About a Boy

Jordan Catalano of My So Called Life

I grew up in a time where whenever a young woman was crying, having a meltdown, or experiencing an upset, the first responders to the scene usually asked, “Is it about a boy?” when trying to get to the meat of the issue.

It’s usually always about a boy. But in the end the issue is never really about that boy...it’s always about you.

My “boy” was a 47-year-old man that to me looked like a fresh-faced teenage boyfriend with all the incredible, yet detrimental charms of the same.   He had the wonder of a child, the flirtatiousness of a confident, yet not too cocky guy, and big bushy eyebrows that enhanced his intent gaze; he had a slightly balding head and the tiredness factor of a middle-aged dude, a penchant toward things that interested him alone, and a beautiful full mouth that spoke only the truth. 

Society at large might say too much truth, but for me it was the golden ticket. You see my boy experienced much trauma as a child, not unlike many of us. His feelings of being unloved, a bother, not cared for as a young person....changed him….affected him.....made him who he is today.  But unlike many of us, this boy chose to address his past and change his learned behaviors in order to alter his life path so he doesn’t inflict that repeat trauma on to the rest of the world. That means being honest with himself and others, taking the time and space he needs for himself, not taking on too much responsibility that makes him feel anxious, and living his life in the moment.

I don’t know how long he’s been a man-boy. From what he’s told me he lived more like a college kid well into his adulthood and maybe just recently found his groove; logically, he’s probably still freshman in his groove at the present.  All I know is that my attraction to his magnanimity was so strong because of his vulnerability about his setbacks and the way he lives his life because of them. He holds no true convention toward wealth or status.  He reserves priority for creative outlets and self-care, and follows the beat of his own drum in regards to living a life that caters to his wants and needs. He made me feel whole, alive, and excited to be me, as many of those life views overlap with my own. He practiced no judgement, appraisal, nor pick up lines. He showed sincerity, intrigue, focused attention, and wasn’t shy about showing me all of himself.....even the parts that some would call ugly, and allowing me to follow suit. I felt like I had met the male counterpart to my feministic humanity. 

Despite my very specific approach to dating, which had served me well over the past few months, crafted from the idea that I wasn’t ready for anything too intense or difficult after the recent end to my marriage, I felt myself being drawn to this boy.  Common sense told me my time with him was limited, as I had sensed early on, and he confirmed in kind, that it was hard for him to make lasting romantic relationships.  I boldly forged ahead, though, as I had promised myself that I would allow myself to feel all the emotions involved in the vulnerability of dating, as without the lows you can’t fully realize the highs.  

The more he unapologetically spoke of his fear of culpability, his imperfections, and his perceived lack of need for human connection, the harder I fell.  His openness allowed me to feel acknowledged, appreciated, and celebrated in his presence, without ever second-guessing the authenticity of the connection.  I was starved to be seen through a 1:1 lense, as my self-image had been distorted over the course of my nearly-20-year relationship.  While I had wrestled to hold on to my identity as an individual throughout the normal wear and tear of kids, marriage, and stay-at-home momdom, my then-wife had struggled conversely with self-honestly, only looking at herself in the way she wanted to be seen, as opposed to the way she actually lived and felt.  Without a shared trust, we were unable to grow together as a couple in our marriage; I felt trapped in a life I couldn’t control.  

This boy’s truth was the exact anecdote I needed to confirm that there is another way to live!  That same truth was pin that pricked my balloon.  A few months into the relationship, the boy started to plan his annual “wintering” escape out of Chicago, which involves renting his apartment out for a few months, planning a warm destination trip to visit friends across the US, and bypassing the worst the winter has to offer here.  His trip was not a surprise;  in fact it’s what initially drew me toward him, as having the ability to pick up and go and follow one’s desires at a moment’s notice is a fantasy of mine, and I was in awe of someone who could do it!  The whammy came in the form of his straight-forward answer to the question, “so what will we do while you’re gone for the next few months?”  He looked at me like I had mis-spoken.

“What do you mean?” he asked.  “We won’t be able to really date as I’ll be gone, and our communication will be much less.”

Not what I was thinking at all.

“What were you envisioning?” he asked, as tears welled up in my eyes.

