Gambles with Hmong

We don't have any normal family holiday traditions. You know what I mean. Things like the annual family snow golf game, a group reading of the Night Before Christmas, or cramming stockings with gag gifts. Heck, we don't even hang stockings. Nope. None of that happens in my family. It's hard enough to get my husband or son to help put up a tree. They couldn't be less interested.

The closest thing we have to an annual holiday tradition is spending Christmas morning at the local casino. While others are in church celebrating, my husband and I gather our gambling money (set aside for just such occasions) and drive downtown to make our monthly donation to the local Native American tribe.

If you've never gambled on Christmas Day let me describe the experience. The usual suspects are not there. No WASPS, no Baptists (do Baptists gamble?), no Episcopals either. There may be a Presbyterian or two, but they are hard to find. I'm sure the Unitarians are represented, but they must be hanging out in the buffet. Also missing are the ragtag riffraff that usually hog the 1 cent video poker games. The well-heeled who languish in the high stakes poker room and the $5 slots aren't there either. No sir. It's just us, a few Chinese (the lady who owns our local Chinese restaurant can always be found at the blackjack table) and almost every Hmong person who lives within shouting distance of our fair city. How do I know they are Hmong? I can't explain it but just like some people have "gaydar" I have "Hmongdar". I can (for reasons unclear to me) distinguish Hmong from Korean, from Chinese and Japanese. A gift I guess.

Hmong are skilled, fierce gamblers. They are in it to win. On days other than Christmas, my husband avoids tables with Hmong. It's not about prejudice, it's about giving yourself a fighting chance. It's also about being able to keep up with the Trangs. Their money flows (ours trickles). Serious, focused gamblers take no prisoners. They bet big. If you can't afford to lose you shouldn't go on Christmas. (Maybe you shouldn't ever go...)But on Christmas the rules change. He has to gamble at tables with the Hmong. Afterwards he grumbles.

I don't gamble at tables anymore. I won't play blackjack because I'm sure I will embarass myself. I don't add quickly. I can't figure out the cards fast enough to make good decisions.I can't count on always remembering that that damned Ace has two possible values. If you can't add and think (all while chewing gum), don't play Blackjack. This has now become part of my life philosophy.

I used to like Let It Ride but you can't put your elbows on the table and rest your head in your hands when you play this. Since I do not understand what resting my head in my hands has to do with screwing up the game, I no longer participate. My head is heavy because there is so much crap in it and my neck is weak...I need to rest my heavy head from time to time. Don't we all?

There was a time when I was SURE that Roulette was my game. Now, if you know anything about casino games, the odds for Roulette are TOTALLY with the house. You don't stand a flying freak of a chance to really win. It's a sucker's game. I loved it. (Big sucking sounds) I, like so many others, had a "system" that usually worked for me. No - it didn't involve statistically analyzing the frequency of the winning numbers. That would take math (see above paragraph). I bet small, spread out my minimum bets over a series of personally meaningful numbers and NEVER bet on a single number, always a combination. Slowly, over a period of time, I would accrue (big math word, "accrue")small winnings , which I would set aside. I only allowed myself to play with the money I brought. Eventually my money would double. I would quit and leave the table feeling smug.

If you play Roulette on Christmas, things change. Hmong bet BIG and they do it on single numbers. And damn it, they win. Big. Their enthusiasm and skill at this game would eventually convince me that I too should be betting single numbers. So I did. They won. I didn't. Merry Christmas.

When I was younger I didn't gamble. I had few discretionary funds. I did't like losing. And I'd have preferred a mink on my back than a monkey on my shoulder. (Who knew that one day it would be "ok" to have the monkey but to wear the mink would be unconscionable?) Gambling was a midlife acquired "hobby". I do it sparingly because I no longer win. In fact, I am not allowed to come near my husband or any of our friends when they are actively gambling. I am known, in my small circle of friends, as "The Cooler". My mere presence disrupts the positive energy that people are experiencing when on a hot winning streak. My energy trumps theirs. I am a pariah. While this is not something I am proud of, I will tell you that I have used it to my financial advantage. I make them give me money to stay away from them. I can now leave the Casino with a pocketful of cash without once touching a machine. I am golden this way. I am always a winner.

I Don't

There are a lot of things I don't do. I don't do some of them for darn good reasons. The others, well, maybe my reasons are weaker, but they're still MY reasons.

As a rule, I don't send Christmas cards. I don't like them. I'm not even sure I like getting them because there is always the possibility that one of them will contain the dreaded Christmas Letter. I hate Christmas letters. Apparently they fill someone's need to boast, brag and generally bore me to tears with the sheer` perfection of their life. Honestly, do I really care that John and Mary went Spring skiing in Vail? Or that little Jessica won the school spelling bee? I don't even know little Jessica! If people were really honest in those letters they would tell you how bored they are, or how crappy their job is or how lazy their kids are. Now that would be fun to read. One year in a burst of madness I wrote a Christmas letter. And I mean A Christmas letter. I sent it to my friend Terri because she was the only person who would appreciate my candor. I was careful to frame everything in the same positive, chipper language that is found in the Christmas letters I've received. I remember talking about all our family adventures at the local jail where my son was languishing for a recent brush with the cops and marijuana. (Oh those crazy, fun-loving cops!!) I talked about the joy I was experiencing while sailing through the latest corporate reorganization at the hospital where I worked and how cool it was that Administration was going to make us re-apply for our jobs!!. I emphasized the enormous pleasure I was getting from knowing how much my Mom was enjoying her romp through AlzheimersLand where she had made a new BFF - her reflection in the mirror. Yes, it was a real knee slapper. My audience of one truly enjoyed it.

I don't give dinner parties. I don't like entertaining. It freaks me out. What if I screw up dinner? What if the Flan flops, or the appetizers aren't? Oh no, that is way too much pressure. But, I will gladly, and thankfully attend a dinner party at YOUR house where all I have to do is bring wine and eat.

I don't swim. I have a cellular fear of drowning...proof positive that in a former life I drowned. I like to look at water. I like to drink water. I love showers. But do not expect me to slip the bonds of dry land and enjoy the pool - or the ocean for that matter. I cannot walk on water (not yet anyway). I may be made of mostly water but this is of no consequence. I don't stand anywhere near the side of a pool because you will push me in and think it's funny. I will freak out and never speak to you again. I will spend the rest of my life looking for ways to pay you back.

I do not fund raise. I will not sell you cookies or chocolate, or popcorn, or cheap wrapping paper. I will not ask you to give to my favorite charity. When faced with the prospect of asking anyone for anything I will instead, shoulder the financial burden myself. When my son was little I bought so many chocolate bars and tins of popcorn that there is a possibility that some still exist in the bowels of my basement freezer. On the other hand, I will always buy whatever you are selling because I have trouble saying 'no'.

I do not eat anything that is still outwardly intact...or that I once knew. A stuffed trout with it's head still on, that stares back at me with rheumy, dead, eyes is not on my gastronomical menu. Ditto for crayfish, dungeness crab, or (heaven forbid) a pig that has been roasting on a spit all day. I think pig roasts are repulsive. How would you like to end your life with a metal rod shoved up your butt spining slowly over an open fire pit while onlookers drool? Ugh. Another "don't" is duck. As a child I owned (at various times) ducks. Every Easter my Grandmother would buy me a duckling...it was often pink, purple or green because it was dyed to make it more appealing (go figure). Back then, we didn't know any better and you could pick these things up at Woolworth's for a buck. When the duckling got too big, off it would go to a farm until the next year when the new duckling would arrive courtesy of the Easter Bunny. I never knew that people ATE duck until I was an adult. The first time I encountered a roasted duck I ran from the table. The next time it was simply served to me (looked like chicken) and after finding out what I was eating I promptly barfed. No duck, no way. You get the picture.

I don't bake. Nuh uh. Baking requires one's full attention. Ingredients must be measured precisely. Cooking time is finite. Even bumping the stove can mess something up. Way too much attention to detail for my taste. I'm the kind of person who doesn't know (or care to know) the difference between baking powder and baking soda. I'm told there is a big difference. I don't really want to find out. I often give my friends recipes for things I wish I wanted to bake. Sometimes they actually bake it for me. Not often enough, though. Too bad. I might make "loves to bake" a requirement for my next BFF.

Well, that's a partial list of my don'ts. There are many more. Being older allows me to be quirkier than I was at say, twenty five. At twenty-five I might have done some of this to make you like me. Now, if you don't like me, that's your problem. I don't need anyone's approval to be me. Really, I don't.

Got Soul Mate?

Somewhere along the line someone decided that we all have "soul mates". A soul mate is the ONE person with whom we have a deep connection, someone we are fated to be with, someone who completes us. Have you found yours? How's that working for you?

It's been my experience that whomever we are dating, whomever we are currently in love with is the person we refer to as our soul mate. When this relationship ends or drags on and becomes mundane and boring, we re-consider and search, yet again, for that one individual we were meant to be with.

I personally have had several people whom I believed (at the time) to be my predestined other half. I married a few of them and dated the others. As for that feeling of "completeness", it lasted a few years each and every time. From this I have concluded that soul mates are no more viable than the Prince Charmings in the fairy tales. Beauty found her soul mate in a Beast of a man (Aren't they all, in the end I mean?) Cinderella found her soul mate (or is that sole mate) when a good looking guy slipped a breakable shoe on her delicate little foot. Of course there is always the Governor of South Carolina who found his soul mate on the Argentine Applachian Trail. Ever wonder how these stories played out (or will play out). Betcha that once the drama is over and the day to day stuff of life takes over, the fairy tale ending changes....Real life isn't a Fairy Tale....I am so cynical.

