JFF

First off, I want to join the rest of the human race in asking, “How the HELL is it already almost mid-June???” You can’t go by weather in the Pacific Northwest; Saturday it hailed, yesterday was a 24-hour downpour, today it’s sunny and warm and it’s supposed to be in the 90s soon. I don’t know whether to water my garden or bail it out.

Another symptom of mid-June is that the kids are out of school. Our neighborhood has suddenly gotten a lot more vibrant! I love the whole concept of summer vacation. In the same way that fall weather makes me covet sweaters, crisp book covers, and new beginnings, summer makes me wistful for that three-months’ period of time when we were allowed to do things Just For Fun.

Well, why not take that back? We may have jobs and chores and responsibilities that we didn’t have in elementary school, but there’s no reason that we can’t celebrate the season. Let’s recapture that time in our lives when we tried things just because they looked like fun. When did we become shy with ourselves? Ask any group of four-year-olds whether they can sing, and they will say, “Of course!” and regale you without the slightest self-consciousness. How can we be any less brave?

You may – you will – encounter some inner resistance, at first. Bless your heart, you took all those early warnings about Grade Point Averages and This Is Going on Your Permanent Record and It Has to Look Good on Your Resume to heart. Persevere. This summer, check in with the child you used to be and then go play, no strings attached. I promise, it will not be on the test.

Try:

Pour Painting 

Baking cookies and eating them while they’re still warm

Taking off your shoes and wading in a creek, fountain, or kiddie pool

Re-reading your favorite childhood “chapter” book (bonus points for reading it outside or under the covers with a flashlight)

Going ahead and getting that haircut (it grows back!)

Taking that artsy cell phone photo to Costco or WalMart and having it made into a poster or printed on canvas, then hanging it on your wall

Writing a poem (you can burn it after, if the thought of someone else finding it makes you shrivel)

Watching a movie outside at night; pretend you’re at a drive-in (don’t forget popcorn)

Using recycled takeout containersto make “shrinky dinks”

Keeping your eye peeled for good skipping rocks, and finding someplace to skip them

 Remember: Whatever you choose to do, don’t worry about being good at it. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, life is much too important to take it so seriously!

Translations

            I’ve had the Outkast song Hey Ya stuck in my head for the last week. (It’s the “Shake It Like a Polaroid Picture” song.) It’s very adhesive earworm material even though it pisses me off. If you’re unfamiliar with the plot, Hey Ya is a tender paean to young love in which a young man recounts to the object of his affections all the reasons she owes him sex in spite of the fact that he doesn’t give a shit about her as a human being. The poignant chorus of the song reads as follows:

            Don’ wanna meetcho Daddy (Ohh Oh)

            Jus’ wantchu in my Caddy (Hey Yaaaa)

            Don’ wanna meetcho Mama (Ohh Oh)

            Jus’ want to make you cum-a (Hey Yaaaa)

What person possessed of a healthy self-esteem wouldn’t respond with alacrity to such sweet-talk? The real clincher, though, comes next:

            I’m (Ohh Oh) I’m

            (Ohh Oh, Hey Yaaaa)

            I’m . . . jus’ bein’ honest (Ohh Oh)

            I’m . . . jus’ bein’ honest (Hey Yaaaa)

Outkast’s hero has found the Relationship Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free Card! Everybody knows that you can say anything you like, as long as it’s followed by the phrase “I’m just being honest;” under the guise of honest communication, the speaker can give themselves permission to forgo both basic kindness and good manners. “I’m just being honest” is not to be confused with its cousin, “I’m saying this for your own good;” the former assumes that a conversation (however rudimentary) is in progress, while the latter means “even I know that this is cruel, but I want to say it so badly and I need to think of myself as a good person even though there is no evidence to support such a conclusion.”