“I don’t know, talk on the phone and text and maybe I could visit one or two of those warm places and we could see each other for a weekend here and there.”

Blank stare.

“When I leave town, I tend to roll on the ‘out of sight out of mind’ mentality.  Maybe we could start back up when I get back,” he suggested mildly.

Beat down by my own wants.

Crushed I tell you!  I wasn’t in love or thinking the relationship was anything more than it was - casual - but I was so in the moment, and enamored with the stark contrast of living in the reality of every situation that I forgot about the tolls of such.  After further conversation, it because clear that we were in very different places in our prioritizing the relationship as I held an attachment to him that he did not have for me, all of which he was able to clearly state without having justification, as he’d been nothing but upfront all along.  Intellectually, I understood it all.  But it grazed on a lifelong hot button of insecurity - the idea of not being important enough to matter to someone.

I didn’t matter enough for someone I’d been dating for a few months to keep in contact with me for 5 minutes a day while he’s out of town.  I didn’t matter enough to my ex-wife to learn to be honest with herself and me in order to work out the specifics of a double-decade marriage.  I didn’t matter enough for my decade-old neighborhood friends to deal with their discomfort in order to stay in contact with me after my divorce.  I didn’t matter enough for my dad to put his wants aside in order to be a good father when I was a child.  Finally, and most importantly, I didn’t matter enough to take care of myself in the way I needed to be cared for over the years.

I’ve been grieving for the last week.  I’m sad over the sting of truth, as well as needing to cut ties with someone that I truly adore in lieu of caring for myself.  But mostly I’m aching over those wounds of insecurity in my life that are yet to be fully healed. 

Dr. Phil always says, “Winners deal with the truth.”  

While I hate the word ‘winner’ as it invokes the image of a “loser” on the other side, I do agree with the concept.  Without truth, we can’t move forward.  We are trapped.  

This boy helped me move forward.  I appreciate the growth and am thankful for the honesty, despite the nip.  It allows me to make educated decisions, armed with a fistful of knowledge.  My brief relationship with him taught me that I have to care for myself as if I’m important enough, or no one else will, as we all simply follow suit to what we’re shown and fed.  I look forward to living my life in this fashion moving forward.

It was never about a boy.  It was always about me.

Some Things Never Get Old

Click on picture to check out my newest JibJab video!

There are simply some things in life that I will always love, not matter what.  Take, for example, Jib Jabbing, or Elfing Yourself, as it use to be called back in the day.  You can read about my obsession with Jib Jabbing in Feed a Cold and Jib Jab a Griever, but suffice it to say that putting people's faces to prefabricated music video characters is something that makes me tick.  No matter how busy, tired, or jacked-up I feel, I always have time to put a smile on someone's face, literally, and send it out to make someone's day, as well as my own.

I have spent hour upon hour doing this for fun.  Last year, I neglected to send out card-stock holiday cards in lieu of Jib Jabbing my entire holiday list!  After creating the first few music-themed holiday videos, I realized I needed to scrub up my card list, as it was super time-intensive to make an individual greeting for each recipient, but after whittling the list down to a manageable 75 peeps, I got to work laughing and enjoying.

At the end of approximately 50 hours of jib-jabbing over a month-long holiday season, I came to the conclusion that one of the reasons I so love to Jib Jab is that is gives me the opportunity to really pay credence to the people I cast in the videos.  Most times they are friends, family members, and occasionally mere acquaintances, but always they hold some sort of importance in my life.  It's important to me to reflect on the connections I create and maintain and give them my undivided attention on a regular basis.  It's also necessary for me to laugh at myself and those I know, right alongside them.  Jib Jabbing allows me that freedom.

I heard from at least half of the people I sent Jib Jab cards to last year, either via phone, text, email, or personal visit.  Most LOVED the cards and in a few cases, some hated them to the point of asking me to use a more flattering picture of them next time.  But in all cases, they appreciated the time and energy I put into their individual holiday dance.  I so enjoyed the human connection! I have never received a personal response from a card stock holiday card in the past, other than an obligatory return card in the mail.

You should give Jib Jab a try this year; it's worth the $12/year membership fee (you can try a few for free before they ask you to subscribe).  And Jib Jab should be hiring me as their spokesperson!