A few years ago in Arkansas, some avid birdwatchers, long on a quest for the elusive and possibly extinct Ivory Billed Woodpecker, were convinced they had located the bird. People came from all over to help search and although they claim to have not only spotted but filmed the bird, conclusive evidence has not been found. And still they search. Soul-mate hunters are no different. While it is hard to produce conclusive evidence of the Ivory Billed Husband/Mate a legion of women still believe He exists. Midlife does not dampen the soul-mate quest. For some women I know midlife only intensifies the search. After all, time is short. If he IS out there the need to find him drives some women to the brink.

For a few of my friends, the need to believe that they have snagged Mr.Wonderful has blinded them to any flaws or cracks in their mates' veneers. The need to convince themselves that He is The One meant only for Them borders on hysteria. The quest to have the perfect marriage overwhelms any grasp on reality. And then, years later, when he turns out to be Mr. Not-So-Wonderful their fantasy worlds are shattered. And they resume the search for the elusive soul-mate. Why do this to yourself????

I have a few friends/acquaintances who swear they are married to their soulmates. Good for them. I, an astute observer of reality and finder of facts, know that some of these perfect relationships have deep flaws. No one is perfect. Souls wear out. Souls have holes.

And what about mature men? Quick name five men whom you know who are searching for their soul-mates...okay, then name two. Difficult? Yep. In general men don't harbor the same illusions as women. They appear to have fewer needs and fewer expectations. They are far more pragmatic and far less likely to be disappointed. Men are basically simple. Once they're done screwing their brains out and decide to settle down, they look for someone they love, might want to have kids with someday and who won't embarass them in front of their friends. A few might even look for someone they can actually talk to. (Don't count on this) Simple wants for simple creatures. "Honey, bring me another beer", seems to meet most of their relationship needs. (Now that I think about it, maybe this is why men die sooner. No fire in the belly, just beer)

So what's a woman to do? Give up? Naw, that would be foolish. Giving up is wrong; getting real is highly recommended. We're not teenagers. We know by now that "happy endings" means something totally different than being swept off our feet and riding into the sunset. We know there is a second act. At 40+ it might be wise to concentrate on the second act and write off the first act to fairy tales and little girl fantasies. The second act is what matters. The second act is real.

As the curtain rises on the second act women are more grounded. We have a much better idea of who we are and who we want to become. To accomplish our "becoming" we need a strong partner. A good friend. A person who finds joy in watching us (shall I say it?) self-actualize. A person who is always there when we need him and who loves us with morning breath and finds us beautiful even with a saggy tummy and cottage cheese thighs. Of course, it doesn't hurt if this person still makes our toes curl and yell out for God when we make love. (But even if he doesn't, there is something to be said for quiet, familiar and cozy love-making.)

The man in the second act is probably the closest thing a woman will find to approximate an authentic soul mate (as opposed to a fantasy one). After all, He's still here and still involved. He knows us. We can still count on him and he on us. Our partnership is strong. If all this exists after the passion and intensity has waned, then maybe, just maybe, this is what we should be thankful for.
If we want to call this guy a soul mate, then have at it. They are only words. We give them meaning. Words don't hold a relationship together, love does.

Of course, you can always get a dog.

Checking Your Baggage

You can't reach midlife (or beyond) without some baggage. Baggage is different than luggage. Luggage is the stuff you cram 8 weeks of wardrobe changes into and then try to stuff in the overhead compartment. Baggage is something that you drag with you and is crammed into your psyche. Luggage has wheels and a handle. Baggage affixes itself to you and weighs you down. Luggage is full of wonderful things that you love. Baggage is full of crap that you don't love...or even like. Luggage is something you choose and then buy. Baggage you inherit from your life experiences.
You can lose your luggage; you can only hope to lose your baggage.

Is it true that our baggage makes us who we are? If this is true (and sadly, it probably is)does that make us the embodiment of Tramp Art? Something decorative, fashioned from bits and pieces of cast off and broken stuff, and held together with glue? Maybe. But you know what, that ain't so bad. If we are covered with the flotsam and jetsom of our lives then we can be assured of one thing - there is no one like us anywhere on the earth. We are amazingly unique...sometimes outrageous, often gaudy...but definately one-of-a-kind. I can live with that.

Consider the image of Tramp Art. This form of folk art was born in the late 19th century and continued through the 1940's. The tramps (not to be confused with sluts or loose women) were, in essence, folk artists who created incredible, although often gaudy, carvings, boxes and whatnots from discarded wood and found objects. Many were intracately carved and decorated. The myth around Tramp Art is that the objects they made were sold primarily to get money to eat. Actually, many of these folks were artists and they simply liked to make stuff.

No one wants to buy our baggage. Heck, no one really wants to hear about it. Yet we willingly haul it out at every opportunity we have. Why do we do that? Does it provide an excuse for our inexcusable behavior? Is it proof to others that we are survivors? I don't know about you but I am tired of being trapped in a room full of other people's inner stuff. I'm sorry your Mother sucked. Get over it! I feel your pain when you tell me about your sad, lonely childhood..but honey, that was fifty years ago! What has happened in the intervening years? Yes, your high school boyfriend broke your heart, but you were sixteen!!! You know what I'm talking about. We tend to wear our baggage like badges of honor. We let our baggage tell our story. Really? Do you want your baggage to be your story? I sure hope not.

As you work on your reinvention, consider jettisoning the baggage that weighs you down. Go see a therapist who can help you. Do something. Re-write the story of the last half of your life. Think how much lighter you will feel.

And the Inner Cougar Never Rests

We've all heard about it. Older women with younger men are "cougars". Older men with younger women are "dirty old men". This is probably the only time that label language has favored women. It's about time.

We're all familiar with our generation's cougar role models. I mean, who among us didn't feel just a twinge of wistfulness when Demi snagged Ashton. Not that Ashton is all that appealing, but still, there was that moment of "How the heck did she do that?". Not "why did she do that" - just "how". Imagine for a moment that Gilles Marini or one of the men's cologne models thinks you're hot. That would be a defining moment. Affirmation that we still 'have it'.Or that we finally "have it". I think, I always want to believe I 'have it'....I just have trouble encountering younger men who see it.

When do women stop hoping to be attractive to men? I'll bet the answer is 'never'. I have excellent reasons to think this way. I spend my mornings in a retirement complex where the pickings are few,the women are hungry, and the hunt never ends.

In the assisted living section of the retirement community, residents are assigned to specific dining tables. Someone in his or her infinite lack of wisdom decided that ladies should sit with ladies and gentlemen with gentlemen. Testosterone here, estrogen there. How tidy.

The lady I take care of is almost 96. She has trouble seeing, walking and generally has difficulty with just about everything. But, the most amazing thing happens when she goes to the dining room. No matter how sick or how weak she feels, she always makes a point to flirt with the men. When a gentleman walks through the dining area she calls out "Good evening Doctor.", "Hello Frank." "Good afternoon Bill." It is amazing to watch. It is amazing in several ways. One, she never calls out to other women. (She cannot remember the names of her tablemates.) Two, she is normally quiet and soft spoken. Seeing a man appears to energize her, helping her to produce a loud, strong, and healthy voice while drawing from her a memory for names that is absent in other contexts.She always remembers the men's names. My favorite moment usually occurs after lunch. I help her from the table and guide her to her walker. She insists on leaving the dining room standing up. As we approach the table of men she pulls herself as upright as possible, navigates the walker to the men's table and in a loud, hearty voice says, "Hello gentlemen.(Kind of like Mae West) Have a nice day!" From there she walks a few more feet and then sits down on her walker seat for me to wheel her back to her apartment.

In a retirement community men are scarce. Walking and talking men are more scarce. Eligible men with potential to be a companion are beyond scarce; they are rare. Several weeks ago a new female resident, Mary, moved in. She was, of course, seated at a table of all women. Mary is energetic, sharp, active, opinionated, and totally mobile. The ladies at her table didn't warm up to her. There was a lot of bickering. And then came a new resident, Richard. Richard is a handsome man, probably in his eighties, He too is upright and mobile. Beyond that he is conversant, rich and - eligible. Mary immediately set out to claim him. I've never seen anyone move as quickly or as expertly as she did. She stood up from her table and announced that she was "moving". With that she picked up her purse and her plate and plopped herself down at Richard's table. She claimed him. She owns him. And that, as they say, was that.

Several years ago my ex-mother-in-law was a resident of this complex. She was 80, suffering from some form of dementia, and totally unaware of her surroundings. She had that "pound puppy" hangdog look. Rarely smiled. Cared little about her appearance and only seemed to come alive when someone brought chocolate. (They say that hearing is the last sense to go...I don't agree...love for chocolate is the last!) She shuffled around in the locked environment and failed to engage in any type of interaction. It was sad. And then she found a boyfriend.

I don't know exactly how they found each other. (He did look a bit like her deceased husband.) He was younger and equally as 'out of it' as she was. But, between them there were sparks. They held hands. Laughed. Talked total nonsense to each other. It was not unusual to see them hug or for him to place a large protective hand on her shoulder. They were together in almost every sense of the word. He belonged to her. And she to him. (And his wife, who had an apartment in Independent Living, did not seem to mind.) This went on for weeks. I watched as my ex mother-in-law regained her spirit, appeared to be joyful and was deeply engaged with her new boytoy. Of course, it didn't last. Dementia is relentless and slowly takes everything away. Eventually they drifted apart. She returned to her sadness and he to his netherworld. BUT they had had their moment. Older woman, younger man and energetic love!

Maybe that's why women find younger men attractive. The old guys, well, let's face it girls, they kind of build nests in their Lazy Boys and fade away. Younger men are active, vital and want to have fun. Older women are active, vital, and want someone to have fun with. Who to choose? Old guy gathering dust in the Lazy Boy or Younger guy willing to go white water rafting or climb Mt. Kilamanjaro with you. Hmmmm. Tough choice. Not.

