Better Latte Than Never, AKA, The Bitter End

I love coffee.  I love the taste of it.  I love the smell of it.  I love the social aspect of it; meeting a friend for coffee, or asking a co-worker to take a walk to Starbuck's with me.

 I also love the way coffee transforms me into a happy, more productive person.  One who laughs in a carefree manner at how entertaining she is (when she drinks coffee.)  One who blazes through her to-do list with the fierceness of Zena the Warrior Princess.

 However...not all of me loves coffee so much.  Coffee (decaf or regular), does terrible things to my digestive system.  It's not every time, so I lull myself into a false sense of security thinking I am going to be OK and then WHAM, not OK.  At times, I end up down for the count for a day or two eating nothing but crackers, pretzels, and rice.  So, I'm basically playing Russian Roulette with my GI tract.  I should definitely tell you that I was never an everyday coffee drinker.  I had it about 3 times per week, so it's not a question of cutting down, it's a question of cutting out.

 One would think, well, if it's that bad for you, give it up.  Well, that's the thing, I DO know it's bad for me and I have said several times that I would give it up.  But it keeps coming back with its tempting aroma and promise of a better day.  And I fold like a cheap suit.

 About a month ago, I had a regular-sized cup of half-caff coffee at home.  For some reason, I lost that particular game of Russian Roulette and felt awful.  I swore that day that this was the end of the road, that it was me versus coffee and I was going to win.  I told my family that if they care about me at all, they will not let me have coffee anymore.  This time, I mean it.  I don't want to know the amount of damage that I have done to my GI system over the years.  I've been to GI doctors.  When telling one that coffee was often a trigger for me, he said "oh, I would never tell anyone to give up coffee" and he gave me a prescription, which didn't help.  When I think back, as happy as I was to hear that, shouldn't he have even suggested that I give it up?  Maybe offered alternatives?  Nope, it was just "take this pill and don't change your behavior.”

 So, I changed my behavior. And you know what?  I felt better.  What a shock! (she says sarcastically to herself.)  And I’ve noticed that my stomach is not as bloated as before, which, as a 51 year old woman, is everything. I have had an occasional iced tea or soda to get a caffeine fix, with mixed results. I have tried this decaf, herbal tea that is supposed to make you think you are drinking coffee. Nothing can make you think you are drinking coffee except coffee.  I did break once, having a decaf with almond milk from Starbuck’s.  I wanted to see if I was OK after having cleaned out my system from any traces of coffee.  Sadly, I was not.

Will I abstain from coffee forever?  Doubtful.  I mean, I can’t give up my free birthday Starbuck’s, that would just be silly!  But, for now, I’ve been able to persevere in my quest. It may sound ridiculous to some but it’s really difficult to give up something that you are attached to, even though it’s not the best thing for you, be it a food, a beverage, a habit, or a way of thinking. I have things in each of those categories that I need to work on. But, for now, I’ll start with coffee.

If You Give A Mom A Cookie

If you give a mom a cookie,
She'll want some coffee to go with it.
Opening the cupboard for a mug and seeing none will remind her that they are all in the dishwasher, which she ran the night before.
She will empty the dishwasher.
She will look for sugar for her coffee.
She will ask Alexa to add sugar to her shopping list.
She will ask Alexa to play her 80's rock mix.
She will take inventory of what she has and what else she needs to add to the list.
Adding laundry detergent to the shopping list will remind her that she never put her laundry in the dryer.
She will go to put her clothes in the dryer but will see that the towels she washed yesterday are still in there.
She will fold the towels and put them in the bathroom (once again, forgetting to put the clothes in the dryer.)
While in the bathroom, she will notice that the wastebasket is full and will empty it into the kitchen garbage pail,
This will fill the kitchen garbage bag, so she will take out the garbage.
On the way back in, she will get the mail and open it.
She will peruse a Macy's catalog to see if they have a Clinique Bonus coming up.
Opening the mail will remind her that she didn't pay the credit credit card bill.
She will go on the computer and pay her bill.
She will see that her Target tab is still open from the day before.
She will click that tab.
She will decide that she needs vitamins and will read several reviews of various kinds and brands.
She will then go to Amazon to compare prices.
She will get a text with a funny clip from her favorite show.
She will click 3 more videos.
She will see a Target ad that will remind her to go back to that site.
She will place her Target order for vitamins, swim goggles, and coffee creamer.
Looking at coffee creamer will make her want a cup of coffee.
She will remember that she has a cup of coffee on the counter.
And if she has a cup of coffee, she will probably want a cookie to go with it.