Time Alone Makes Time Together Better

I am a poster child for taking time for myself.  As a child chit chatter and showoff entertainer, I needed downtime away from the same people I craved in order to recharge.  As a teenager, I wore the title social butterfly, but spent equal time alone listening to music, reading books, and just existing independently.  Living alone as a young adult I was Julie the cruise director when it came to mingling with others, but I treasured every single minute I got to spend alone in my apartment.  Today as a parent and spouse, I find taking time to myself is a difficult task, yet more important than ever, as I’ve realized that I most appreciate my family, friends, co-workers and neighbors when I take regular breaks from them.  

Maybe it’s the ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ thing or maybe it’s truly a case of everything in moderation, but taking time away from the Mardi Gras of life as I know it is vital to keep my relationships in check.  A planner by nature, traditionally I schedule time out each week for myself to do the things that I love…play volleyball, watch crappy Lifetime movies, spend time with friends, read a good book, or explore a street festival.  Occasionally, though, the trials of life keep me from my alone time, and like clockwork, I turn into a downtrodden mess of a Negative Nelly, sometimes unable to even process the daily tasks I perform, or the conversations I partake in, as I’m functioning on auto-pilot.  With the all-important me-time out of whack, my relationships with my kids, wife, close friends, and sometimes even casual acquaintances, suffer.

In order to replenish my soul in these cases, I have to physically remove myself from my life, even if just for a few hours.  This week I’m in Miami.  I’m flying solo in a condo overlooking the beach.  I’ve been so strung-out with the pace of life recently that I envisioned just chilling on the balcony reading books all week, while occasionally looking out over the ocean.  Instead, I’ve filled my days with self-inflicted challenges, like bombarding as many swanky hotel pools as possible without being thrown out, and living as frugally as I can by taking public transportation, shopping for the best Happy Hour specials, and carrying a backpack full of food down the beach so I don’t have to dine out.  Other dares include testing how far I can walk on my blistered feet in flip flops before I have to amputate my feet, and entering as many cheesy surf shops as possible in search of gifts for my kids, knowing full well that I will never buy a single South Beach item.

Rejuvenation takes many different forms for different people.  For me, hanging at a bus stop chatting with self-proclaimed “Mr. South Beach” who’s trying to convince me that Mango’s is the only place to be if you’re anybody, works.  Getting caught in a rainstorm while riding my rented Citibike down the beach, and not caring in the least bit, is restorative.  Dining alone on Ocean Drive and watching the parade of people strutting their stuff invigorates me.  While attending a screening of the Miami Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, I realize that I absolutely despise the female short films I’m watching; walking out of the theatre without watching them all makes me feel alive again. 

But best of all, seeing a picture of my kiddo with a newly missing tooth, hearing about my other kid’s ‘most excellent’ day, and listening to my wife tell me she misses me, brings me around full circle.  Just what the doctor ordered….a dose of anti-reality to bolster the appreciation for reality.

Taking Care of Yourself Makes You a Better Parent

You may have the best parenting intentions in the world, to create the most caring, loving, well-rounded, independent kids in the world, but that plan will fail if you don’t take care of yourself first.  Attending to your own needs, whether they be physical, mental, social, or spiritual, is healthy.  A healthy parent will lend to healthy children, as you’ll not only be better equipped to raise your kids, but you will also be giving them an example to live by.

For some, self-care comes in the form of taking chunks of time for oneself, grabbing a massage after work, or scheduling time with the local psychotherapist for regular visits or check-ups.  For others it may look like grabbing dinner or drinks with friends sans kiddos, attending church or prayer groups, working out, or honoring a sweet tooth.  Still others nourish themselves by volunteering, guarding intimacy with a spouse or beau, or stimulating the intellect through reading, solving, or creating.  

Your sustenance is your own.  Make it a point to respect it every day for a better you, which ultimately leads to a better parent. 

In the name of self-care, I’m partnering Dallas Caramel Company for a free candy giveaway!  In caring for myself a few years ago, my wife and I high-tailed it out of Texas back to Chicago, after residing there for a dazed five years, but Rain McDermott, a native Texan and owner of the company, helped make our time there palatable with both her friendship and her sweet treats!  