Women Rule...Men Drool

Call me sexist. I don't care. But, from where I sit, the evidence is plentiful. Women get more interesting and vital as they age; men become overripe and rot.

Case in point. My husband "retired" a year ago at age 62. Other than a short term part-time job last Christmas, a few weeks of consulting he did for a friend, and a request from his former employer to "help out" for awhile, he doesn't do much. Not much at all. Oh sure, in the summer he golfed and fished. That was great. But we live in Wisconsin and the golf and fishing season is over in the blink of an eye. He seems content to wake up early, feed the dogs, make coffee, nibble incessantly, and read and watch TV (usually at the same time). (Did I mention gain weight?) Oh, in case I forget, he also naps. There is the morning nap. The afternoon nap. And the nap before bedtime. He also makes an occasional foray to the bathroom, the computer,or the laundry room to switch loads. His big adventure is going to the library to get more books.

Now I'm all about the "zen" life. There is a lot to be said for just chilling and living with diminished stress. But I see the zen life as a phase - something you do while the Universe is preparing to send you Further Life Instructions. But my husband is not in a phase. This is where he is - forever. He has no plans to do anything. He is content. I hate content!!! I don't get it! And I am not alone...

"Oh my god!' yelled my friend, "all my husband does is go to work, come home, nap, read and watch TV. I can't stand it! We used to DO things together! What happened?" Another friend - "My husband isn't any fun anymore. He's too young to be so old!"

Many women also find themselve re-sexualized after 40. They look for more adventure in bed. Do men? Not from what I hear - (or at least not at home). "My sex life is sooooo boring. Same old thing. It's like a dance routine. I know all the steps. And my husband seems perfectly content with this!!!," confided a friend of mine. I know one woman who actually gave her husband clear, simple instructions about what turned her on. Like a good man, he followed the instructions. Once. Next time, it was the old routine. What's a girl to do?

I believe I can conclude that men are content with very little. They want their lives to run smoothly. They like things the way they are. Women, on the other hand are like hives that just want to break out! Whether it is sexual, recreational, job-related or whatever - we crave newness - while living with men who just like to keep on keeping on. It's a wonder any marriage lasts.

So, how does this happen? Are the men in our lives simply worn out from all those years of "providing"? Doubt it. That excuse would have worked 40 years ago...but today, women work. Many bring home half of the family income, sometimes more. AND while we do this we hold down several other jobs - Mom, housekeeper,meal planner and cook, time and appointment manager and, my personal favorite, social director. (In my house we would never go anywhere or do anything if I stopped making plans for us) Objectively speaking, we should be the ones who lie around and rest-up after the kids are gone or we retire. But we don't. We catch a second (sometimes a third) wind and blaze new paths, conquer new territories, change our look, find new friends (and keep the old ones, of course)learn new skills and anything else that strikes our fancy. Our men, not so much.

I realize there are exceptions to the "men get old faster" theory. There are always exceptions. But I don't see magazine stories extolling the adventures of many men who reinvent themselves. Those who do, often do it with their wives.

Girls, we fought hard for equality. As I see it, if we were to be equal to our men at this point in our lives, we would have to slide down the ladder a few pegs. We are already superior. We have more energy, more drive and more things to achieve after 40. As they seem to whither, we bloom and flower.

I used to wonder what older women found appealing about dating (or playing) with younger men. Now I think I get it. This may mean that Cher and Demi are my heroes now. They figured all this out long ago.

Journal journal, where the hell is my journal?

I don't journal. I've tried. I must have 5 or 6 absolutely gorgeous blank books...given by friends because I look like the kind of person who journals. I gotta do something about my looks, I guess.

Journaling frustrates me on so many levels. Level one - it's boring. My life and my thoughts are not that interesting and I cannot come up with enough good reasons to replicate it on paper. Who would read it? Not me. And I certainly don't want anyone I know to find it and read it after I'm gone. I wouldn't be able to defend myself! Or explain myself. When my ex-mother-in-law died we found at least ten years worth of journals. We struggled with what to do with them. Eventually we tossed them. I know, that's awful, but what the heck were we going to do with them? They didn't contain many surprises. No shocking revalations. Just a life, an ordinary life.

The level two problem with journaling is my outrageous need to write it right. I could never just let my thoughts flow freely and then close the book. I would edit, and re-edit, and wonder if it was 'good'. Journaling gives me performance anxiety. For me, journaling is a performance. I think that defeats the purpose of keeping a journal.

At level three is the issue of catharsis. Writing in a journal is alleged to give us a place where we can safely and privately dump our thoughts, reflections and feelings.To freely unburden ourselves. Personally, I'd rather call a friend and bore her to tears. Or talk to a therapist and bore her to tears. It's faster. I like fast. I'm a drive-thru kind of person...I don't have the time or inclination to go inside.

And look at how much time is involved in the journaling ritual! I am not a ritual person. Finding the time, place and right moment to put pen to paper- every single day - sound like being stuck in a bad job. Sounds like working on an assembly line. In fact, I'd rather work on an assembly line than write in a journal every day. Lets face it - I don't write in this blog everyday.

And speaking of this blog - you might argue that blogging is a form of journaling. Maybe it is. But, that brings me back to the fear of having someone actually read what I write. No one I know has the web address for this blog. Anyone who has read it came upon it by accident- usually compliments of Google. When they tell me they've read parts of it, I panic. Did they like it? Was it interesting? Did anything make them laugh? Blah blah blah. I could NOT take that level of paranoia every single day.

A lot of books and articles about surviving midlife recommend journaling. I don't know why. I think that there are special kinds of people who can do this and do it productively. I, clearly, am not one of those people. I like telling my stories. I'm a much better "teller" than diary-keeper. oops, did I say 'diary'. Well yes I did. These things used to be called diaries. I wonder why that changed? Does "journal" sound more sophisticated? Not to me. To me it actually sounds pretentious. It ranks right up there with "parenting" (a word that used to be a noun before it became a verb)and "scrapbooking (another noun turned verb).

So "journal" if you can or if you must. It is not a critical part of reinventing yourself. A great facial, some professionally applied makeup and a strawberry margarita will work even better.

Nothing to Prove....at last

Most of our lives are spent trying to prove something to someone...or something to ourselves. Some of us set out to be the best Mom (oops I blew that one) or the best social worker or the most incredible cook. We look for accolades, job advancements, admiration from friends and family..whatever turns our crank. Our need to prove something drives us to work too hard, or too late, or too much. It's exhausting.

And then...as if by some magical spell, we stop. Or at least I did. In an epiphanous moment I realized that I no longer HAD to prove anything to anyone. It neither mattered (if it ever did matter) nor held a place of prominence in my life. I was suddenly free from all the BS I had heaped upon myself. I could breathe.

Not having to prove something gives you freedom to do whatever you want...even if you don't want to do anything. It's all okay. And I really believe that THIS is the key to successful reinvention.

I have reinvented myself into an Inert Being. My struggle to allow myself to simply drift through my life has been, in many ways, the hardest thing I've ever done. When people ask me what I "do", I usually say, "Nothing." And then I smile. It's kind of off-putting. I kind of like the way it makes people squirm. I am basically evil.

Now don't get the impression that I sit all day and stare at a wall. If I did that I'd be an inpatient at the local funny farm. No, I actually do things, but they aren't "meaningful" or "productive" in the sense that they used to be. I work part time as a caregiver, occasionally volunteer for a Hospice, and I have developed specialized skills in the area of puttering. I clean out closets, try out different crafts, waste time on Facebook,shop aimlessly, cook, and clean. It's a yawn. But it's MY yawn and I don't make excuses for it.

I've stopped visiting websites that instruct women on starting new careers (been there, done that, didn't work out). I just flow with the day. But, the best part is, I no longer battle with the "shoulds" and "have-tos" of a few short months ago. I don't care what I "should" do and, as for the "have-tos", who says I have to? Certainly not me. I have less and less guilt about this. It's very Zen.

I'm not sure I will stay this way forever. I will eventually get bored or restless because it is my nature. But, I believe that sitting on the tarmac like a jet waiting for clearance to take-off is a good thing. There is plenty of quiet time for inspiration...maybe even revelation. I may actually find out what it is that interests me, that fires me up. This will happen while I do nothing. I know it will. Just watch me.

Now You See Me...Now You Don't

Have you ever considered how deeply your ego is wrapped up in your job? Well, neither did I – until I began to reinvent myself. I quickly found that if you don't choose to do something awesome, exciting, sexy or daring you begin to be invisible. You fade quietly into the background until you're gone. I believe this is especially true for women.

It's important to know this. It might impact what you choose to do next. Then again, if your ego is strong and totally intact, it may not bother you at all. It bothered me when it began; it bothers me today.

Fading away appears to have a lot to do with social status. If you are what you do – you'd better be doing something people admire or covet. In my former life as a hospital marketing director others were covetous of my job and my success. They didn't care that I was miserable, heck I didn't care that I was miserable! I made good money, had great benefits, a modicum of power and prestige and, most importantly, a strong professional identity. When I quit I had none of that. But, being a good marketer I was able to re-package myself as 'new and improving'. I was still cool…but only among my friends.

While fine tuning my 'improvement mode' I engaged in a number of 'lesser;' jobs. You know what I mean. The kinds of jobs that don't require degrees or significant experience. I accepted these jobs as part of my reinvention experiment. (Or at least that’s what I told people). This is when I discovered that although your friends might think that what you are doing is cool, others (who do not know you) just don't see it that way.

