Today I Learned

 That Reddit... Every time I stroll down the page, I find something that sends me off on a hunt for more information.

In a Today I Learned (TIL) post, there was this:

TIL Music is a 'Cultural Universal', which means it is a thing that is common to all known human cultures worldwide. These include: Personal Names, Sexual Jealousy, Proverbs, and Incest Prevention or Avoidance. 

The post linked to the Wikipedia page "Cultural Universal".  

And, as is often the case, I learned more from reading the comment section than I did from most other sources. For one thing, I never imagined that there are cultures where birthdays are not a thing.

Of course, everyone has a day of birth - a birth day. Just not everyone uses them as life markers the way we do in our society. This never occurred to me.

One commenter noted that "birthdays are not a thing in Yemen." Another commenter (North African) noted that they don't know their grandmother's birthday and "can’t even really guess anything other than the month and year. its not really important to us once the new year comes you are that new age, doesn’t matter if you were born december or january".

Shut. Up. 

People, this needs to be a universal thing. 

Probably the ONLY time
I will agree with Yoko

Just think of the negative issues this would eliminate in so many areas of life. Jobs, dating, education of all types - just to start.

So, I'm not going to dive deep into it here, but please do go running down all the rabbit holes you want. Right now, I am just busy thinking about the entire idea of not being defined by the number of years I have been alive.

I will leave you with the first article I saw while doing my own info-dig. This one caught my eye because it reinforces why I think birthdays have a life-stifling effect on us. This article is about a specific place - one apparently known as "the world's happiest place". The reason for that happiness?

The country believes that ‘’leading a happy life is much more important than how many years you’ve been alive on this planet.”

If there isn't a biblical reason for tracking our individual age (and I'm not talking about Jehovah's Witnesses here), I will start with the practice today. 

Peace

--Free

Media, Aging, Acceptance, Esteem

(I started this post a couple days ago, then a BFF & I got hold of a few nothing-to-do hours, some lawn chairs and we had a sky full of sun... So, ya know.)

A good friend of the family had his 41st birthday and a bunch of us are got to talking about aging. (The friend in question is a guy and he's not been in on the conversation. So far.)

There are a lot of jokes about how we spend the first few years of life counting our age in fractions and spend our elderly years doing the same thing. I for one just think of myself as "30 + experience." (My friend is more honest and says she is "40 + change." (I always want to tell her, "Yeah, Change of Life," but I won't go there since I am the older of the two.)

Okay, here's the thing: why is getting older such a big deal? It's not like we spoil or something. At whatever "mature" age we are, we still feel and think and love and crave and dream and all the same good stuff we did at our younger ages. Hell, we know how to do all that stuff better.

When my friends (and my sister) and I started our conversation, one of the things we all wondered about is Why? Why is getting older such a big deal? Why - even if you are not in optimum health (physical, financial, emotional or whatever) - does it seem that we are not supposed to be okay with who and what we are? We are never supposed to be okay with where we care in our lives unless we meet some media-sanctioned ideal.

Want to heat up a discussion? Bring up the media. I did and, man, we broke out the Malibu and O.J. then and just got down. We didn't have a simple girl chat; we had a freaking convention. One of the ladies went up and grabbed my laptop so we could Google shit. Yeah, that serious.

If you read gossip-type news at all (or catch it on CNN, MSNBC, E.T.), you know that "media" is obsessed with women looking "half their age," or snapping back from 9 months of pregnancy to be a "Yummy Mummy." What the hell is up with having to fit into a size 4 after months of harboring another human being inside your body? And try doing that without the help of personal trainers and chefs, and without the motivation of the Bod Squad Mafia of fans waiting for you to fail. Those celebrities get no downtime unless that's they totally give up "press." No wonder it seems that most of Hollywood is kind of nuts. They have to be. That's nothing but pure pressure 24/7. Forget a sex tape - what if you wanna pick your nose? How'd you like to have that caught on film. But that's another rant. Let's stay on topic.

