A year or so ago, I decided to wear my “good” jewelry whenever I darn felt like it.
Ordinarily, I would don these items only when going to a party or out to dinner with friends.
I love my diamond tennis bracelet, yet it spent more time in the doggone jewelry drawer than on my wrist. I don’t even wear my beautiful engagement ring every day. And, there are the gold hoop earrings and several other pieces of jewelry lying dormant awaiting their turns to have an outing.
Now that I’ve entered the Third Third of my life, changes are occurring. I’m taking a hard look at life and wondering for what reason am I saving these items?
Don’t misunderstand me. I expect and plan on being on this planet for another 20 years, minimum. With any luck — 30 years! Still, today could be the best day of my life, and I want to honor and adorn it.
I am now wearing my tennis bracelet when playing pickleball, grocery shopping, or whenever I damn well feel like it. Same with the earrings and precious rings.
Life is ours to be spent, not to be saved. — D.H. Lawrence, English novelist, poet, playwright.
Is your everyday flatware disappearing? I seem to run out of forks before the dishwasher is full. To where in God’s green earth do these items abscond? Rather than handwashing the used cutlery, I’ve added the “real” silver to my daily fork inventory.
My husband was appalled and wondered how could I, after all, it’s silver!? Why not? — was my reply. Plus, they won’t tarnish when used regularly. Again, why save the special utensils for guests? We’re special enough.
Stop acting as if life is a rehearsal. Live this day as if it were your last. The past is over and gone. The future is not guaranteed. — Wayne Dyer, self-help and spiritual author and motivational speaker.
My good friend, Mia, loves cowboys and horses, and I owned a print of a rugged cowboy on horseback that she adored. I promised if I left this earth before her, she would inherit it.
In my last move to another home, I decided to gift Mia with this piece of art. She was beside herself with glee and appreciation. The painting now has a prominent place in her home. Mia enjoys it every day, and I don’t miss it at all.
I wouldn’t expect you to wear a cashmere sweater while cleaning the shower or wearing a diamond ring when scouring a pan. We do need to be somewhat sensible about it.
Isn’t thriving part of being alive, part of being human? If we quit growing, we begin dying — a dull, sluggish death.
As a plant becomes root-bound in its pot, soon to die, we, too, become diminished by the inactivity of mind and body. When the mind ceases to grow, the physical body begins a slow decline into decrepitude.
"Failure is not falling down but refusing to get up. "— Robert Schuller, Christian pastor, and author.
Growing means trying something new, often. Maybe not daily, but for Pete's sake, at least weekly.
This “something new” could be as simple as sampling new food, smelling a flower you have never sniffed before, or as grand as visiting a foreign country.
Stretch yourself.
If you’re a reader and not a writer, try your hand at penning a poem or an essay. If you’re a writer and not a massive consumer of the written word, give a go at reading a piece of literature you would usually pass up. For me, this would be a piece in the areas of theology or science. I typically shy away from these subjects.
I stretched.
Over 20 years ago, I picked up a paintbrush for the first time. I was terrified. I questioned if I should even give painting a shot.
My fear increased as I entered the art class and faded somewhat as I grew more assured. The alarm began growing again as I could not fathom how to make the sky in my painting resemble the real thing!
Through lessons and on my own, I gradually became satisfied with my sky with continued practice.
This ebb and flow of fear/self-confidence continued with each new painting and often with every stroke. Persevere, I did, ultimately feeling proud of the numerous art pieces I completed.
I was able to transfer this self-assurance into designing collages. Again, the fear and insecurity appeared only to dissipate with each creation completed.
I know you, too, have experienced this fluctuation in self-confidence as you attempted a new endeavor.
Experiencing an unfamiliar event brings up our fear and resistance, our ego’s way of protecting us from failure.
There is no such thing as failure if you are trying. The only defeat is in not examining the challenge or forsaking the opportunity rather than seizing it.
"I’ve failed over and over again in my life and that is why I have succeeded. "— Michael Jordan, basketball player and businessman.
When you were a toddler attempting to take your first step and fell, you may have cried, yet the thought of not getting up wasn’t even a consideration. Growing and learning were exciting and thrilling then. It’s only later, when our egos have developed, that the shame of failure takes hold.
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Elle Luna writes this about growth in her book The Crossroads of Should and Must — Find and Follow Your Passion:
The snake is the ancient sacred symbol for transformation. In order to grow, it must shed its skin. This process is painful, dangerous, and necessary for growth. The snake’s insides are literally outgrowing its outside, and it must remove its restrictive, outermost layer.
The snake rubs and scratches, feeling that something’s not quite right. During the process, it's coloring sometimes shifts to an indigo blue hue. If for some reason the snake cannot shed its skin, over time it will become malnourished, possibly even blind, and it will die from its inability to grow.
But when it successfully completes the process, the snake emerges stronger and healthier — a new incarnation.
