Post, delete, re-post...

A few years ago, I won first prize in a photography contest. For most, winning would be validation and reward for having the cajones to put a vision out there, believing in it enough to face some judgement or (gasp) critique. For me, it was a little of that and a lot of thinking it was just a fluke, that maybe the entries were a little 'less than' that year and mine was the best of the worst. Of course, the other entries were on display and they were all great, which confused me even more. I still blow it off as a lapse in judgement by the panel. Who knows what kind of mood they were in that day? I'm grateful to have won, but I haven't entered the annual contest since. Despite the cheers and positive reinforcements from family and friends, I don't have a strong enough belief in my vision. I don't have those cajones.

I am surrounded by a plague of self-doubt. I know too many people that simply cannot believe they have a special something- a friend who can't grasp that she is fantastically creative even after planning every unique detail of her wedding, making it the one everyone still talks about. Another who has a brilliant eye for photography, each picture so filled with texture and feeling, but he wouldn't believe me if he heard me say it. (Check out his blog and see for yourself: http://www.quinnvision.tumblr.com/) And yet there is an overabundance of people with confidence to spare and no real anything to boast about. People who crack up at their own hilarity and think anyone not laughing isn't smart enough to get it. Those poor idiots on reality shows, who think their lives are that compelling we should all stop and take a look. Umm...Paris Hilton.

I'm thinking that maybe those of us who are always questioning and doubting are the ones who can only improve as we go on annoying everyone with our lack of confidence. We'll never think we're good enough, so we'll just keep trying to get better. But I'm also thinking we need to get over ourselves and just relax. If we don't start having a little faith, we'll just go through our days without sharing something, even if it's not up to our impossibly high standards. This blog is helping me get over some of my compulsion to hide, and I'm forever grateful for all the positive feedback. I still delete more than I actually post. I still think no one wants to hear the ramblings of a forty-one year-old bored mom. But I will keep on keepin' on. And I just might enter that photo contest again this year...

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the prize winner (which I've deleted and re-posted about 4 times...I can't defeat self-doubt in one blog post, you know...):

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An update on my Get Rid of a Thousand Things challenge...first was the closet and drawers, next came the bathroom and the jewelry box. Here goes:

1 broken flatiron

1 infant towel

1 infant washcloth

27 outgrown bath toys

16 bottles of nailpolish

31 random bottles of lotion, hair products, etc.

7 sticks of lip balm

15 headbands

1 package of barrettes

7 makeup brushes

1 comb

1 eyeglass case

4 plastic cups

1 bowl

1 bathmat

9 necklaces

10 bracelets

7 watches

1 keychain

1 guitar pick

4 rings

2 charms

3 pins

4 mismatched earrings

8 magazines = 164 + the previous 152 =316 things...

                               

Good riddance...

I miss my old apartment. It was on a quiet street in the heart of our little town, with a gated courtyard and window boxes, hardwood floors and a big clawfoot tub. There was a back porch with room for my Nana's old porch swing and a fenced-in backyard, complete with wildflowers and a groundhog. It had a tiny, cheerful, sunny kitchen and high ceilings, old radiators and deep closets. It had low rent and an eccentric landlord. I fell in love twice there, out of love once. I found and lost a job I loved there, and then found another. I turned the music up and sang as loud as I could there, with no one to answer to. It had togetherness, it had solitude. It had my independence. It had almost everything. What it didn't have was...clutter.

We have been in this house for 3 years now. It is, on paper, almost the same as my beloved old place. It has all the quirks of an old house just as my former address did. And it will forever be a landmark for me, where we became a family of three. It is where I live. But I've yet to settle in, feeling like it's home. Take away the sound of my daughter's laughter (or tears) echoing through this place and it's just a place to retire to after a day at work. There is no room for my porch swing, no room for my carefree singing with no one listening. But there does seem to be plenty of room for...clutter. Lots and lots of clutter.

Every house has to have stuff. Frankly, I don't trust people who live in houses with no stuff. It's as if they are afraid of embracing who they are. Our things are a reflection of ourselves, what we love and want to keep near, and the quantity of those things is part of that reflection. And right now my little family has too much stuff, which says to me we have lost sight of what's important to us. We have just let anything and everything move in here with us for an extended stay, without any real invitation. It just appeared, without recollection of where it came from or which one of us brought it here. And in my last attempt to make this place less of a house and more of a home, I am giving a great number of our inconsiderate new guests the boot.

A friend has started a little undertaking called Get Rid of a Thousand Things. I am joining her cause. I am determined to get rid of anything that doesn't hold some sort of relevance to this family, anything that was perhaps welcome at one time but now is useless and just a space thief. I will periodically make brief updates on my progress, and maybe inspire another person to get on the clutter-reduction train. This house will be more home, less storage space. I will miss my old apartment less and learn to love this place more. There will be more room to dance around and sing like no one else is in the room. Hmmm...maybe those earplugs I found in a drawer I was cleaning will be a good gift for my neighbors...
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The list begins...so far the following have been evicted:
14 pairs of socks
8 bras
2 pairs of tights
6 pairs of underwear
8 pairs of flip flops
7 pairs of shoes
9 camisoles
1 pair of pajama pants
1 pair of shorts
1 old maternity top
2 tee shirts
17 sweaters
3 tank tops
17 shirts
3 pairs of jeans
4 pairs of pants
4 pairs of capris
4 jackets
7 skirts
2 scarves
2 belts
3 empty shoeboxes
1 pin
1 satchet
1 jar of shoe polish
24 magazines and catalogs = 152 things...