Now, because I and none of my friends are famous (or even infamous outside Chilkoot Charlie's), we can sneak out to stores in the dead of night looking like Hell and his ugly brother. Not that we do this. No. But the thing is, Media makes it so hard for even "regular" people to be, well, regular.

If you don't look 30 when you are 50, well, you better get out there and buy that new laser-treatment-in-a-bottle. If you can't shop in the Juniors' "small" section - even though you were never small and have two kids and are glued to an office chair 9 hours a day - well then, shame on your sorry, fat, old, ugly self.

Look at what the media focuses on when dealing with celebrities: their bodies, their age-less looks, their hair, etc. As a pop celeb, unless you somehow corner the market on it, you're not going to get a lot of attention for feeding the hungry, helping out a community of citizens or just being a good and decent human being who is more financially fortunate than most. What do you think would get a celeb the most press: saving a family's home from foreclosure or going on a racist or homophobic rant? Matter of fact, that whole Kardashian clan has made a freaking franchise that started with Kim banging Ray J and releasing the video. (Leaked, my ass; that was a planned career move.) And now, we have to hear about Kim's curves and hair every time we hit the wrong button on the TV remote. (By the way, what the Joker-from-Batman hell happened to Bruce Jenner's face?)

Maybe it's just me (me and my group), but I've had days when I was feeling alright with life, then I spot a picture of a 65 year old "diva" who has better tits, ass and legs than I do - oh, and who looks 45). That will crash your day so fast... One of my friends says that when she looks at photos of the current hot chicks (Jolie, Aniston or, heaven forbid, one of the really young Hots), she feels as if she is looking into a trick mirror that's telling her what she ought to look like but never will. And this woman is actually just so pretty. Without Photoshop. Such a downer.

I remember one time when I was all ready to go out with friends and I passed by the TV on my way out and caught a glimpse of some female celebrity. In two seconds, I went from ready to have a great night with friends to feeling like I'd grown a hump on my back and a gray chin hair. Of course, I wasn't trying to impress anyone. I hadn't even thought about how I looked (I was clean and presentable, and, damnit, I smelled so good!) until I saw that image. It actually sort of affected my whole evening. I remember looking at other females at the bar and thinking, We don't look like "them." How crazy is that? Of course we don't look like Them. We don't have pros doing our hair and makeup, we don't have the wardrobe (or the slaved for - or Spanxed for - bodies), and we don't have "looking good" printed at the tops of our job descriptions. We are just trying (most of us) to look like the best version of ourselves.

SMH

One of the ladies I will not name (she doesn't read blogs, but I'm making sure she sees this post) even talked about how this kind of thing seriously affects her relationship. She says that when she knows she has a romantic evening coming (and with the both of them working and three kids under 8, trust me, she and her husband plan for sex like some people plan for a sabbatical), she refuses to look at anything that has those perfect celebs pictured. She says her husband can't live up to "media" stereotypes any more than she can, but he doesn't have the same body issues. She says (forgive me, L, for blog-blabbing) that if she has any images in her head of those perfect females that it just messes with her libido. Wow. That's rough.

I think that men do have body issues just like women do. Maybe not to the extent that we do. It's crazy that any of us have to have these "issues" at all. Just a few years ago, I always laughed that whole "body issues" thing. How silly, I thought. Until I went through my pharmaceutically-induced weight changes. There is nothing in the world like sprouting a muffin top and fat side handles to make you want to torch every little, lacy, sexy, non-granny-panty item in your wardrobe. Sex in anything than complete darkness is just a memory... Boy, I was so naive at sizes 5-8.  Naive and smug. And have I learned or matured about this? Nope. I'm losing the weight now because of a change in meds, thank goodness. (And let me tell you all something: Once I can fit back into my "little & cutes," I might wear only slut clothes. So damn glad I just stored all my cute shit.) I don't like myself at over 140 & I won't feel like "me" until I'm back to that. I don't know why. I could have lost some limbs or one of my senses, right? I don't care. I just want to look good in my cute jeans and undies again. Is that media-influenced or is that just normal craziness? One of my weirdities? Whatever. It is what it is.