A Break-Up Letter to Covid-19 Quarantine

Dear Covid-19 Quarantine ("CQ"),

You've been hanging around for about three months now.  At first, there was a novelty about you, guess you could call it the "honeymoon phase." I had never experienced anything like you, and you certainly were not expected! I figured out your quirks and learned how to adjust to them. But lately, things have changed. I've been feeling that I need more space.  A LOT more space.

I haven't seen my friends because of you, and any self-help book or Dr. Phil episode will tell you that this is not the sign of a healthy relationship!  You won't let me go anywhere, and when I do, you make me hide my face. That's a bit controlling, don't you think?

CQ, being in this relationship has made me too comfortable.  While I appreciate that you don't care how I look, truly I do, I've let myself go because of you. My party clothes hang in the closet, while my washing machine is on a first-name basis with my sweatpants (which, by the way, are getting tighter and tighter.) I forgot how to use my iron. All of the muffins that I am baking are going straight to my, well, muffin top. I miss the person I was before you.

But they say that there is good that can be taken from any relationship, so I will look at the silver linings.  While you made me cook dinner almost every night of the past three months, I did realize that given enough time and planning, I'm better at it than I thought I was. I have tried new recipes and even made fresh pasta, so I suppose I have you to thank for that. 

Since you don't let me go out and socialize, I have read more, which is always a good thing, and have cleaned out some drawers and closets.  However, finding pictures and mementos from concerts and parties only makes me realize that you are just wrong for me.  It's clear that we want different things.

So dear CQ, it's time for me to see other people.  I mean, like, literally SEE OTHER PEOPLE.  Please don't come crawling back, you will just embarrass yourself as I hope to be immune to your charms soon.

Sincerely,
Darlene

What If I Don’t Wanna Lean?

Last week I said farewell and good luck to someone on my team at work.  This is not a new occurrence. Since I have been in this role I have said bon voyage to three direct reports. (I should explain that their decision to leave was not because they reported to me, I swear.)

In each case, these wonderful employees left because they were progressing in their careers, either making more money, or attaining an advance in title, or both.  This is the natural progression of career development.  You move up, reaching for the next rung on the corporate ladder.

But what if climbing that corporate ladder isn’t for you? What if you have no future career aspirations?  In this day and age, this attitude makes a person look like an “underachiever.” Why wouldn’t we want to move up, to the east side, to a deluxe apartment in the sky? (Sorry, I can’t help myself when it comes to 70’s TV theme songs.)

Three years ago, I put my hat in the ring for a higher position within my office.  I wasn’t sure that this role was the right move for me, but I had several wonderful people encouraging me.  I didn’t get the position, and at the time I was crushed.  But after a while, I started asking myself, did I apply for the job because I wanted it or, rather, because it was the next logical step and was expected of me?  I loved the job that I had and I was good at it. The new role would entail duties that I didn’t think truly fit my interests and skills.  I was on the leadership team of the department already but was not responsible for the entire office.  Did I want that increase in responsibility?  I wanted to want it, that was for sure.

After I was rejected for the job, people immediately started asking me “Now what will you do?”  And my answer was always the same, “I am going to do my job.”  I received job postings from friends and was thankful for their concern and assistance, but the reality was that I was in a role that I liked.  Yes, my pride was wounded, big time, but I wasn’t going to spite myself by leaving a job that checked off most of my boxes, including being located close to home.

The goal of the book Lean In is to empower women to be ambitious, to have a seat at the table, and to advance in their careers.  The book encourages women to take risks.  However, what I learned is that this advice doesn’t work for everyone.  Quite simply, I didn’t want to lean, or sit, or advance, or risk-take. I was happy where I was, and, at least for now, where I still am. And that is perfectly OK and doesn't mean I have to give back my feminist card.

Does this make me an underachiever, or someone who is self-aware enough to know what is right for her?  I’ve asked myself that question. The fact is there really is no point in asking it, because I am happy where I am. What I do know is that the world don't move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you, may not be right for some. It takes Diff’rent strokes to move the world.

One Moment In Time (Not Just a Whitney Houston song)

I've been on somewhat of a self-help kick lately. (Maybe it's the fact that I turned 50 this year.) One of the things I've been reading about is mindfulness.  Here's the definition:

mind·ful·ness

/ˈmīn(d)f(ə)lnəs/

Learn to pronounce

noun

1. 1.

   the quality or state of being conscious or aware of something.

   "their mindfulness of the wider cinematic tradition"
2. 2.

   a mental state achieved by focusing one's awareness on the present moment, while calmly acknowledging and accepting one's feelings, thoughts, and bodily sensations, used as a therapeutic technique.

I suck at mindfulness.  Like, really suck. Especially at that "calmly" part.

The fact is, Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.  I mean, if high school student Ferris Bueller knew that, then 50 year old me should be smart enough to figure that out, right? 

Not so much.

