Category: Blogolicious

“Normal is a setting on the dryer” -Harley Quinn (and prolly like a million others)

What is normal? Normal gets defined by our own experiences and tolerances. Our brains have an incredible capacity to normalize events. What may be completely “normal” at my house may never be considered at your house. Don’t worry, I’m not going all dark on this, I’m just saying that what we each think is normal is completely up to the lenses from which we see it. 

I remember going to dinner at the house of friends when we were in our 20’s. It was a full-on sit down gig on a Sunday night. I said, “Can you believe that our parents’ generation would sit down like this for dinner every night!?” Three sets of eyes stared back at me in confusion. I stared confused back. Then it hit. They all had sat down to dinner every night in their homes as children. Whoa. There is not singular thing wrong with how I was raised, but sitting down to dinner was not normal at my house. 

My kids will have their own a-ha moments as they figure out what things they experienced that others of their time did not. “You’re saying that your mom DIDN’T hide creepy dolls around to scare you?” That’s okay. Some future therapist of theirs can thank me for great clients to work with. But deciding where our normal starts and stops does not end with childhood. 

Everyday we cruise through our existence categorizing events as to whether or not they are normal. Definitions for the boundaries that define normal are deeply personal; I got mine, you got yours. But they are also flexible. We pick and choose what’s normal. Sometimes, exposure to alternate experiences helps us say, “that normal is no longer acceptable for me. I choose a new normal.” That freedom is what allows us to continue to improve. 

Need proof? Ask an addict in recovery for something that used to seem normal, but now is unthinkable. Ask the person staving off health complications through their focus on diet and exercise. Ask the guy who fucking grew a mustache. What was normal for them has shifted. We can change our circumstances by deciding what we will and will not allow to consider normal. 

Years ago a wise friend told me that “indecision is a decision.” She’s so very right. Normal will define itself if you’re content to sit back and let it. 

I’m not saying that people are broken. Maybe normal is the exact right dryer setting for your needs. But if not, don’t be afraid to turn that knob and adjust what normal is. Know your worth, and settle for nothing less than the normal that you desire. 

I was too young the first time I fell in love.

But he was all that was man. He was imperfectly perfect, strong, witty, in possession of enough confidence that he didn’t need to show it off, mired in his values, and able to make the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs. 

That’s right. Han Solo is my first love. The bar was set high by this. Very high. 

As I fill some of my (way too much) free time watching Star Wars Empire of Dreams, I’m able to take a mature look about what that crush a million years ago was all about.

Was it the blue and red stripy pants? Maybe his relationship with a Wookiee? His “out of this world” (🙄) sideways half grin? 

Mature me thinks not. Mature me thinks more than liking him, it’s the relationship with his soulmate that was more the draw. 

Who didn’t want to be Leia? Also strong, confident, and witty. And her duality…! She can pull off forest moon of Endor battle ready wear just as well as she can freaking rock the slave girl bikini. 

She’s not strong for a girl. Just strong. But she she doesn’t need to take strength from others to get there. My kind of feminist. 

Her counterpart also needed strength. A relationship where each enhances and complements the other. Willing to sacrifice for one another: but not as martyrs, as a part of their shared vision for the future of the Rebel Alliance. 

Movies are great. They take us on idealistic emotional adventures. We lost a lot of time in the Leia/Han story. Who knows, there may have been moments that were less perfect. Maybe she got pissed at how much time he and Chewie spent together. Maybe her sassiness eventually lost its charm with him. And let’s not even start about their child rearing. But that’s not what matters.

What matters is when the rubber met the road, or in this case when the Han met the carbonite, they knew exactly where they stood with each other. 

“I love you.”

“I know.”

  Swoon! 

By some stroke of luck, there were 2 Adams boys at the dinner table. Danny started staying at his home last night. Dirty will live in SLO in 5 days. It seemed like a worthy moment to share that I’d been revisiting some words I’d written in the past.

Years back I’d seen a book for sale about “blah blah number of things to be happy about.” That seemed silly. I have my own things about which to be happy. So I bought a blank book and started to write my things in it.

That book and I reunited the other day. There’s lots of gems in it. And yes, nearly every one still makes me smile.

As I sat there with my college graduate mechanic and my soon to be college entering vintner, I tell Danny, “it seems like you were destined for your path. There was one in the book where I was impressed (and frightened) that you were able to jump start a 4 wheeler at like 7”

Never wanting to be out done, Dirty says “I was running loaders when I was 6 and a half.”

“The only thing you run is your mouth” quips Dan.

“I run that shit too. Shut up bitch”

Norman Rockwell himself could not have created a scene as beautiful.

I don’t expect them to meet for coffee weekly as they go on into adulting. But, I hope they’ll grow into the kind of great men that know they can really count on each other in the toughest of times. But hopefully without the salty language.