With 12 unique flavors to choose from, many inspired by Rain’s love affair with Dallas and its inhabitants, each creamy, chewy caramel bite offers a sweet retreat.  While I’ve been feeding my candy whims for years with Rain’s original caramels, my favorites from the sample gift batch she just sent us are Sea Salt, Drunken Nut (Texas Whiskey & Texas Pecans), and Bacon.  Most of the caramels are gluten free and all are available online, most running $12-$15 per 1/2 pound bag.

Simply click below to enter to win a free 1-lb caramel variety bag, compliments of Dallas Caramel Company.

Required disclosure:  Dallas Caramel Company will provide one randomly selected winner the caramels, valued at $24.  All opinions are my own. 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

To Be or Not to Be....a Good Parent

The definition of a good parent is subjective.  From self-reliant, to successful, to soccer extraordinaire, and everything in between, parents are judged on a lot of different markers when it comes to the outcome of their kids.  Some define a good parent as someone who takes care of his child’s every need, and then some.  Others classify a good parent as one who makes decisions in the best interest of her child first, before anything else.  Still another faction of folks designate a good parent by the level of respect and politeness said parent’s children demonstrate to others.  There’s no one, solid, correct answer.  Basically, as a parent, you have to choose what’s important to you to provide for your kids, and dig in from there.

It’s not easy, by any stretch of the imagination.  Sometimes it’s downright hard to make the decisions that you know are right for you and your family.  Take, for instance, today’s decision to let my child muster through running club after school without her running gear that she neglected to pack.  On the way to school this morning, I double-checked my 9-year-old that she had her bag running clothes for her after-school program.

“I have that today?” she inquired earnestly.

“Yep.  Every Monday and Wednesday.  Today’s Wednesday,” I responded matter-of-factly.

At that moment, the 2^nd bell rang from the school, still a half a block away, indicating it’s time for my daughter to hit it so that she can make it into her seat by the last bell.

“I’ll pick you up after run club!” I yelled after her.  “You’ll be fine in your jeans.  Love you!”

There was not time for my daughter to get upset.  She bolted across the street, down the block, and into the entrance of the school.  It was actually an ideal situation.  I didn’t have to deal with the moaning and groaning of her worrying how she will possibly run in jeans instead of sweatpants and her nice knit shirt instead of her long-sleeve thermal and sweatshirt.  There was no chance for her to ‘wa, wa, wa’ about how unlucky she is for having forgotten her good running shoes and tell me that she’ll probably get a blister from the shoes she has on.  It was just done.

I did an about-face and headed back home, without a second thought to the after-school running.  By 10am, I was debating whether to pack a quick bag and drop it off at school on the way back from dropping my little one at preschool. 

“No, I’m not going to do it,” I kept telling myself.  “This is good for her.”

My 4^th grader has had a hard time this year with organization and planning and scheduling.  First it was the homework…when to do which assignments during the week to meet her class deadlines and when to push it off until another day.  Next was how to function when getting home late from after-school activities, where she sacrifice some of her free time, family time, and homework time.  Now she’s working on finessing her morning routine so that she rises, takes care of her school preparations before eating and free-time, so that she’s always ready for her day.  My gut told me that this was a lesson for her in the last rung of her organization ladder.

I went on about my day, but by mid-afternoon, the freakin’ running bag entered my mind again!  Maybe I was being too much of a hard-ass and I should just throw her shoes and some sweats in a bag and drop them off in the office at school before the end of the day.  After all, she’s a good kid.  Competing in my head, though, ran a loop of a conversation I’d recently had with a school official regarding the high number of instances each day where parents drop forgotten items off at school for their children.  Lunchboxes, lunch money, gym clothes, homework, and projects….all things that their kids NEED to complete their day.  In reality, kids will scrounge off of someone else’s lunch, play volleyball in their Uggs, get a reduction in grade for late homework or request an extension.  In other words, it all works itself out.

Reminding myself of that, I decided to stick to my guns and drop the issue altogether.  My daughter of course made it through practice without a hitch, enjoyed her workout, and was only mildly annoyed at the fact that I had consciously decided not to bring her clothes to her in the middle of the day.  After thinking about it more, she said she completely understood and respected my decision and that it was a good lesson for her, but that she was still a little irritated by it.