When engaging in mindfulness, one doesn't dwell on the past or project into the future.  All that matters in the current reality, the current moment, and your response to it.  Here is where I have trouble. I could be the poster child for...what would be the opposite of mindfulness, mindlessness? Mindemptyness? Those sound pretty horrible and way too judgemental, so let's just say I am mindfulness-adjacent and leave it at that.

It's all too easy to take our baggage with us everywhere we go, whether the baggage is the size of a carry-on or as big as a suitcase that teeters on the edge of not being allowed on the flight without you having to open it up and take out some items. The point is, our past influences our present, and it's tough to look at a moment with purely nonjudgmental eyes, without our ideas, hopes, fears, or expectations blinding us.  It's difficult to appreciate a moment without trying to control it, to see things as they are and not how we want them to be, to allow things to happen naturally without forcing them into existence. 

I know I have work to do. I also know that I will never be the sort of person who can obtain a deep state of meditation with a clear mind.  I will never not get angry at my kids when I need to ask them three times to hang up their coats. I will never be a great cook, as much as I try to make that true.  I will, however, try to be more conscious of the present and attempt to see reality, my reality, and the people and places within it, with fresh eyes, and maybe with some 2020 vision.  (See what I did there?)

I Demand a Recount

There have been many hotly contested elections as of late. We can debate the results for hours. But ladies and gentlemen, I would like to discuss a miscarriage of justice; an election whose results I think we can all agree should have gone in a very different direction. While you may not agree with me at first, I ask you to consider my argument.

The election in question? People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive. No offense to John Legend. I like John a lot, and I was perfectly happy with the results until I realized that there was an obvious choice. A choice that was overlooked because he does not conform to traditional views. A choice that is out of the box and, therefore, not given the credit that he deserves. I present my choice for sexiest man alive, Kristoff Bjorgman. Who, you ask, is Kristoff Bjorgman? He’s the dashing iceman from Frozen and Frozen2. (Yes, that’s actually his last name, I Googled it.) And, yes, I am aware that he is animated. Here are my thoughts. 

· He knows not to get in the way of Elsa and Anna’s relationship as sisters. As the mother of two girls, I know the value of this, and hope for this in their future suitors.
· He will dress up when necessary but looks best in his rugged work clothes.
· He swoops in to save Anna, but not because she is a damsel in distress; far from it. When he does rescue her, his first words are “I’m here. What can I do?” Swoon. (Gentlemen, take note, and you’re welcome.)
· He sings about his love for Anna is a cheesy, 80’s style video, complete with reindeer back-up singers.
· He is open minded, having been raised by trolls.
· He is a bad-ass. He races into fire with Sven, his trusty reindeer, to save the other reindeer.
· He’s in great shape from carrying all of that ice. 

See?? Tell me that doesn't make him deserving of the cover?  Sorry, John Legend, but I rest my case.

Love Yourself, Unless You Can Be Better

When I was young I didn’t understand why anyone would even entertain the idea of plastic surgery.  Have a surgeon cut you open just to defy aging?? How narcissistic! We should all just accept aging as a part of life and love ourselves for who we are!! I mean, look at Joan Rivers, who wants to look like her?

That was then.  This is now.  These days, I find myself doing that thing where you pull part of your face up, down, or sideways, depending on the desired effect, to see how you would look with just a tuck here or there.  I’m also paying more attention to the infomercials for anti-aging products that are on while I am getting my nails done. “Why, Yes, Jane Seymour, I AM worried about crepey skin!”

Women get mixed messages constantly.  Pick up any magazine aimed at women and you will likely see articles  called “Love the Skin You’re In” alongside ones titled “Look Ten Years Younger by Drinking Algae Smoothies!” (Or something like that)

So, which is it? Do we love the skin we are in or do we shed those extra ten holiday pounds? Do we embrace and welcome the aging process or do we inject chemicals into our faces? I suppose the answer varies by person.  It’s all what you are comfortable with.  However, it’s difficult to be comfortable when you are 50; when you see old pictures of yourself and are envious of the face and body looking back at you; When you are at the age when you just want to say “screw it, give me a donut, I’ve lived a life! I’ve earned it!” (Full disclosure, I had one of those YOLO donut moments yesterday.)

You can say “age is just a number” all you want, but it’s a significant one.  And for women, it comes with a whole Costco-sized bucket of insecurities.  What’s the answer? Is it a Costco-sized bucket of Oil of Olay? Or is it having more confidence in who, what and where we are in life? I wish I had the answers. What I can tell you is that we are in this together, ladies.  And take those articles with a grain of salt. Whether you use that salt to make a facial scrub to get rid of old dead skin, or you use it to top off a margarita, well, that’s up to you.