And so, for us, a level of transformation takes place every time we step outside our comfort zone, break through the resistance, and summon our courage and accept the challenge that awaits us.
"Success means going from one failure to another without loss of enthusiasm. "— Winston Churchill.
I’m too old. I can’t afford it. I don’t have the time. Yadda yadda. How long can we make excuses why we aren't able to do the “thing” we want to do?
When are we going to stop this distorted way of thinking and get on with pursuing our dreams?
I lived many years hog-tied by one excuse after another. I know many of you have, as well. A good deal of these excuses seemed valid. After all, we have a family to support and can’t abandon our responsibilities for some silly idea. We have bills to pay, a mortgage that’s due, remember?
Wayne Dyer was an American self-help and spiritual author and motivational speaker and one of my favorites. He formulated a list of the top excuses people have for not fulfilling their desires. These are ten from his list that resonates with me, and I believe you will recognize them as well:
I’m too old (or too young).
I don’t deserve it.
I don’t have the money.
I don’t have the time or energy.
My family would disapprove.
I don’t know how.
I’ve never done this before.
I don’t have the right training, degree.
It’s going to be risky.
I’m scared.
And these are the ones I used most often throughout my life:
I don’t deserve it.
I don’t have the right training or degree.
I’m scared.
I don’t have the time.
What about you? Being scared or I don’t deserve is hidden within every one of the excuses.
If you are courageous and believe you deserve your dream, you wouldn't have excuses at all. This may be an oversimplification; however, that is how it was for me.
Excuses become a part of our habitual thinking. This type of reasoning can only do one thing — drag us down. Is that what we want for our lives? Of course, not. Then why do we persist in making excuses?
You got it — the F word — fear. The good news is this fear is, for the most part, baseless. This does not mean it will change because we recognize this. However, awareness is the first step to change any behavior.
Courage is one step ahead of fear. — Coleman Young, American politician and first African-American Mayor of Detroit.
Unfortunately, the more you make excuses, the easier it is to make even more excuses, according to Dominic Soh of Thrive Global. I tend to agree with that — the power of repetition.
Break the chain of repetition by taking a baby step toward your goal, just one. Then take another. You will gain a bit more courage with each forward action. In addition, an unexpected opening will often occur that moves you even further along with each movement. Call it the Universe lending a hand or a synchronistic gift — whatever we choose to name it, let’s say thank you.
Life shrinks or expands according to one’s courage. — Anais Nin.
I am so enjoying my newfound avocation — writing. However, I’ve been whining internally that I don’t have enough time for it—one of my top four excuses.
How can that be — I’m retired. Sure, I still have responsibilities, but that is a far cry from those working full-time AND writing! What is my problem, and how can I be so busy?
The truth? I also love playing pickleball, hiking, and walking with my friend, Shannon, and our dogs. I also have a husband, and being a “good” wife, I want/should spend time with him. So, I do. Also, I feel the need to make dinner a few nights a week — hubby does get hungry. Oh yeah, and tidying the house, a bit of shopping — the chores that keep reappearing week after week. Bottom line — get up earlier to write, stay up later to edit, quit wasting time on nonsensical media stuff, whatever it takes — get on with it and quit complaining.
That eliminates that excuse — I don’t have the time is B.S. Make the time for what’s important.
And again, to all the full-time workers — you do have more of a challenge. Yet you can carve out bits and pieces of time hither and yon. I know you’re creative and have already figured it out.
The I’m scared excuse held me back for a long time though I never admitted it to anyone, including myself. Being afraid was often the reason I didn’t take on a challenge or new goal. Subconsciously, I deferred to one of the other popular excuse choices.
I’ve finally given up that habit and taken on a few things that scared me, and the results have been exceedingly worthwhile.
I was afraid to try pickleball — I don't know how, I’ve never done this before,I’mscared, all appeared. I signed up for group classes and had a ball, and now pickleball is my obsession. Plus, I now have a group of equally captivated women I now call friends.
Writing and publishing on Medium was a goal of mine — except for the fear andthe lack of training or degree excuses that held me back. That is until my friend, Meg, talked me out of those silly memes, and here I am on Medium.
I’m sure I’m not an isolated example of a writer afraid to publish on this platform or any of the other options available. You have been an example to me and I thank you for your guidance and wise, insightful writing.
People of all ages, occupations, and cultures have overcome their excuses because the desire was greater than the pretext. Olympic athletes, Oscar and Tony award-winning actors, incredible musicians, artists of every ilk, extraordinary doers all over the globe have overcome their excuses to live the life of their dreams.
We must push past our excuses and take action to achieve our vision. After all, this is the only life we have.
The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. — Lao Tzu, Ancient Chinese philosopher.