            There are phrases that are self-antonymous, and if you find yourself on the receiving end of one of these you’d be well-advised to translate it accordingly:

            I’m no prude, but = Frankly, I find bare feet shocking, and

            I’m not old-fashioned, but = If I had my way, You People would know your place, and

            Of course I’m no expert, but = In my own mind, I’m the Chuck Norris of this subject, and

Then there is good old-fashioned understatement:

            This house is a real fixer-upper! = Everything, including the lawn, is covered in chipped lead paint, and the “Brand-New Conversation Pit” is a recent sinkhole.

            Oh, him/her/them? He’s/she’s/they’re all right – That individual is so gorgeous that I would gladly walk barefoot through a darkened room scattered with LEGOs to pick up their discarded Kleenex.

            Some assembly required = You will need to get a particle accelerator, because this fucker has been dismantled down to its quarks.

            That’s it for today. Join us next time, when I’ll be breaking down Childish Gambino’s Redbone vis-à-vis 19^th century Marxist archetypes. (Or maybe telling butt jokes.)

It's a Complete Sentence

Headlines scream, “Self-Care is Imperative;” you can’t open a blog (including this one, and it’s only Day 2) without reading some version of the hackneyed phrase, “Ya gotta put on your own oxygen mask before you can help those around you!”

            I’m certainly not going to disagree.  I spent way too many years repeating some version of, “brush your teeth get enough sleep eat your vegetables get off the computer and go outside” to recant now. Nevertheless, I’ve come to believe that self-care isn’t so much a list of CDC imperatives as it is a philosophy.

            The whole self-care “movement” can be summed up in one word:

            Boundaries.

            For our sanities’ sake, we need to learn to say “no.” How we say it is up to us. We may lean toward the conciliatory: “Sorry, I can’t make cookies for the Bake Sale, but I will be Wrapping Paper Chair” (n.b., that is not a good trade). We might be brisk and businesslike: “Moving to swing-shift isn’t going to work for me.” Maybe we outright lie: “Oh, there’s a high-school reunion this Saturday? Gosh, I’ve got minor surgery scheduled for that night or I’d TOTALLY go!”

            What we say is less important than learning to stop guilting ourselves into doing things that we don’t want to do. Setting boundaries with people whom we love or respect or work for can be anxiety-provoking. It’s much easier to fill someone else’s cup than it is to take responsibility for our own cups being empty – and besides, won’t they be mad at us if we don’t do for them what we’ve always done?

            Sure, some of them will. The selfish, the thoughtless, and the abusive will hate the fact that they’ve lost a source of free labor (whether physical or emotional). Get over it. Money, emotion, and self-respect aside, these people are draining us of our most non-refundable resource: Time.

            We only get a finite amount of Time. Do we really want to spend it on mindless pursuits and toxic people? As Benjamin Franklin said, “that is the stuff Life is made of.” Reframe, renegotiate, or refuse the things that are wasting your life. Start small, if you have to, but start.

            And, while you’re at it, brush your teeth.

Incipiamus

            I graduated from college five months ago, so I’m still a little dazzled. I’m also stuffed with many impractical tidbits of information. I can tell you with some assurance that the Latin Quis sum? translates to “Who am I?,” but I can’t really answer the question.

            Likes: Literary critique, babies, dilettantism, geology, sex, whimsical outings, enthusiasm, Status Quo, and the Oxford comma

            Dislikes: Climbing stairs, condescending explanations, waiting, fatty meat, bullies, feeling superfluous, socks that are eaten by shoes, and “anyways”

            You’ve seen Roman mosaic-work, right? They used thousands of tiny blocks of colored stone (called tesserae) to lay out intricate, elaborate designs on their floors. At this point in my career – post-children, post-college, post-relevance – it is exactly as if an unseen hand has gathered together all the tesserae of my life and thrown them into the air, and I am waiting to see what pattern will be formed when they finally land. I have it on good authority that the new picture will eventually be as beautiful as the old one, but – well, see Dislike #3.

            Join me on this journey, won’t you? You’d make a beautiful mosaic piece.