Anyway, my friends and I shared a bunch of stories. Stories about our insecurities about our lifestyles because we don't have homes with vaulted ceilings, blue bedrooms with wall-sized fish tanks or servants' quarters...  Stories about being brainwashed into not finding and loving the right person because they don't look like the photo-shopped people on a movie poster or CD. About being made to feel as if we are worthless because we are raising children who aren't being pursued by colleges at the age of 10 or who aren't playing Chopin after only one lesson. About having the media dictate to us that unless we drive the latest, wear the most expensive, own the biggest or fuck the hottest, our lives just cannot be as joyful and satisfying as the people they give us a models.

The Chicks and I decided that not even one of us is as bad off as we first thought. We have our insecurities, but we deal with them pretty well. The people we love love us. We love each other not for the way we look but for the way we love. The men in our lives appreciate us for our toughness and humor. We love the men in our lives because they are worth loving. We're not perfect, but we're pretty freaking okay.

We regular folk need some positive affirmations. Here is what we came up with as a group. Not everyone of us agreed on all of them, but...

• It's okay to be whatever size you are. As long as you are healthy and feel okay with it. If you don't feel okay with it, do something about it or find someone who loves every delicious pound of you.
• Having a wrinkle is not the end of the world. Injecting poison into your face and refusing to smile is a lot less fun than developing laugh lines. (You have our permission to pluck that chin hair!)
• If you are 40, 50, 60 - whatever - it's okay to look your damn age. Why the hell does everyone want to be Benjamin Button. Why the hell do you want to be with someone who isn't okay with you looking your age. Matter of fact, beautiful, why would you want to be with someone who only wants to be with your for your looks?
• Look the age you look, act the age you feel. If you are 70, but feel 20, then enjoy. Age has nothing to do with joy. Put a big purple bow on your cane and do your damn thing.
• Love people the way you want to be loved. Not for their looks or their money or for what they can do for you, but for the way they make you feel.
• There are no "perfect" people. Even beautiful people have heartaches and fears. Sometimes, they have more than the rest of us. They have to learn to accept happiness just like everyone else.
• The next time you see the "10 Sexiest," ask yourself this: Do I really want to work that hard to look that good? 
• Accept you. Do you. 

Peace

--Free (and the other chicks)

Wishes

This has been an interesting week. I've had some good conversations with friends and family - some conversations that surprised me and some that were just so very good to have.

One of those conversations has me doing a lot of thinking. It was with a guy I've grown close to. Men look at things so differently.

My friend celebrated my birthday with me a little late because he was out of town on the actual day. He brought me lunch because I just didn't feel like being out and about (it's this freaking gray sky/trying to rain thing). The gift he gave me was very sweet and interesting - or at least my reaction to it was. Funny that I can still surprise myself.

There was a time not really too long ago that if someone I liked a lot gave me a certain kind of gift, I'd get all analytical about what it meant. (Why this gift? What does it mean? Is he trying to tell me something? How am I supposed to react?) I guess I've either finally grown up or just grown calmer. Whatever it is, I just took the gift as it was. It's just a gift and it's nice and very thoughtful, very me.

My friend was so pleased by my reaction that he shared a "guy thought" with me. He told me that I had apparently learned something that it had taken him longer to learn: relationships are only as complicated as we make them. Ours is not complicated. (Well, it is sometimes, but only when I make it that way.)

Like I said, I thought about our conversation long after it was over. I started to think about how I really have changed. I thought about things I wish I'd known a long time ago.

One thing I wish I had known is that sex is not complicated, but feelings are. Knowing that could have saved me so much heartache and worry and maybe one of my marriages.

I wish I'd known that age has nothing to do with death and dying. Not to make light of it, but any one of us can drop dead at any second - whether newborn, middle-aged or elderly.