My mind was whirling; I was on the verge of tears. I knew my face was red with embarrassment and fear. My father was holding the garden hose and yelling at me from across the yard. Could the neighbors hear? “Can’t you even figure out how to turn the damn water on! What is wrong with you?”
How is it possible that more than five decades have passed and I still remember this event? The scars remain. I didn’t have an easy childhood. Did you? I know many have had it far worse than me, and I’m sorry for you. Our parents did the best they could with what they knew, or so I’ve been told. And I believe that, kind of.
That does not change the past. It does not make it okay that my father took his belt to my sister and me, on our rear ends and our backs for transgressions mild or perhaps even non-existent. Roller skates left in the driveway. Playing outside after the street lights came on, our curfew. No, it wasn’t right. He should have known better. Any human would know better.
Perusing my bookshelf, I came across Louise Hay’s international bestseller You Can Heal Your Life.I have read this book countless times, and it never fails to enlighten and remind me of what I have learned throughout my life. She states:
"When we are very little, we learn how to feel about ourselves and about life by the reactions of the adults around us."
My father’s reaction to my confusion while turning on the faucet created fear and feelings of inferiority.
I wanted him to love me, to like me, to accept me. Now I know; he did not love, like, or accept himself. Still, that is not an excuse to be abusive, emotionally and physically. Child Protective Services would intervene if that happened today.
In retrospect, we understand so much. My father attended art school in New York City and was a working artist until I was born. My sister was born the year before, but having a second child put the expenses far beyond his income. He had to relinquish his dream of becoming an artist.
My dad took a job he detested to support our small family, with my mom helping out with a part-time job. He was stressed, and he took it out on my sister and me. My twin brother and sister, born five years later, managed to escape his fury.
Oh, and he was a drinker. Well, maybe an alcoholic. That may have had a little something to do with the fact that he was always angry, impatient, and a bully.
We moved from the city to the New Jersey suburbs of Bergen County when I was eight to a modest-sized three bedrooms two bath home with a huge yard, three cherry trees, a pear tree, and a quince (whatever that was) tree. This home was the first one my parents bought, and it was an exciting time for all.
It was a lovely white clapboard house, with black shutters and a wrap-around porch. Maybe not beautiful enough to satisfy the gaping hole I had in my being — reasons unclear at that age.
I wrote a letter to the friend I left behind, Anita Lang, telling her of the gorgeous, gigantic home with a swimming pool I now called my residence. The effects of my father’s heavy-handed child-raising already affected me, or what other reason could there be that I would lie? My shame was already deeply embedded within me.
Horrified was I when I answered the doorbell several months after mailing the letter and there stood Anita at my front door! This house was clearly not the one I wrote about in my letter. My lie and my humiliation were crushing. How do I explain this? Will she forgive me for my deceitful fantasy? Perhaps she did, but our friendship was over.
Enter the high school years, and my sister and I had a ball — at least when we were away from home. Rarely did we invite friends over for fear our father would explode over something minor, either at us, my siblings or my mother.
Michele and I learned to self-medicate by filling a jar with alcohol snitched from several different bottles — a little vodka, maybe some brandy, a dash of rum. Ugh. It was gross, but it did the job.
My sister and I always slapped on a happy, carefree face when we were with our friends. The shame we hid was too much to share. At least we had each other.
My mother was a gifted cook and baker. Every Christmas season, she would stay up till two or three in the morning baking delicacies — flaky pastries, butter cookies dipped in chocolate, pink and white shortbread candy canes dusted with crushed peppermint candy- what delightful treats.
We would have a Christmas Eve party with the highlight guests being my grandmother and my aunt Marian — my father’s mother and sister, along with Marian’s children, my cousins.
Sadly, my most prevalent memory of those events was my father growing increasingly agitated, awaiting the guests of honor. He would have a cocktail, then another, pacing and anticipating their arrival, threatening to lock them out if they didn’t appear soon.
Eventually, they would arrive and smooth over the ruffled feathers, and the evening would proceed without further upsets.
My father’s behavior elicited nervousness and apprehension; despite my efforts to enjoy the evening, he ruined the party for me.
The Christmas Eve upset wasn’t an isolated event. I spent my days in constant worry my father would erupt or arrive from work agitated or fuming. I lived my childhood in fear and anxiety.
Not surprisingly, as an adult, I was a people pleaser. I couldn’t please my father; perhaps I could please others. For years, this was my approach.
As you may have guessed, I sought out husbands who resembled my dad in many ways. Crazy, I know.
"You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. "— A.A. Milne/Christopher Robin.
I’m okay today by navigating through rough waters, making tons of mistakes, and reading a library’s worth of “self-development” books, psychology texts, and spiritual works. I have learned I am more than okay. I am a woman of power and strength and fully deserving of love.
Each of us is on a journey. We are put on earth to love and enjoy life, not suffer, though pain is part of the adventure. We have become the being we are because of our past, not despite it.