I took service jobs – the kind of positions that require you to help other people. Sounds nice. What I did not realize was that many'other people' simply do not view service workers as people of any significant substance. Case in point: my brief career as an esthetician. While I have covered this ill-fated experiment in a previous blog entry, I failed to mention that one of my biggest problems with the job was the way I was treated by customers. Oh, they were nice. But they were also condescending. I, as a person, did not exist. My sole purpose was to cater to their whims. I am not good at catering. I got the sense early in that career that my customers assumed I was dumb and uneducated. I cannot provide examples of this because it was never that blatant. But it was there. How do I know this? Because every time I had an opportunity to share stories with my clients, I would talk about my former life in health care. And then everything would change. Right before my eyes. Invisible one minute; visible the next. How they spoke to me and the things they shared with me changed too. I was, once again, one of them. Go figure.

This pattern has continued. I experienced it in my brief (notice how my careers are brief) stint as a bridal consultant and as a receptionist in my friend's dental office. Is it a phenomenon of the wealthy area in which I live or is it just human nature to look down on people whom we think are less educated? Or do we all just need to think we are better than someone else?

Five years ago, while in grad school, I took a job as a caregiver for a 90 year old woman. I never meant to stay with her for five years, but I have. I simply love her. When I tell people that I am a caregiver most just say, "Oh.". That's all. "Oh". I can read a lot into "Oh." When I take her to the doctors the nurses will inevitably ask, "Are you her daughter?". "No, I'm her caregiver."…."Oh" and then, in most cases, they never speak to me directly again. I become invisible. It's become so bad that I no longer tell anyone what I'm doing. I talk about my part-time market research work but rarely mention the caregiving. I am, I guess, as bad as the people I'm talking about. I have let their opinions of what I do color my opinion of what I do. Shame on me.

There are a lot of 'service professionals' with amazing backgrounds. I have been massaged by a woman with a PhD in History, had my computer fixed by a man who was the former CEO of a large company, and been taken on a tour of Italy by a woman with a doctorate in languages. These weren't fall back jobs - these were jobs they chose. They all appeared to be happy with their choices. However, now that I think about it, I am reminded that they too found a need to tell me what they used to do. Makes me more sure that my experience is fairly common. Sad, but common.

If you need others to approve or envy or be awestruck by what you do – then do not go into service work. No matter how fulfilling it may be – you have to be able to weather the disapproval of others. I wish I were better at this. But I'm not. So, when people ask I often say, "I'm a free lance market researcher with a Masters in Counseling. I also help out an elderly lady in the mornings. It's a job I started in grad school and it's fun."

Dressing for regress

We were drawn to the store by the window display. Coaxed inside by the "to die for" jeans. Like lemmings to the sea, the inner store displays pulled us in further. We were in Wonderland.

The most over-used and commonly heard word while women shop is "cute". "Oh that's so cute!", "That looks so cute on you!" "Did you see this cute bag?" I am just as guilty as all my sisters for using this word. Even though I hate it. Let's face it, a $400 handbag is not 'cute', it's expensive. But on this day, in this store, we were in the Land of Cute.

Like inmates on a day-pass we flitted crazily from rack to rack, and sale rack to sale rack. Adorable t-shirts, amazing tunics, great pants, and shelves of leggings in every possible pattern . We eventually bypassed the leggings, admitting that maybe we were too old to indulge in the trend this time around. My mother used to tell me that it is wonderful when something you wore twenty years ago comes back into fashion. But, she would caution, when it comes back for the third time you are too old for it. Sigh.

On that day, we were on a mission to find trendy clothes that were appropriate (grrr) for more mature women. Things that could be worn to work or out to dinner. Nothing that looked boxy, boring or flowing like a Bea Arthur outfit. Something a bit more exciting than Ann Taylor Loft or Liz (yawn) Claiborne. We loaded our arms with things we just 'had to try on for the fun of it' and headed for the dressing rooms.

The young lady who unlocked our fitting rooms was, at most, 17. I remember thinking, 'I could be her grandmother.' However depressing this thought might have been, I pushed on. My friend and I would talk to each other from behind the locked doors of our fitting rooms. "Do you have it on?" one of us would ask. The tone of the answer would determine whether we would get to see "it" on each other. "Yea," my friend answered, ""I'm not sure...". "Let me see!" I demanded. And one or the other of us would pop a head outside the room, scan the area for others who might see us, and slowly come out. The routine is the same no matter who is trying an item on. This is pretty much where our shopping similarities end.

I have a few basic criteria for choosing my clothes: price, style, fit and price. (I'm thrifty). Clearly price is important. "Fit" is even more important. I don't want to hem, tuck, or have to adjust. A bargain is not a bargain if you have to have it altered. How it looks matters...if I think it needs a jacket, a necklace or some other accessory - then it's wrong for me. I love accessories (though I don't wear many)but if I NEED accessories, then there is something intrinsically wrong with the item. (In my twisted head). My friend sees this process differently. She sees everything and I mean everything. She cannot try on a piece of clothing without checking her makeup and fingering her hair. She even does this little thing with her lips where she looks like she's about to kiss something. It never fails to make me laugh. The clothing almost always seems secondary to the whole picture. And she imagines almost everything with accessories.

On this particular day, we struggled with sizes...'small', 'medium' and 'large' were really 'smaller,' 'a bit bigger', and 'allows you to breathe'. We adjusted. Once the first batch of clothing was tried on, we went back for more. I had zeroed in on a t-shirt and was debating a pair of skinny jeans (YES you heard me, skinny jeans..) My friend was fixated on some "cute" tops she would wear under jackets. Then suddenly, as if a light had magically been shone upon us, my friend froze, looked up, and then lowered her eyes and head. In a small, whispery voice she leaned into me and said, "The average age of the people shopping in here is 12." I looked around. She was right. "Well, " I reasoned after a few nanoseconds of deep thought, "we could always say we were shopping for our grandaughters". Feeling "oh so clever" we continued to shop.

The problem with shopping when you're over 45 or 50 is twofold. First, few designers design for women over 45. Second, those who do consider designing for older women produce unexciting, and mostly unflattering garments that can be purchased on the Shopping Network in an array of fashion colors. The trends and the energy are directed to the kids...and we have the money. It's as if Fifth Avenue would simply like us to fade into the background and not be noticed. Well, screw that. I want to be seen. I want to be stylish without being ridiculous. I want the stores and departments I shop in (or am supposed to shop in ) to be merchandised in ways that are fun and exciting. I am not dead. I am not planning on dying any too soon. I would like an adult wardrobe that is stylish and(ahem) appropriate. Oh yea, and affordable.

So, I will buy the fashion basics in the dull places - but I will also continue stalking Forever Twenty-One and Charlotte Russe because they have cool stuff!!!! I'll have to count on my own style-sense to keep me from going too far. As for those 'skinny jeans' I mentioned earlier - I look really good in them and I wear them proudly!

Empty the nest if you can

If you are in midlife and have adult children you are in one of three places. You are either grieving your losses (the kids are gone), glorying in your new found freedom or,like me, wondering how in the hell you can get your kid to leave home.

I came to parenting late. After years of embracing my mother's philosophy that "children ruin your life" I had a mid-thirties epiphany in which I awakened one day and decided I wanted to be a Mom. Maybe it was something I ate. Who knows? At any rate it was what I wanted. And I don't even like children.

Now, my husband did not want kids. He had been very clear about that. So, my new-found desire to add one more person to the earth was both a shock and an annoyance to him. We fought. We struggled. I threatened to leave. He caved. (I'm really good at getting my way). Nothing happened. My periods came as regularly as the students who show up at my door every fall selling Christmas wreaths. We tried hormones and we both gained weight. We tried artificial insemination using his sperm, and this proved as effective as speed dating. Then we got tested. I was fine. He was not. His count was somewhat short of the million-sperm march. Those little tadpoles who were present were disabled. They swam upside down and backwards. The only thing that works upside down and backwards is a slide inserted into a slide projector. For my husband, the revelation of his infertility was a "sign" that we should not be parents. To me, it was a reason to dig in harder. We would adopt, I declared. And that was that.

Two years later the most gorgeous little twenty-two month old Korean boy was guided off a Northwest flight from Seoul and into my arms. I was thirty-six years old and the happiest person on earth. At least for awhile.

In the twenty three years that my son has been in my life I have seen the inside of more psychologist offices than I can count. Ditto that for lawyers, courtrooms, principals' offices and juvenile justice facilities. It has been a wild and not-much-fun ride punctuated with moments of joy that quickly come and go. He has been diagnosed with nearly every disorder one can find in the DSM-V. At first it was the common default diagnosis of ADD. After that other professionals added Borderline Personality Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Narcissism and finally Attachment Disorder. In the end only the 'attachment disorder" fit. By then he was a known character in our town...the police knew him and so did the judges. He was the "go to " guy for drugs.

Since this blog post is not about the misery of living with a challenging child, I will spare the details. The point is that almost every parent goes through rough patches. I had a decade and more of rough patches. I was so sure I could fix him...save him from himself. But nothing worked. Tough love was laughable with him. Consequences were inconsequential. He was a child of extreme impulse; he lived only in the moment. I was a MOM with guilt. There is no reason for this guilt, of course. I wasn't my gene pool (That's what I used to tell my friends when I tried to shrug off his behavior).

My son has been thrown out of the house several times. I always relent and let him come back - especially when he has no options. I cannot sleep if he is homeless. I wish I could. He goes through good spells and is a joy to have around. And then he screws up...or breaks a rule or two...and the bad stuff begins. The longest he has been gone was nearly 6 months. It was heaven!!! If he is not around me then I do not know what he is doing. And that's great. But, when he is under my nose I revert to mining his room for drugs, monitoring his coming and going, checking out his friends, and worrying when he will lose this job. At my age this is no way to live!