“You should go dancing.”

I freeze. My brain works hard to process what Tara just said. I’m sure that my face looked somewhere between how it looks when I  “what the fuuuu…?!” and how it looks when I’m trying to complete some very complex task with success (like answering my desk phone on my headset in less than 3 tries)

“GO…!?”

“I’m dancing HERE! Did the classic dance move of ‘overbite’ not make that clear?”

Ever seen those toddlers that can’t help but bounce to music? I’m a 48 yr old version of that toddler. I’m often having dance parties for one. At work, while making my oats, while driving. Am I good at it? No. Does it stop me? Also, no.

I am so thankful for the people who can make music. There’s a finite number of notes, beats, words, and ideas. Since the beginning of time, talented people have taken those resources and continued to churn out compositions to be appreciated by others. From Grog in the cave to Lizzo, artists have taken their abilities and created ways to influence others.

I’ve got some pretty shitty musical tastes, but that doesn’t mean that music is any less important to me. I’m also very thankful for exposure to other music.

I think “invoke” is the right work music’s power. It’s weird how the simple stimulation of the sense of hearing can have such emotional impact. I’ve recovered from many a pity party thanks to Matisyahu. Missy Elliot and Sir Mix a Lot get credit for working through countless leg days that I really wasn’t eager to start. And I won’t even start about the transformative powers of some Bill Withers or a little of Hooker’s Boom Boom Boom.

In general, country music makes me want to stab myself in the ears. There’s enough real world struggle and strife to experience without having to hear some modern, twangy Greek tragedy about how Billy’s life is coming unraveled.  Three minute diddy about loss and poor coping? No thanks.

Buuuuut,… as I thankfully learned in a class 100 years ago, when it comes to art the division isn’t good and bad. It’s what speaks to me; versus what doesn’t speak to me.

I know that how much I hate some music, is EXACTLY how people may feel about my selections.

 You can almost hear eyes rolling when I get to choose the music at Crossfit. “What’s she going to pick? Will we be subjected to coarse language? Or will it be Beiber again? Does she know she’s not 12? Or urban?”

I do. But I don’t care. That music makes me feel the way I want to feel for that task. When I need to feel another way, I’ll listen to something else. Like now. That’s the beauty of music. As for now, gotta go. Me and Cardi B got some housework to do.

Purpose is found at the intersection of “what you can do,” “what you like to do,” and “what is needed.”

I have a fake job. It’s my passion for more reasons than I can list, but it still is much more difficult to quantify than many other jobs. At the end of Daniel’s day, he knows that he fixed x number of tractors, and that his tasks resulted in yadda yadda results. In a parallel universe, someone else is able to gauge their success by knowing the number of widgets they assembled. Neither is the case in my purpose. In addition to the nebulous nature of tracking what I do, there’s the confidentiality of it all. I can’t, shouldn’t, and won’t talk about my purpose, but that doesn’t make it any less powerful.

Despite those elements that make my purpose secretive, I am still able to address why it is a purpose for me. I am lucky in that my job is needed. I am also lucky that my job requires words. I can do words (not that this sentence would indicate as such, but I can). I like to do the things required in my job. It’s needed, I can do it, and it’s what I like. Purpose.

Does this mean that I roll through situations seamlessly? Hellz to the no. If you’ve spent any time with me, you’ve certainly seen a tantrum, a moment I’ve needed to fix my face, or a moment when I’ve worked hard to appear disinterested. My hope is that those instances are the world’s way of giving me reason to check in about my commitment to purpose.

You ever take a second to look at a tiny, inconsequential portion of a painting or photograph? Just pick a teeny spot. Look only at that spot. “That’s dumb,” you say? Yes, yes it is.  “Why would I look at just a little spot? That little spot doesn’t show me the whole scene.” Yes. Any tasks of purpose are going to have spots that are less than what the big picture represents.

The resolve and discipline that makes you stop focusing on those small areas is another way to determine if you’re fulfilling purpose. When you have the bump in the road, but it only makes you want to push harder to operate, you know you’re on the right track. Being grounded in purpose helps with sustaining yourself through difficulties. (Don’t think I’m smart for that comment. I literally stole it from a meme. I AM however, smart enough to steal from memes.)

So purpose continues. Stronger.

My purposes are what they are. Yours will, and should be, different.

The world needs a lot of things. Humans are blessed with varying gifts. Thank goodness for that. if only me people existed things like “why are the highways not built?! I sent an email. I had a meeting. And then another meeting about the meeting. I don’t understand” would happen. Or we’d all starve to death because we didn’t have the widget maker or the farmers. All the talents are needed. The thing that you’re good at, that the world needs, and that pleases you to do, is no less or more important than my thing. All the things matter. All the things are needed.

So, in whatever your purpose is, go do great things.