I really wish I'd known that some things just don't matter one damn bit. Things like walking around for a couple of hours at work with a poppy seed stuck in your teeth or a booger hanging half out of your nose. And I don't mean that it doesn't matter in that whole "in a thousand years..." way. I mean that if people aren't gracious and empathetic (there's that word again) enough to not make it a big deal, then fuck them.

I wish I'd known to be kinder to people when I was younger. I wasn't always un-kind, but I had my flip, selfish, dismissive and cruel moments - sometimes toward strangers. We just don't know the effect we can have on another person.

I wish I'd realized how much I meant to certain people at certain times. (I once had a girlfriend get married. I was invited to her small, at-home wedding. I was late. She'd held up the ceremony for me to be there. I didn't know how wonderful a gesture that was. I probably took it too lightly.)

I used to lay across my mom's bed and have long talks with her. Sometimes the talks were about nothing and sometimes they were deep and important to one or both of us. I wish I'd told Mom more of my secrets. I told her a lot, but not everything.

There is one wish that I could possibly make come true. I wish I could go back to some of the people who are/were in my life and tell them some things. I'd like to apologize to some of those people, thank some of them, hug some of them. I probably won't ever do this, so does that make it not a real wish?

I am learning from my wishes. I am trying to do more now so that I don't have to wish for later on. (I refuse to use the word "regret" because that would mean we all should be born not quite human and full of mistakes. Mistakes are part of living and make our moving from moment to moment real and interesting. Hope that made sense.)

There are so many things that I'm glad for that I can live with all those "wishes." I'm so glad for the people I know and love. I'm glad for the relationships I got right. I'm glad for today. I'm really glad that I got to see this age of 51, even though when I was 21 and 31 and even 41, I didn't even want to imagine being 50-anything. I'm damn glad that, so far, my 50's are not half bad. Not really bad at all.

I am 51 and happy most times because when I look up at the sky I still think, "Wow." Hell, I'm glad I'm still here to think it.

I'm glad I still giggle, snicker, laugh too loud and flirt and crush and have girlfriends and like junk food and love music and dream dreams and have hopes and want things and fuck up and fuck around and go ga-ga over babies and cry about weddings and movies and want to do crazy things with my hair and sit in the sun and have deep conversations about stupid stuff and have places I still want to go and things I still want to do and see and taste and feel and know about.

I'm still so glad to be alive and I sure hope God is listening.

Peace
--Free

Measuring Joy

I was up really early on my birthday, just thinking, thinking and thinking - like I guess everyone does on birthdays, anniversaries and some holidays. Nora Ephron had just passed and I had gone and re-read some of her essays and other musings. I was touched by the advice she gave to younger women and kind of amused by (but in disagreement with) some of what she had to say about aging. Thinking of her and other women who lived uniquely, or fully, I got to wondering about what it means to live fully. What I came up with is, it's not about having a busy or fabulous career or family or adventures. It's about personal and individual pleasures and contentments. It's about joy, or at least, that's what I believe.

So then, what is joy, and how do you measure it your joy?

Can't measure it by the money you have. Money is too easy to lose. Money buys things that can deceive you: power but not respect, respect but not love, fear but hatred... It goes on and on. Money is only as good as the person who has it.

You can't measure joy by the number of friends you have. Friends are as flawed as you are. If friends were the complete foundation of an individual's joy, then there'd be no despair or grief or suicide of a person with friends. Friends are pieces of joy, not the finished puzzle.

Joy isn't what you look like, who you love or who loves you. It's not sex or food or good music or theater.

Maybe joy is that thing that is only indescribably sensed - not by sight or touch or sound or taste or smell. Maybe it is a sense itself, except real and whole, like God. It exists and always has. It seems to be without a known beginning, like creation itself, but given a beginning, like the first breath to an infant.

I have joy just as I have faith. They are, I think, very alike.

