and look up and around us; let’s find comfort in tuning out the barrage of information and the glow of the hypnotic screen. Shall we sit in the sun, feel the breeze on our face, and just listen to our breath? Perhaps we can show interest in the person before their work or their employer. And, maybe we can practice saying, “no” to the endless requests that don’t bring joy and choose to simply be… to be content, to be still, and to enjoy the sweetness of no plans, no tasks, and no distractions.

I didn’t say I was good at any of this. In fact, I suck. It takes a lot of effort for me to be quiet and still, but I think it’s worth practicing. I also think it sounds indulgent, like dessert, and not like work at all. How bad could it possibly be?

Would you like to join me for some Dolce Far Niente? Let’s get busy doing nothing!

I’m sure I could keep stalling, waiting, postponing—but a successful blog isn’t idle for nearly a year. I, the said blog’s writer, wasn’t idle during that time, quite the opposite. I was in the middle of what felt like a perpetual shit storm. Life has a funny way with its seasons and reasons. But I learned a very important lesson this past year and it’s time I applied it to my writing as well. Nothing happens if you don’t start.

Start a process. Start the change. Start to believe.

Let me go back for a bit so I can go forward. The second half of 2018 into 2019 was rough. But 2019 was not exactly a walk in the park. I have a friend who has fascinated me with the… art?… science?… of numerology (the study of the numerical value and the belief in the divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events). I have 11:11 tattooed on my body, so I was already kind of a fan… I just didn’t know it.

Through numerology, I learned that 2019 was a “1 Year” for me… which was to be “a journey of change, new beginnings, independence, and becoming who you really are.” Alrighty then, sounded good. I was ready to roll. Except change is hard and new beginnings mean the end of some current state. Independence and a newfound self-awareness require reflection and often moving on or letting go.

A former colleague of mine use to say, “If you are breathing, you are still becoming.” I’ve decided however that some folks “become” slowly and under very specific conditions– like a stinky cheese or sophisticated wine. Others go through the process of “becoming” rather expeditiously and chaotically– like a lighted match thrown on gas-soaked charcoal. Both “become” but some do it with a bit more… shall we say flair? That’d be me. (Cue the glitter toss.)

I struggled. I trudged. I hoped. I tried. I pushed back. I gave up. I cried. I lost sleep. I quit writing. I was a hamster on a wheel to nowhere. Or so it seemed. But I wasn’t stuck. Stubborn, complacent, a martyr for the work with a need to be important– absolutely. Integrity is, and has always been, the value I hold most dear. When I realized that I was saying one thing and doing another… when I realized change would only occur if I created it… when it became clear I could no longer do my best work… when I understood that I mattered as an individual (rather than solely as an employee, supervisor, colleague, workhorse, etc.)… THAT’s when I realized that I held the power.

It wasn’t that I didn’t know my priorities and my values. I did. I do. It’s that there was incongruence in them and my daily life. There was misalignment, distrust, exhaustion, and routine. I had joined the “be a good soldier” bandwagon of empty promises, where well-being matters (but not really- now back to work!); diversity and equity are principles by which we are defined (but rarely uphold- unless you identify with privilege); and, organizational change is always for the best (yet typically for the benefit of only one or two specific people). So, I walked away.

I walked toward my children—THEY are my priority. THEY will be my legacy. I walked toward actualized self-care, better health, and intentional wellness… and began to realize how worn, torn, resilient, and tenacious I am. I walked toward a renewed personal commitment to continue doing the work and learning of the social justice matters for which I care so deeply. I walked away from the people, places, and things that were robbing me of my joy. I left my job. I left my employer of more than 18 years. I left people I’d come to love… but discovered those individuals who were most important I didn’t leave at all.

I cannot write this without acknowledging the extreme privilege I have in being able to leave my job without a plan… without a paycheck… without employer insurance. I realize this is not what most people can do. I understand how blessed I am, how lucky beyond measure I am…  and I also readily admit that all of this is mostly possible from the hard work, good planning, and systemic privilege of others… primarily my father.

In either case, here I am. I am now in my “2 Year Cycle.” I have new things to practice. The 2 Year Cycle “is a slow journey of connection, partnership, relationship, patience, attention to detail, cooperation, sensitivity, and gradual progress.” I’m excited about embracing the unknown, but there are three words in the 2 Year Cycle that are going to be the MY challenge: slow, patience, gradual.

Dammit.

You know what I’m not? Patient.

Know what else? Slow.

And gradual? Hell. I’m that match. KABOOM! Not a ripening cheese or fermenting wine.

It’s 2020 though, and every time I say the year out loud, I think of 20/20 vision. It’s the universe’s friendly reminder to me that perfect vision—of self, life, purpose, impact, legacy—comes with time, slowly. I’m trying. Trying to be patient. Trying to manage my expectations. Trying to simply slow down and learn to JUST BE. Be present. Be open to possibility. Be diligent with pursuing my dreams. Be with my kids. Be ME… aligned and congruent, happy and joy-filled, and at peace with what is and what will be.

As Mark Twain said, “The secret of getting ahead is getting started.” I’m ready. Let’s go!