Back in my day, blah blah blah...

I heard someone typing in the library today. Actually typing. On a typewriter. After fighting the urge to find them and give them a hug, it dawned on me that most of the people in the library at that moment had no idea what that sound was. I didn't feel sad or sorry for them; it's not as if they don't know what the act of typing is. I know things change and we move on to other modernities. People who loved their pencils probably freaked out when the pen came along, and then those pen lovers cried about the fall of civilization when typewriters popped up. Ok, maybe an exaggeration. But we do get attached to our ways of doing things and the toys that help us do them. When we get all worked up about the new stuff replacing the old, is it really about the stuff? Or is it because we feel like we are getting left behind in some way? That we have to acknowledge we are growing older and maybe less relevant? Who knows. But I miss typewriters. And some other stuff, like...

• Metal Band-Aid boxes. The best part of getting a boo-boo was that tin container coming out of the medicine cabinet. The smell of a new Band-Aid is a distinct scent of youth, like crayons or Playdoh. It meant you were going to get some full-on love and attention from the grown-up on duty.
• Phone booths. Those folding doors, that little bench, that mysterious coin return slot on the payphone. What person didn't stick their finger in there in hopes of a little ten-cent jackpot?
• Since we're talking about phones, how about telephones anchored to a wall? Not only did you have to be creative with discretion so no one around would hear your conversation (which they always managed to do anyway), but you had to stay in one place for more than a minute. And that curly cord was fun to play with.
• Cars with bench seats. I know parents with more than one child are probably very grateful for bucket seats to keep those kids from killing each other on car rides, but I liked being squished in a big backseat with family, or friends as we headed to the roller rink. And there's nothing romantic about holding hands over a center console.
• Evening news and Saturday morning cartoons. I know, I know. We still have evening news. But it used to be the only way to get news besides the newspaper. And the men (not a sexist thing; that's just who happened to do it at the time) delivering the news seemed kind and honorable to a kid like me, even if they maybe weren't. I never want to know. And those cartoons made weekends right.
• Styrofoam fast food containers. Yep, I said it. I am well aware that styrofoam is evil, and so is fast food, for that matter. But before we knew all that, a Big Mac in a styrofoam box was like a little present.
• And while I'm at it, candy cigarettes. I understand we don't ever want these things to make a comeback. And I am absolutely, decidedly, most definitely anti-smoking. But what can I say? I liked 'em. Especially the ones that blew "smoke" and turned to gum.

I'm sure there's more to list. But this list is indeed making me feel old and right now my body is missing sleep more than anything, so off I go. Ooh...do they still make waterbeds?

An early Valentine...

There's always a lot of talk about 'soul mates' this time of year. How will you show your soul mate how much you heart them on Valentine's Day, or (gasp) what if you haven't found yours yet? I'm fortunate enough to say I found mine in my husband and will be able to face February 14th without the pressure of wondering if 'the one' is out there, or without having to hide my vulnerability by shrugging the whole day off because being single is 'empowering'. It really is just another day, single or whatever. But I like the thought of a day to celebrate love of any kind. And it's a couple of days early, but I'm going to take a minute to celebrate my soul mate.

Without taking anything from my husband, who deserves some sort of reward for putting up with my shenanigans and is truly so much more than I could ask for, I believe I have been blessed with more than just one soul mate. If you believe in such things, and I obviously do or I wouldn't be heading down this road, you know we all have someone who is good for our soul, who just gets us without much effort or prodding. Someone who's commitment to you is absolute, without proposals or vows. Someone who is there because they know it's where they should be, not because they're bound by blood or because it's always a party, but because it's home. Good or bad, laughter or tears. Births and deaths, arrivals and departures.

If we charted our friendships like we do our families, my friend Christina would have the largest, thickest branch of the tree. Hers would be the one where I would climb up and sit to think, where I would hang a tire swing so I could feel free, where I would defy gravity and dangle upside down, unafraid of falling. The one where I would build my treehouse to seek shelter when I want to hide for a minute or twenty. Her branch would provide the biggest breeze, the most shade when the heat gets too much. And in the autumn her leaves would be the boldest and brightest, and never drop. They would just return to the greenest green (her favorite color), ever-changing but not leaving.

My friend will give you the shirt off her back if you need it and not buy herself a new one to replace it. She will make you a meal with all of your favorites and not let you help with the dishes afterward. She will teach your children, walk your dog, help you move. She will cheer for you the loudest but only cheers for herself in a whisper. She is a list-maker like you've never seen, but she forgets to put herself on the list. Oh, and she would have the coolest lunch truck this town has ever seen.