And... R.I.P. Nora Ephron

Peace
--Free

Older & Almost Wiser

I am getting all ready to celebrate this birthday of mine tomorrow & I have decided to be "okay" with it. LOL

My sis and I were playing around today with my clothes and makeup. She wants two things: for me to actually give a damn about what I'm wearing and to start wearing makeup. (You'd think it was her freaking birthday, huh?)

Anyway.

I have to agree with her about the clothes. It's just so dang hard to feel pretty and comfortable while I'm packing round these extra pounds. (Don't like going to the doc's, but I will be one happy black chick come this next appointment. Maybe I will actually be able to get off this Prednisone and onto something that won't have me looking like a chocolate Oompa Loompa.)

So, okay, I am going to embrace the larger me while I have to. I will NOT wear anymore drab colors, baggy tops and shapeless sweatpants. I will NOT try to hide this glorious extra me under anything that I wouldn't have worn when I was smaller. (Let's hope we can get this Prednisone alternative going on!)

Now, this thing about the makeup? Ummmm... I don't know about that one. I'm not good with makeup. One, I'm kinda lazy (as in it takes me about an extra 15 to 20 minutes of getting ready to be seen by anyone who gives a damn). Two, I'm kinda clumsy (as in I once just about put out my left eye with an eyeliner stick). Three, that crap gets all over everything you touch (as in I can't just scratch my face and then touch anything else without leaving fingerprints). How the hell do the real chi-chi chicks handle this stuff?

But I am going to try. I promised my sister. She says it will make me feel prettier and not as old. (By the way, as I've told her: I am not old. 51 is just a bit more seasoned than 25. Old is what you feel. I'm maybe... twenty-one? Hahaha!)

Here are the pre-makeup pics. When I get "makeup" pics tomorrow, I will try to get them posted:

The crazy hair is from that freaking Keratin crap!!!

I can't control the hair. Impossible. I gave up.
At least it's still growing back.

Do I look happy? I don't look happy, do I? Actually, I was pretty happy. I'm excited about lunch tomorrow. It's going to definitely be four of us physically there - me, sis, one of the nephews (if he doesn't get called in to work like everyone else) and one of the two local BFF's. Some are going to be at the family "home" dinner later on. The others are going to Skype in (if we can figure out how to pull it off in a restaurant) or phone in (at least for the song part) and, you know - all the love will be felt. Oh!! And did I mention that it's going to be at the Olive Garden? Yep. We finally got one up here. (I know that it's not in the Michelin Guide, you snobs, but I'm not that kinda gal. I'm more of a Guy Fieri type lady. You know, Guy of  "Diner's Drive-ins and Dives" fame? Yeah, I said it. )

I am a little bummed because one of my nieces "Cat" and her husband "Poka" -and those are just stage names, folks - came when they could take off from day jobs, stayed 10 days, and had to leave last Sunday. (At least they got to meet their godson, D.J.) To make it even a little sadder, Cat's birthday was on the 9th, just before she got here... Still, we are all blessed to be here at all. I have to remind myself what happened after my last birthday: having a margarita and strutting my stuff one moment and meeting all kinds of new doctors the next. Yeah. Living beats hell out of the alternative.

Exactly 1yr ago tomorrow. How the hell many pounds & doc visits ago was this?

Like I started this rambling post out with: I have decided to be okay with this getting older business (since I didn't get okay with it by 45, right?). Every time I want to be pissed at my marriage falling apart, this illness, the meds, the topsy-turvy life I'm now living, I stop and think about the folks who didn't wake up to see this day, and I just say, "Thank You, Jesus." I should be thanking Him as much as I complain about my weight. (Lucky He doesn't smack my ungrateful behind with a thunderbolt...)

By the way, BFF ("local B") is turning 40 just 5 days after tomorrow, so, yeah, life is okay enough. This birthday is going to be a good one. A good year, a good rest of my life, a good new beginning.

Happy freaking birthday to me (if the Lord let me live to tell). And if it's not your birthday tomorrow, celebrate anyway. 

Peace

--Free