We are nearing the end of September. On October 1st he must either cough up rent or move out. We'll see. I WANT HIM TO GO!!!!! That must sound awful. Too bad. I want my life back. I deserve my life back. Hell, I don't even remember what my life is. I think I have allowed all this to affect my "reinvention"...he is so distracting. (Or at least it has provided a good excuse)

Reverting to being a 'mommy' is common. It happens to my friends when their kids visit. It annoys the kids and the Moms seem unable to stop. But their kids LEAVE. They don't know how lucky they are...

I think my Mom was right....Maybe I shoulda listened.

Where am I?

For reasons unclear to me...I have not posted here for over 6 months. No particular reason. Just livin' my life and hoping for something to change. Not much has. And that's okay.

So I will start again. Tomorrow (or maybe tonite).

No MORE Success Stories Please

So - I received the March 2009 issue of MORE magazine. If you aren't a regular reader or if you haven't leafed through a copy in the Doctor's office (oh wait - those magazines are ten years old...sorry) let me explain that this magazine is targeted to women over forty. It's hip, trendy and features a lot of lovely, real women (and some famous women) wearing age appropriate clothing and doing age appropriate things. This is the only magazine I know of for midlife women. (The AARP magazine doesn't count).

MORE devotes pages of every issue to women who have successfully reinvented themselves. If, like me, you are in the process of a life makeover, these features can inspire you. They can also be downright discouraging. Now I fully understand that no one wants to read about women who try and fail. But constant exposure to unmitigated success stories is depressing - especially if your story isn't quite as inspirational or noteworthy.

In the March issue we meet four "risk-taking" women who shed the vestiges of their former lives and careers, tried something new and different, and made tons of money. We are introduced to a woman who went from flight attendant to entrepreneur, another who segued from musician to CEO, an executive secretary who became a publicist, and a psychotherapist (hey wait, that's what I wanted to do!!!) to a successful real estate broker (kind of hard to imagine that in this economy).

Rather than be irritated by these Cinderella stories, this month I decided to read them for hints, clues, insight into what I'm failing to do. So I sifted through each case history, keeping in mind my own shortcomings and looking for story elements I could relate to.

As i see it, one of my problems is my lack of a clear cut vision or dream. Some days I still want to complete my hours and get my therapist license. Some days I think that I should start my own business (but I have no idea what that would be). Other days I think I should forgo earning any money and throw myself into meaningful volunteerism. In other words - I still do not know what I want (which is probably why I don't have it). With this in mind, I focused on the dreams or visions these women had.

Amazingly enough the woman who transitioned from flight attendant to entrepreneur didn't really have a vision or a particular goal. (Okay, I could relate to this) But she did have a dream - literally - she went to bed one night and dreamed about a key chain (I personally would rather dream about Antonio Banderas). She got up the next morning and made a "rough model" of it. She conjured up a clever name, had a prototype made and set out to sell it to distributors. No one wanted to buy it because she wasn't part of a larger company. Undaunted, she enlisted her friends to help her sell the key chains. She lived and breathed these gizmos. Over a short few years, in spite of the economy, her little company was selling key chains and other small gift items and was grossing millions of dollars.

What insight did I get from reading this story? I realized that I would probably have stopped once the gift distributors turned me down. Heck, I probably wouldn't have had the guts to go out and see the distributors.(I'm ashamed to admit this but I hate rejection.) I doubt that I would have asked my friends to help me because I rarely ask for help. This is discouraging insight.

In the second case history we are introduced to a music teacher who made very little money. In order to get by financially she spent a lot of time clipping coupons and combing the newspaper for sales and other bargains. While these bargain hunting steps were necessary they were boring and time consuming. Then it hit her - her "aha" moment - what if she could make money doing this for other people?! She did her research, found an inexpensive web hosting service, stayed up all night for weeks building her website (with help from web techs), bought a business license and took out an ad in the local paper. Today she runs a highly successful online business, sells franchises and makes millions.

My thoughts? Over the past years there have been several wonderful ( at least I think so) ideas that have popped into my head that would make great, fun, businesses. But once I get a great idea it just lays there like an unpopped corn kernel. Hard, yellow and of minimal use. I freeze. I can talk myself out of anything (and I do). My follow through fizzles. I am stuck. The problem as I see it: I have always had a mentor. Someone who coaxed and coached. Mentors are plentiful when you are under forty...not so plentiful after that. I've been a mentor but I also believe I need one. I think I'm still waiting for the White Knight to rescue me...but this time it's gonna be a long long long wait...(and then you die).

The other two stories are similar. One woman (the secretary) had an obsession with news and current events. Over time she noticed a connection between the day's news and what her bosses were working on. From there she figured out how to get them some attention for their efforts. Her inner PR person emerged. Making the most of her newly uncovered skill she was able to find a PR job in a small firm. From there it was all good. Today she is rich, independent and happy. The psychotherapist was burning out (a professional hazard) and getting divorced. She bought an apartment for herself and her family, renovated it and later sold it at a profit. Voila!
She bought more and sold more AND she was able to use her abilities as a therapist to "read" potential buyers and sellers. She became a broker, joined a highly successful firm and makes eight times what she used to make.

I'm certain that the editors at MORE feature these stories to fire us up and get us moving towards our dreams and goals. But I'm not feeling it. Instead I am becoming increasingly aware that my fire needs stoking. Nothing is burning. I'm not hot (well, not in a driven way). All of these women had three things I do not recognize in myself:
1. Passion
2. Focus
3. Confidence

I have lost my confidence, don't feel passionate about much and cannot seem to stay focused on anything. Hmmm. What does this mean...? Beats me.

When I finish this entry, I am going to spend some time looking back on my life. I need to identify those "spark" moments. The ones where I became so engrossed and involved in something that time didn't matter. What do I love to do? What makes me feel peaceful or happy or wild? What's keeping me from moving forward and why do I let that happen?

In six days my temporary professional counseling license will expire. I have not renewed it because I cannot imagine being able to find a counseling job this week. Inertia kills. My willingness to give up (albeit after trying really hard) speaks volumes to me.
But, it will be one less thing I will have to feel badly about. After this Saturday my counseling career will no longer be an issue. I'm sure I will find some other issues. I'm good at that.

The Secret to the Secret is no Secret

There is so much "spirituality" help available on the net that we almost need a separate Internet just to accommodate it. I've been to many of those sites and I've signed up for a lot of the ones I've visited. Yet,I am no closer to finding my spiritual self than I was two years ago. I'm just more frustrated!

The online spiritual supermarket has aisles and aisles of goodies - many of them are free (sort of) and can be delivered to your email address daily, weekly, monthly - or even hourly. The choice is yours. But how to choose? That is the exact dilemma I faced when wondering what to put in this blog entry. I don't know enough to wax eloquent on any one of them...but I have had enough "experience" to talk about what I've learned.

I'm going to talk about "The Secret". If you were to go online to search for "The Secret" you would find yourself overwhelmed by choices. If you remember the early publicity about this theory you will no doubt recall the Oprah factor. She talked about it - and we all ran out and bought the book or the DVD or both. Wow! Here was the answer to everything and it wasn't even new - it had been here all along. (In hindsight, repackaging this old theory was one of the greatest Marketing coups of the century).We, it seems, have always had the power to manifest whatever we wanted. We just needed to know how. So we thought happy thoughts, put together vision boards, imagined ourselves having already achieved what we wanted or needed and voila! nothing happened. At least not for me or for the many friends I have who also thought the happiest of thoughts and envisioned the best outcomes for their desires.

But fear not - more websites and theories appeared to help us understand why we failed to manifest our desires! Of course, the problem was within us. We had failed to find the one little thing that would make this all work for us. We needed to eliminate our fears, squash those negative thoughts that lay just underneath all those phony positive ones we'd been repeating. We needed to let go of all the beliefs and thought that weighed us down. We needed to believe for real!

Now this is hard to do. If you are a skeptic, like I am, those little skeptical worms wiggle around inside our brains all day. It's hard to catch or even control them. They've been with us for so long. But, if we are to believe the gurus of The Secret (and there are legions of them), we can prevail and our new life - a happier and more rewarding ($$$) one- is just around the bend. But we have a lot of work to do. (And we all though this was going to be simple)

I am going to focus on one of the many threads that lead to and from the Secret. It is the one with which I have had the most experience. And, it is the one that helped me formulate my theory about the Secret and the Keepers of the Secret on the Web.

His name is Bob Doyle. His main website is called "Wealth Beyond Reason". This is where one of my journeys began. Mr. Doyle is one of the individuals featured in the DVD "The Secret". He is a nice looking, sincere sounding man who is extremely generous. He sends out lots of free stuff. Titillating stuff. And the stuff he sells is almost always reasonable, although oddly priced. $19, $27, $86.... Sometimes he even has a sale and offers access to older materials (that others have paid a higher odd price for). I can find nothing negative about him on the web. He appears to be an honest, well-intentioned man who has made BIG bucks helping others try to make the principles of the Secret work for them. He likes to share the secrets of his success with others.

One of my purchases from Mr. D was reduced price access to all of the secrets of creating multiple streams of wealth online. (ahem). He provided, in this limited-time offer, some really useful advice as well as access to some great websites that would help us new entrepreneurs find online payment help, online accounting help, sites for creating DVDs, podcasts, etc. In addition, for my $29, I was able to listen to a long audio tape of how to put all this together and make it work. Now, prior to being given access to all of this information (and it is good information - overwhelming, but good) I had to sign up for the Six Figure Streams Mentoring Program. Being part of this mentoring program was not a requirement, but signing up for it was. So I did.