Fine by me.  I’m her mom, not her fan club or girlfriend.  My job is to allow her to eventually figure things out on her own, experience consequences of actions, and see how the world really works.  The world works like this:  things don’t always go according to plan and sometimes you have to just deal with it.  She dealt, as did I.

Enough is Enough

“Twenty-twenty-twenty-four hours to go, I want to be sedated,” sang Jordan Catalano with his band Frozen Embryos, covering the Ramone’s classic.

It’s all that keeps looping through my brain.  I don’t want to do anymore.  I don’t want to process anymore.  I don’t want to take in any more information.  I just want to numb out.

I’m filled to the brim with tasks and deadlines and activities.  I want to empty the bucket and start afresh, as I know there’s no way humanly possible to finish all the things I have on my self-created plate. 

Finish unpacking, repair the damage the movers made to the building, congratulate the neighbor on her new baby, take out the window AC for the season, trim the hedges, coordinate new day for piano lessons, shred the outdated documents, unload the dishwasher, pay the bills, coordinate the repairs to the upstairs apartment, finish cleaning the basement, paint the dining room, write, find the holiday decorations, do bookwork, catch up on my class assignments, find a new stereo that still plays CD’s, fix the old stereo that plays LP’s, prepare for dinner with friends tomorrow, try on the new clothes I had my partner buy for me because I didn’t have time to look on my own, send out birthday cards, workout, finish my craft project, work a few hours for my actual job, and extend my support to an acquaintance recently diagnosed with cancer.

I have a habit of continually listing off all of the tasks I need to complete in my head, and sometimes aloud, every day, all day, and sometimes before I go to bed.  Inevitably the tasks work their way into my dreams as well.  I am in a constant state of agitation.  I can’t ever seem to just be in the moment these days.  I’m always leaning toward that next thing that needs to be done.  It’s a constant state of motion that keeps me from fully experiencing the information that I meet on a daily basis.  My daughter told me 2 days ago that she got a poem she was really proud of published on the school website.  I just remembered this moment that I never looked at it.  That same velocity pushes me towards making mistakes because I’m going too fast and physically failing and falling because I’m not even focusing on where I’m going.  I just know I have to get there.  The scrapes and bruises on my knees and shins never heal, as I keep re-injuring myself every few days when I trip or fall. 

“Hurry, hurry, hurry before I go insane.  I can’t control my fingers and I can’t control my brain.”

Why can’t I make it stop?  Why can’t I just sit and read the newspaper and drink a cup of coffee without thinking that if I get a subscription to the Trib, which I so enjoy reading, it will turn into an obligation to read it every day?  Why do I look at my steaming cup and think that I need to add coffee to my grocery list?  I don’t know if it’s sedation that I really want, or just for the spinning to stop.  I just want to slow the hell down. 

So why not?  Why can’t I slow down?  Who says I have to do all this and work so hard and efficiently to successfully function?  Is it my family?  My partner?  My boss?  My friends?

No one or thing puts any more pressure on me than I do.  I’ve been a list-maker since I was a kid, but the pressure I put on myself to actually cross of those tasks ebbs and flows not only with the seasons, but also with the situations I’m currently experiencing.  Every now and then, I can take a whole day and just do whatever comes my way.  Other days, when I’m behind the 8-ball, the pressure I put upon myself spills over to added pressure of my kids to do their “tasks.”  The crazy part is, everything that really needs done, always gets completed, whether by me or someone else.  The world doesn’t come to an end when some timeline is blown.

The birthday card didn’t get mailed and a month passes.  It’s too late to send a belated card, so I pick up the phone to call.  I haven’t physically spoken to my aunt in years, and we have a lovely 20-minute conversation that never would have been happened had I sent the card.

The packed boxes accumulate dust and when I return home on day from errands, they’ve miraculously been unpacked and cleared by my partner and the kids, who all feel great not only for being able to choose where stuff goes, but also for being able to help me.

The reading doesn’t get done before class, but the class covers the material so well, that when I do get around to reading the words on the page, they have a deeper meaning.

Enough is enough.  I don’t need sedation.  I just need to be Brian Krackow and just look in from the outside every now and then.  Maybe I should just sit down and watch a whole season of My So Called Life.  Maybe I’ll pencil that in for a week from Tuesday.