Judging from the dirty looks we get, I would say people don't quite seem to enjoy our fits of hysterical laughter as much as Christina and I do. Maybe it's the high pitch of our giggles, maybe it's that they don't get what's so funny. But I'm afraid that they are just jealous. That they don't have someone to laugh with like we do, that maybe they've forgotten what it feels like to have a shared sense of humor with someone. That they are sad that they can't remember the last time they laughed so hard their cheeks and stomachs hurt. I am lucky enough to say I will never have to forget the last time, because it will never be too far behind me. And I know there will be another one coming soon.

Twinkle, twinkle...

"Turn your scars into stars." That was the message inside my fortune cookie tonight and it just might be the best one I've ever gotten. (It's a close contest between that one and the one from awhile back that said "You look pretty today.") Funny, if I saw that on a bumpersticker or in the self-help section of Borders, I would be rolling my eyes and gagging. But somehow having it come out of a cookie makes it easier to digest. Pardon the pun.

If we were to play word association and you gave me the word "scar", I would come back with "high school". Growing up a teenage girl with bad skin will make that a loaded word. The literal, external scars led to plenty more on the inside. And they both linger and are hard to hide, even at forty-one. Issues with almost-paralyzing self-consciousness, sidestepping large groups of teenagers, only looking in mirrors when I have to...these things are still somewhat habitual for me after all these years. You can tell me to get over it, it was decades ago, move on and for the most part, I have. But stuff like that can really take hold of a person. Just like the star footballer or homecoming queen who can't seem to leave the glory days behind, it's equally hard for us less-than-popular "freaks" to get our school uniforms out of our mental attics and toss 'em for good.

Now I have a daughter and I worry about if I will inadvertently pass on these horrible habits. Bad enough she may face the issue of genetics and need a good dermatologist. But I do not want her growing up thinking everyone is looking at her for the wrong reasons, or to be afraid to do anything because someone might laugh. She is already watching my every move. I am much more aware of my motives for doing or, more importantly, not doing something. It's a whole different kind of self-consciousness. She is the guiding force in my life now, not those ghosts of teenagers past. She is my little fortune cookie.

After dinner at the Chinese place, we went to the mall. On a Friday night. Where they were playing Billy Idol on the loud speaker and selling fluorescent-colored sneakers. It was as if time had stopped and a friend's mom had just dropped off a carload of us to hang out. I got lost for a minute in a memory flood of giggles and hairspray and wondering if the cute guy at the record store was working. I didn't for a second think of being teased or feel 'less-than'. And when we walked to our car, with our little one planting sloppy toddler kisses all over my face, the stars were out and shining.

A little light reading...

The word these last few days is heavy. The weight of all the snow already on the ground and the threat of a thick coating of ice to come, the load of guilt that comes from having to rely on others' kindness because of the weather, the density of a migraine that's lasted two days and is immune to remedy, and, the heaviest of all, the grief of mourning the loss of someone who hasn't yet died. How to deal with a violent change in someone once so close that has made them seem gone forever? I don't know. But I'm being forced to try, and it's unspeakably heavy.

So tonight I am determined to go to bed a little lighter, and I'm concentrating on the things that are filling my lead balloon with helium. Please indulge me as I list them...it will help me to focus on these light spots and further distract me. Maybe then I can sleep without feeling as if I am sinking into the mattress.

•  Let's start with Curious George's Discovery Beach game. My husband and I thought now would be a good time to try to teach our little one the in's and out's of rules and play, and it's been a welcome distraction from everything to plop down with a board game, even if it is built for a toddler. It's hard to feel down when you're looking for a blue octopus under a palm tree...or is it under the sailboat?
• Next there's "An Idiot Abroad". The last thing my dvr needs is another show clogging its arteries. But the first thing I need is a laugh, so guess who wins? I am grateful to Ricky Gervais for sending Karl out on his adventures. I hope he's not as miserable as his employers want him to be...
• I used to be very in-the-loop about music. Now I just rely on Jimmy Fallon to put bands in front of me so I can load them on my ipod when I have two free seconds. So thank you, Jimmy, for showing me Two Door Cinema Club. I just hope my neighbors like them, too. If not, it could be a long February for the house next door...
• I enjoy a win, especially when the loser hates a loss. So when I heard my uber-competitive coworker talk about a game app on his phone that he is trying to get through, I knew I had to beat him. I downloaded Unblock Me and my phone hasn't known what hit it. It may not be as popular as Angry Birds, but when I take my coworker down, I will feel gooooood.
• Last, but not at all least, is our Keurig coffee machine. Mommy needs her coffee. And Dunkin Donuts is very far away in an ice storm, even if it's only on the other side of the bridge.

Well, that was a happy little inventory. I can close the day a bit lighter. The weight will be back, and I will remind myself again that everything is temporary. And then I will help my little Bean and Curious George find his flippers.