Initially I threw myself into learning as much as I could about the information I had purchased. For awhile I even believed I could do this. Start an online business, offer ebooks, podcasts, written stuff, link to other online businesses, create a community where we scratched each other's backs (a little more to the left please, ahhh thanks). This sounded so doable!! At the same time, it was odd. You didn't need a product, or an idea, or much of anything. Everything you might need to "sell" or "offer" was probably already out there, created by someone else - and you could use it, sometimes for free. If you wanted to create your own stuff - that was okay too. There were so many places you could go online to do this. I think it was around here that I began to snap out of my reverie. I could start an online business (or many online businesses) with nothing to offer...or I could take things that were already available elsewhere and legally offer them...or I could figure out what it was I knew (information) and package and sell it through my site(s) and by linking to related sites. Confused? Yes.

BUT WAIT - that is where the Six Figure Streams Mentoring Program came in. (Remember, the one I was not obligated to use) I received an email from "Nick" at the Six Streams Mentoring Program. He was inviting me to call him so we could talk about the service. I called him. It was a very pleasant conversation. We talked about me (note: everyone likes to talk about themselves...it's a great way to have a conversation). Each time I mentioned something I was interested in he would say "I see an E-book!" or "That would be a great thing to share." The problem was - and he acknowledged it - there was so much to do and consider that the overall process appeared overwhelming - especially to someone like me with adult ADD). BUT, I could do everything if I had some help, someone to coach me, someone to nudge me along, answer my questions and hold my hand. We get by with a little help from our friends.

This brought us to the Six Figure Streams Mentoring Program. He explained all the ways that this program could be of assistance. Was I willing to make the commitment? I explained, very clearly that while I was able to emotionally make the commitment, financially the commitment was not happening. There was no way I could go back to the well (aka My Husband) and ask for $6000 for something that wasn't a sure thing. My husband had already financed two sure things that didn't happen. I could not come up with any evidence that this sure thing would be the one sure thing that would have a payback. He listened, said the proper empathetic things and then asked me if I would be willing to put it on a credit card (let's see, $6000 at 21% - I don't think so). How about a personal loan? (Uh, no). It was not a hard sell in the classic way - it was more emotional, more geared towards how I deserved to do this for myself etc. In the end, I declined the opportunity. He felt bad for me, of course. The conversation was over. I felt bad that I didn't believe enough in myself to take this step. (I think that's how I was supposed to feel)

Our conversation was followed by a long email that outlined in detail what the Mentoring Program consisted of. Once again I was reminded that I would derive the following benefits:
(this is excerpted directly from the email sent to me)

Leverage the experience, skills, and support of your Mentor and Mentor Team
Save time by avoiding common mistakes of trial & error marketing
Understand and immediately utilize innovative ideas and information
Learn directly from an experienced Mentor
Learn to effectively utilize the Law of Attraction to manifest success
Increase your knowledge and competency in the focus areas
Go beyond your limiting beliefs of the past
Hold yourself accountable to your commitment for your business
Reduce "inner resistence" and impact your vibration level
Avoid having to reinvent the wheel
Gain from the business experience and specific coaching skills of your Mentor

In addition, you have the opportunity to take advantage of extensive resources; including our Proprietary Instructional Documents and one-on-one conversations on a regular basis with your Mentor and Mentor Team Resource Professionals

WOW! I suppose if I had $6000 lying around I might take a chance. But, basically, no matter how much mentoring you get you have to have a fire burning inside to do all the work. My fire wasn't that hot.

I believe that some of this stuff actually works - but it works best for the legion of Internet LOA Masters. Each of them uses the same approach. First the tantalizing emails, the great giveaways (ebooks, online interviews, videos,seminars, webinars), the hard to resist opportunities to participate in a particular program, the high prices of the premiere programs and the bargain basement prices of the materials used to attract you to the site. All of these websites link to each other in some way. This is a form of cross-selling that benefits each website owner. If Bob Doyle mentions a great book by Joe Vitale (another guru and prolific author) and you click on it, Joe pays Bob a tiny bit of money and vice versa.

There are about fifteen "big names" in the Laws of Attraction Universe. The rest are on their way to being big or just starting. They are all basically selling the same thing - even though it is periodically repackaged. Sometimes, if you read closely enough, you will find conflicting advice. (For example, you should have a vision board and live as if you already have what you want BUT you should also live in the moment recognizing that the past is gone, there is no future,there is only now )Okay...that's confusing. If you download an ebook..you will read page after page of lead-in and when you actually get to the meat you will feel cheated (even though you didn't pay for the book) because the whole "book" could have been summed up in a paragraph. Every free video is a lead in to having you participate in something else which leads you to eventually spend money.

There's nothing wrong with this. People have to earn a living and these men (and women) have found a really great way to do just that. More power to them. Why didn't I think to do this???

So here is what I know and feel comfortable passing on: There is a lot of material out there for everyone to read. Take advantage of it. Much of it is free. Some of it is helpful and may provide the impetus you need to shift your thinking or change your life. Start with the older theories like the Silva Mind Control and the Sedona Method. They've been around for a long time. Don't rush to buy. Take it slow. What's your hurry?

POST SCRIPT My husband recently discovered that Boundless Living (a Bob Doyle site) is charging me $19.95 a month - and has been since November- for a "subscription" to Boundless Living. To the best of my knowledge I never signed up for anything that would require a monthly fee. The only way they could have my email and Master Card is through the "bargain" I bought from them in November. Emails to the site are returned. I left a phone message...we'll see what happens.

This puts a whole new spin on how you develop "SIX STREAMS" of income

Post Post Script: Well after three emails and a phone call I got a refund. They acknowledged that "some people" have trouble understanding exactly what they are signing up for...Then Fix it!!!

A life with meaning...when a friend dies

This really doesn't have much to do with reinventing yourself...but it does have to do with having a life that matters.

I just attended the funeral of an old friend who died at the age of 44. Reggie was a Baptist Missionary minister - the kind you see in movies. Hell, fire, brimstone and passion. I met him in graduate school and we ended up interning at the same clinic. No one could get me more riled up than Reggie and vice versa. It was both a combative and loving friendship. He believed I was doomed to go to hell; I believed he was a nutcase. We were both okay with our views of each other.

During our internship Reggie developed prostate cancer. It was his second time. We (clinic staff and interns)rallied 'round Reggie, supporting him any way we could. He'd often mentioned to us that the men in his family died young. He was willing to accept his fate if it was "God's will" but he wasn't going to roll over and wait for it to happen. He prevailed. He flew through his chemo, cleaned up his eating habits and recommitted himself to Christ and his family. After the internship ended, I lost track of Reggie. We both were members of the same board of directors for an inner city housing organization - but he never came to meetings. Occasionally his name would pop up - but mostly in the "Has anyone heard from Reggie?' vein.

Two days ago I received a call from my former internship supervisor. "Have you heard about Reggie?" she asked. "He died on Sunday. Right after giving his sermon. He just sat down next to his wife and died."

If you're old enough to be at the point in your life when friends and others you've known start dying then you know what I felt. I got quiet and in my head a brief video of Reggie suddenly began playing. Reggie sitting next to me in class - neither of us paying attention. Reggie at the clinic nose to nose with an addict who was trying to BS his way through group (Reggie always confronted BS), Reggie at staff meetings voicing his strong opinions. Gone. At 44.

Today I attended his funeral. I had to park 4 blocks from the church. I had to stand in line for 20 minutes to view the body. There were at least 1000 people there - paying their respects. I learned that Reggie's "lost to me" years were spent reviving an inner city church, helping lost kids find their way, evangelizing to any and all who would give him a second of their time. I learned he was planning to go to Africa next week for more evangelizing. He had gone back to school and gotten another theological degree and was working towards his doctorate. He was living his life at full steam. And his life had had meaning, real honest-to-God meaning. Honoring his life was a true celebration of the incredible young man he was. A man with a purpose, a deep passion and an enviable love of God.

As I clapped my hands to the incredibly awesome gospel music provided by his Church choir I realized that he had found what so many of us seek. He had realized his dream and owned his power. His life humbles me. I am proud to have known him.

Good bye dear Reggie. Sleep well.

Resumes that either rock, or reek or repel your reinvention

Let's talk about Resumes. I hate them. I hate writing them. I hate reading them. They are boring, full of half-truths and bloated with gross exaggerations (and those are the good ones) The language is stiff and the buzzwords are noxious (buzzwords are the latest "in" words you need to know in order to impress a potential recruiter. Using these words shows how current and trendy you are).

Unfortunately, you need a resume. Actually you need more than one.

When you are between 21-40, your resume is kind of like your report card. It shows what you've done, how much effort you've expended doing it and allows you to brag about any rewards you have accumulated for your efforts. This is good. This works for most people. However, after say, 45, this report card requires (actually it BEGS for) some editing and finessing to keep you in the "yes' or 'maybe' pile of the HR person who is screening applicants. Proper editing and finessing takes skill. You either have it or you don't. And if you are looking to change professions - which many midlifers are doing - you really really need to know how to "fix" your resume or resign yourself to a life of rejection letters.

Although I often earn extra money writing, and even though my former marketing job was 70% writing - I am not a good resume writer. I lack the necessary bloviating skills I guess. But, I faced my biggest resume challenge when I left marketing, dabbled in odd jobs, and then got a Masters in something unrelated to anything I'd ever done before. Add to that the fact that I spent less than a year in my "new" field (counseling) and never acquired the hours needed for my license. This was pretty hard to capture succinctly (and sanely) on a one or two page resume. I needed help.

There are many resume writing services out there. The web is full of choices. I wanted to stay local. Craigslist is full of resume writers...but I have issues with Craigslist. I looked and looked until I found the web page of a local woman who boasted 29+ years of experience and an impressive list of professional accomplishments. I emailed her. She called me back. I'll call her Sylvia...

As briefly as I could, I explained my dilemma. She got it. This was a good start. She said that what I needed was a "Functional" resume. This, she explained, worked best for people who were making drastic career changes. We made an appointment to meet. Before ending our conversation I asked, "What do you charge?". "$500," she said. Gulp.

I met with Sylvia on a Sunday afternoon at her home/office. She was an older woman - late seventies, maybe early eighties, bright red hair, thin and frail but with a very commanding presence. Her office walls were full of photos of herself with a variety of Democratic politicians...at least we were on the same page politically. After the normal chit chat she ran me through a very long list of questions about all of the jobs I'd had in my lifetime. The questioning continued for over an hour. Sylvia was thorough.

When we were done talking about my past professional life - she started in on what she saw before her. Me. I was wearing jeans, a red sweater and carrying a red and black purse. "Don't," she said looking me up and down, "don't wear red to an interview." Huh? "Okay...but what's wrong with red?" I asked. "It's too loud. Wear dark, sedate colors."she responded. "And," she continued,"tone down that East Coast stuff." Huh? I asked for an explanation. "You're too east coast, " she replied, referring to my personality, "this is the Midwest, tone it down. You'll scare people." She made other suggestions too, "Wear nude stockings, no tint, Don't play with your hair - it's distracting. Wear low heels. Cross your legs at the ankle and sit up straight." (I've never been to Catholic school but this is how I'd always imagined the nuns to be - and Sylvia was Jewish!). In a nutshell I was being told to re-invent myself into the stereotypical Midwest woman (whom I, incidentally, have never met). In order to succeed I would have to adopt someone else's personality, wear someone else's clothes and attached sharp objects to my knees to prevent myself from crossing them.

"When I am done with this resume, " she announced, "you will be surprised at how positively people will respond. You will get interviews. I have a good track record."

I wrote out a check for $500. She told me that for $15 more she could do something "amazing" with my resume. She hit a button on her computer, then hit the print button and produced a dummy resume with a thin black frame around it. wow. I told her I would pass on this extra feature..I didn't tell her that I, too, could hit the "box" icon in Word and "frame" my resume for NOTHING!!!!

Five days later a "proof" arrived in my email. Hmm. Well, I wasn't overly impressed but this was just a draft. I made changes - a lot of them. (Seems she didn't quite 'get' what I done in my jobs. Some of the things she had in the draft were totally untrue. Hmmm) I sent it back. Twenty-four hours later the final product arrived. Hmmm.

A functional resume lists your experiences and skills in clusters. So in my case, everything related to marketing was in one cluster, everything related to counseling and elderly issues was in another. There was even a cluster for jobs I'd had back when dinosaurs roamed the earth - but these lacked details. There were no dates..nothing that could provide clues to my increasing age.

I have to admit - this resume confused me. It did not impress me. I could not understand how it would impress anyone or how it could open any doors. But, I reasoned, I'd been unable to write one myself so maybe this would do the trick.

Around this time an old boss of mine called me about a job opening he'd come across. He gave me the name of the person to contact (a headhunter) and I called her and later sent my resume. Shortly after that I received a call from an independent consultant who was screening the applicants. We arranged to meet at a Starbucks. (Let's see caffeine plus my east coast overwhelming persona...make that a decaf please) We had a great meeting. She provided some useful insight, thought I'd be perfect for the job, warned me about the person I'd be interviewing with and then...."So, let's talk about your resume, "she said. "It's awful. Let me help you fix it."

Sigh.

Over the next few days we doctored my $500 resume so that people who might look at it would be able to understand it. In the end it looked a lot like my old (pre $500) resume but did a better job of taming my wild career swings. Turns out that the consultant also wrote resumes. Her normal fee, $150. She helped me with mine for nothing. That's how bad it was.

I later learned that employers don't like Functional Resumes. Some employers find them irritating. Recruiters and headhunters don't like them either. Neither do people in conservative fields such as banking, finance and law. These resumes are often not allowed on online job boards. Who knew?

Well, now you know.

Lesson learned: It may be best to buy or borrow some resume writing books or look up resume writing tips and examples of resumes online. If your resume is anywhere near as diverse as mine - or if you are wanting to make a drastic career change and feel you need help, shop quality AND price. Ask friends. Ask employment agencies. Please don't ask Sylvia.

Tell me about a time....Beware of Behavioral Interviewing

After my "retirement" from life in corporate health care I spent several years trying on new careers. Oh alright, some of the things I tried weren't exactly careers, but they were new. And odd. And not very good. Going back to school for a Masters didn't work well either. I got the Masters but couldn't enter the field. What to do now?

"Go back into marketing," friends suggested, "You were so good at it." But I HATED it - why, at this critical point in my life would I go back to something I hated? (Money maybe...money is nice...) Besides, I reasoned, I had been out of the marketplace for lots of years. Things had changed. Technology for one. I was at least ten years behind on my technical know-how. I knew nothing about managing web pages, I was computer literate at a first grade level (and proud of that accomplishment) Plus, I had no more contacts in the field. They'd all moved on, retired or were out doing the same thing I was doing - searching for meaning. The market had moved on without me. (Buh bye!!) I was really too old to turn back. AND I didn't want the pressure or the responsibility. But I did need some money.


I reviewed my professional accomplishments and identified some types of jobs for which I might be suited. I created five versions of my resume and started posting on job sites and responding to openings I found through other sources. I scored a few interviews...well, not exactly interviews, they were more like pre-interviews. Conducted on the phone by young ( very young girls named Jessie or Sierra)) HR staff. If these guys liked you you could go on to the next level (double Jeopardy maybe?)

During these pre-interviews I had more than my share of questions about why I had left marketing. I quickly realized that many young people have no concept of career burnout. Nor do they understand the midlife need to seek out work that is more meaningful. Answers of that nature (at least from the folks I spoke with) were met with dead silence. The HR kidlets appeared to be stuck on the issue of someone leaving a high profile, good paying, highly sought after job. There did not seem to be an acceptable reason for such a radical decision. My answers were not sufficient. The only 'burnout" these kids had ever experienced was an uncharged Ipod. The only "meaningfulness" they could connect to were the words of a song. I never did find an acceptable response to these questions. But, these question were nothing compared to the next ones.

Welcome to Behavioral Interviewing. If it has been a while since you've had a bona fide job interview let me be the first to tell you - things have changed. I used to hire people all the time. I looked for a good personality fit, the right skills, the most appropriate experience and often I gave them an assignment. Of course I checked references and all that "have to do" stuff. But I hired by instinct. I was only wrong once in twenty-some years. But somewhere in the past 10 years someone invented a new way of interviewing...and if you are not prepared for it, it can totally throw you off balance.

Behavioral interviewing is sold to HR professionals as a sure-fire way to get the best facts you can get in order to make a good hiring decision. Sounds good. There's more. Behavioral interviewing is said to be an accurate way to predict future behavior based upon past performance in similar situations. For example, where in the past someone would ask you to talk about the kinds of things you did for company X, in a behavioral interview the question would be more specific, "Tell me about a time that you had a tight deadline and knew you weren't going to meet it." If you are able to answer that question, the skilled interviewer (and they aren't all skilled) would probe your response further and further. It's kind of like being on trial - without any legal representation.

Behavioral interviewing is said to measure critical thinking (yeah, it's critical that you are able to think of answers to these questions), willingness to learn, self-confidence, teamwork, and professionalism. It is also said to identify those of us who are self-starters (as opposed to those who need someone to crank them up). I'm sure there's more. Most of these questions start with the words. "Tell me about a time.." or "Describe a situation in which ...". The problem here (at least for me) was that I consistently had trouble thinking (or remembering) situations that related. Heck, I had 25 years of work experience and darn few of the questions were relevant. (Or my memory was shot). I totally blew my first two interviews (one on the phone, one in person).

As is my pattern, I decided to learn as much as I could about this "technique" since everyone was using it. (And I mean everyone). I went online and found tons of semi-helpful information. Pages and pages of potential questions and even hints for what each type of question was really looking for. There were even websites that suggested the best responses (without the specifics).

Let's take the statement/question I used previously:"Tell me about a time that you had a tight deadline and you knew you were not going to meet it." This is a LOADED question. Do you want to admit that you EVER missed a deadline? Will they believe you if you say you've never missed a deadline? And if you do fess up to missing a deadline what does that say about you???? This is a perilous journey. Whatever you answer you can be sure there are several more probing questions designed to uncover the true you (you lying scoundrel). Because this was one of the first questions I was ever asked I specifically remember my response. It was. "Well, in my department I set deadlines and real deadlines. My hope was to have the project done by deadline number one - and it always had to totally be done by deadline number two. So I never really missed a deadline." Did this tell them I was devious, a liar, too clever for my own skin? Perhaps I was unmanageable? I'll never know. I didn't get the job.

My 34 year old nephew tells me that the "best" answer would have been something like this: "I informed my supervisor and everyone else who had a stake in the project and told them my plans and gave a time by which the project would be done." Now, If I had said this (or even thought about it) it would have been a lie. I set my deadlines, I was in charge, and I never had to answer to anyone but myself. If my nephew is right (and he probably is) then it is not really about the prospective employer assessing how I would respond in a similar situation; it is more about how well I can think on my feet to conjure up the answer that will lead the interviewer to believe something about me that may not be true!

(Oh, did I tell you the interviewer scores your answers on some sort of score sheet. I don't think they throw out the highest and lowest scores... )

Although these questions are allegedly designed to make it harder for the interviewee to make up responses (yea, right), when faced with no response or a perfectly plausible (and sort of made-up) one I always chose the latter. Perhaps this was transparent. I didn't think so. I guess I was wrong.

The questions work best for people in left brain jobs. In fact they were probably designed by left brain people. If you are a right brained, creative, free spirit, you will learn to loathe Behavioral Interviewing as much as I do. If you are an accountant, engineer, computer programmer, chemist or bookeeper you will have no problems.

In any case, if you are out in the world for the first time in a long time, over 45 and looking for a job spend some significant time researching Behavioral Interviewing questions. There are some great websites. you can download hundreds of questions and try to imagine how you would answer them. It is said to be hard to prepare answers...but some kind of preparation is helpful. And good luck...you'll need it.

Lesson learned: Start your own business and bypass all this crap.

Eleven Months in a new career

Some weeks after receiving my MS in Counseling, I set off to find the perfect job. The one that would help me accrue all the hours (3000) I would need to become licensed. Undaunted by the doom and gloom marketplace that was forecast by a professor, I set out to prove him wrong. Damn, I was going to get a counseling job and I was going to move forward.

I quickly discovered that the very act of job-hunting had significantly changed. A lot of years had passed since I'd actually applied for a job. I scanned the papers. Mighty thin pickings. Someone suggested I go online. For me, "online" was where you went to shop, or play games or send emails. Not to job hunt. So I ventured into the murky waters of Monster, Career Builder, and a host of other online employment sites. It felt odd. I had to learn a whole bunch of new things. (I will discuss online job searches in another blog) There was something wrong about converting my beautifully arranged resume to "text" and sending it off into cyberspace. But I did it. I hated it. And I got a nibble. Yea me!

I was invited to interview at a clinic located 30 minutes from my home. They had a part time opening in drug and alcohol - working with juveniles who were being monitored by the local social service agencies (actually most were being monitored by probation officers). I would be a "mentor" (another not-me job?) In addition, I would be conducting a drug and alcohol group at the juvenile detention center as well as a daily adolescent group at the clinic and an adult group at night. Oh well, I said, it was just an interview. I didn't have to take the job.

I took the job. To this day I don't know why. Although I was more than honest with my soon-to-be supervisor about my low interest in working with kids -especially adolescents - he was unmoved. He loved my personality. I would be a "great fit". Plus, he added, other internal jobs were always popping up. (Note: There is always a reason for this...)

Initially, this job was hell. I spent several afternoons a week literally babysitting teenaged kids who were so "out there" even I couldn't relate. At best they were charming and manipulative. At worst they were sullen and unresponsive. I had to socialize with them - be a 'buddy'. I had to take them places - bowling, burgers, shopping, arcades (EGADS what was I doing here???)they didn't want it and I had to do it and they had to be there. To this day I cannot imagine who conceived of a program like this. I fail to see how it did these poor kids any good. They were miserable and unhappy. They especially hated the part where I randomly pee-tested them. (I didn't exactly like this part either). Eventually this part of my job faded away. The grant that funded it ran out. Whew.

That left the drug and alcohol group at the jail and the daily groups at the clinic. The jail was the most challenging...and the most intimidating (at least at first). Each time I went there I imagined myself taking the final walk down the long corridor that would lead to my untimely death. I got frisked and scanned by guards. The groups were monitored on a closed circuit system. And if I needed help (gulp) all I had to do was knock real hard on the bullet proof glass and someone would come. Eventually. (I only had to do this twice)

I quickly learned that my group time was the only time during the day that the kids were allowed to socialize - or even talk to each other. You can imagine how wound up they were. It took me weeks to get any kind of rhythm and approach that would reach them in any way. Forget about getting through to them about the evils of drug and alcohol use. Most of these kids were long time users. They knew everything. They had no intention of quitting or changing their ways. Many of them confessed to having parents who either a) smoked weed with them or b) didn't see what the "big deal" was about drug use. (And we punish the kids... They spoke lovingly of drinking bottles of cough syrup, smoking sage (yes, sage), swallowing cold pills and raiding their parents' medicine cabinets. They did it to escape from lives they said were "boring". They didn't mind being in jail. For many it was a way of life and it beat being at home.

My clinic group was not much better. We shared three hours a day, four days a week. It was grueling for all of us.

In the evening I ran a group for people who had been arrested for drinking and driving. These groups were great. Not perfect, but so much better than the kids' groups.

The bright spot was a group I co-facilitated and later facilitated by myself. Men. Domestic violence perpetrators. These weren't the run-of-the mill wife beaters. They were basically guys who in a moment of anger yelled too loud and scared their wives, or threw their spouses cell phone against a wall...stuff like that. Coming to the domestic violence group was an alternative to jail. It may seem odd to put a woman in charge of a group like this but it worked. For them and for me. (Really, I so didn't like working with kids that these guys were a treat!!) It did not take me long to figure out that their basic issue was that they simply did NOT UNDERSTAND WOMEN. I spent thirty minutes of every group teaching them about women. They brought questions...they had so many. It would have been a great reality show.

I had settled into this routine. I was content and I was racking up my hours. Then it all fell apart. My boss left and in his place - the bitch from hell. It was her first management job (it showed) and she had a lot of ideas about how the clinic should be run. She had no people skills, a bad attitude and no ability to compromise with anyone. We hated her. (I think I still do). I tolerated her dictatorship, her outrageous demands and her smugness. (Oooo I detect some bitterness here). She got angry each time a client said something nice about me. And twice she went ballistic when clients who were being discharged brought me goodbye gifts (accepting gifts is flat out unethical,not allowed, not encouraged. But they liked me, they wanted to give me something and they refused to take the gifts back. I gave both gifts - one was flowers and one was candy- to my supervisor. Each time she lectured me about the "policy". I knew the policy...the gifts were not my fault) Did I need this crap from her? Hell no.

Adding to this unfortunate turn of events was a long daily commute on two-lane dark country roads (in all kinds of horrible weather), getting home at 11:00pm (on a good day), and working far more hours than I was being paid for. I weighed my options. Was it worth staying? Could I get my hours somewhere else - maybe closer to home? I resigned.

That was the last time I worked as a counselor. Two years have passed and there haven't been any more opportunities. My professor was right. Itishard to get your 3000 hours. I put in 1184 hours. They aren't good for much.

And so it goes. My big plan for reinvention was cut short..and for all intents and purposes is dead. I guess I won't be supporting my husband and myself in this "dream" retirement job. Another stab at repurposing myself that didn't quite work. I guess I have to keep trying.
But what to try?

The life lesson here: Ask yourself what you are willing to endure to achieve a dream. If you find yourself waffling when the going gets tough - maybe you don't really want the thing you are pursuing.

Reconnecting...for what it's worth

Several years ago I found myself scanning the pages of EBAY in search of - of all things- a Tiny Tears doll. Not just any Tiny Tears..It had to be exactly like the one I adored as a child. The body was rubber, the head was wood, her hair was painted on the wood...and of course, there was that silly hole in her butt cheek where she would "pee". Not exactly anatomically correct - but in the fifties no one questioned these things. (If they had placed her "pee hole" in the proper place she would have been banned. In the fifties it was okay to pee from your butt cheek.) I found a few dolls that looked right at prices that looked wrong. I didn't buy one...I might someday..but I learned that there were lots and lots of us out there looking for our favorite childhood toys. Women and men.

And that's not all we look for...we look for each other. Old friends, old loves, old teachers. There is suddenly some unexplainable need to stop what we're doing and look back. Maybe we want to find out if the once 'oh so popular'cheerleaders are now big and fat. Maybe we want to see if our old boyfriends wives (the ones they left us for) are still in the picture or have become lumpy and ugly. (This lumpy/fat and ugly theme is only relevant if you yourself have aged well). Maybe we are still looking for some closure or vindication or even revenge. Or maybe we just need to hear a familiar voice from a less stressful time in our lives. Let's face it, we've reached an age where people we know are actually dying. We may want to see who is still out there and breathing. Whatever our reasons for seeking out things and people from our past we seem to go at it with fervor.

I have been "found" at least six times. Twice by the same person. Once by my best friend from high school whom I had last seen at my wedding right after college. It's fun to be found. Having her find me (what would we do without GOOGLE??) was actually joyous (a word I rarely use). Being found is like being a rare fossil in an archaeological dig. The word will spread that you have been located and others will seek you out.

In the case of my friend a mere email or a few phone calls were not enough. We needed to physically lay eyes on each other. We needed to hug!! As a result of being rediscovered, three more friends joined our merry little group. We planned to meet. We went to VEGAS!

Now imagine that 35 years have passed since you last saw someone. Are you going to recognize her? Is she going to recognize you? Will this be traumatic? Luckily, in this particular instance time had been more than kind to all of us. We each looked like computer-aged versions of our former selves - but all-in-all, pretty damn good. And we had a great time. We reminisced, caught up, talked about unearthing more old friends to join us "next time". We looked at old pictures and, shopped, shopped, shopped. No gambling. Just shopping, eating, laughing and a show. Three perfect days. Then we all scattered to our various homes and we haven't seen each other since. There were some random emails, some half-hearted attempts to stay in-touch but a lot was happening and we slipped apart again. Two of them still send holiday cards. I never send holiday cards but I sure am glad to get theirs.

Most recently there have been several Facebook "reunions". People our age forming high school class groups on Facebook and inviting former classmates to join. I must get a few invitations each day to become a "friend" of____________. I often don't even remember who some these people were. Did I ever talk to them? Did they talk to me? I cannot locate a copy of my High School yearbook so I have a lot of diffculty responding to a friend request. What they heck, I never was that friendly anyway.

It's been the same with the other people who've found me. The initial rush. The flurry of emails or phone calls. And then we're done. It's a little bit like opening the door to your kid's room late at night just to hear the sound of their breathing. It's enough. It's just enough. Connections count. Especially now.

What does this mean: Respect that part of you...the part that needs to go back. In some strange way it is life affirming. It says "I still matter". It feels good to matter.