Maybe I'll Just Go Back to Bed

Gloomy view from my window this morning. Figures.

I do have my pet theories about the way the world works (my world, at least). And one, which has proved tried-and-true, is this: as goes my morning, so goes the rest of my day. Now, this can be good news indeed, if my early hours are filled with accomplishment, rainbows and butterflies. If, for example, I write a good piece before noon, I am likely to hear from an editor accepting that or another piece of mine, sell a book or two, and line up a speaking gig. These are also the days when my hair is frizz-free, I get a surprise phone call from one of my kids and the new chicken dish is a big hit at dinner.

On the flip side, once things start off on the wrong foot, the day is basically doomed. Take technology: on the same day recently, Microsoft Word abruptly stopped working on my Mac, for reasons unknown (even to the Geek Squad at Best Buy) and I was also suddenly unable to print anything. May as well have just gone back to bed at that point, because it was also the day that I had not one but two essays rejected. And the bread I was baking didn't rise. And my hair was meh. And the surprise text from my daughter was that she would NOT be able to come home for a visit after all (surprise!)

I’ve had multi-day (even multi-week) runs of bad or good fortune, both of which are disconcerting. When multiple appliances fail at the same time as the car needs a new transmission, or, conversely, when the entire fam escapes the nasty stomach bug making the rounds. What gives? And if I can’t figure that out, what’s to keep the bad things from continuing, or the good things to suddenly stop? When I compare notes with others, the results are a mixed bag. Some kindred souls share similar tales of woes and wows. Others maintain that The Power of Positive Thinking ™ inoculates them from ever having a crummy day.

This line of reasoning is pretty irrational, I realize. There is a good bit of randomness in life, and patterns most often do not apply. That does not, however, stop me from seeing patterns everywhere, from the torrential downpours that usually accompany my white-knuckle drives downtown, to the brilliantly sunny outdoor wedding of a friend’s daughter—a friend upon whom the sun always seems to shine.  

So here we are, on 2-20-20 (good omen? Bad omen? Omen at all?) I began today emailing an editor a pitch for an essay, featuring a major typo. We’re off to the races! I'm sure there have been exceptions to my rule, but I can't recall ANY train wreck of a morning that ended up in triumph. And I wonder if these are self-fulfilling prophecies, and I begin to emit negative vibes to the universe immediately after the first misstep.

Maybe, indeed, it’s just me.

But what if it isn’t?

J-Lo, Shakira and Me

I admit, I  didn’t watch the Superbowl halftime show Sunday night. By the time the famous booty started shaking, my booty and I were sound asleep. But I got caught right up at 4:30 AM the next morning, watching it all on YouTube (pre-dawn internet browsing is what happens when you go to bed before 8 PM). It took me a little while to process the spectacle. Here are a few observations:

I cannot watch someone crowd surfing without remembering the only time I participated in a trust fall, with the youth group I was leading. I closed my eyes and fell backwards, trusting in the reflexes and good faith of my students. I was caught before I hit the ground, but barely. That would be me hurling myself into a mosh pit: dropped, then trampled. But Shakira was a different story! 

I also cannot watch someone pole dancing without recalling the field trip to the firehouse in fourth grade, and my ignominious partial trip down that pole (I froze halfway down and had to be rescued). Not so J-Lo!

However, I do have stuff in common with those two superstar Latina goddesses.

Give me a minute. I’m thinking.

Oh yeah, here’s something: we are all moms! Ms. Lopez has 11 year old duet partner Emme, and Shakira has two cute little boys. I raised five kids, including three cute little boys, and I actually sang with my older daughter in church one time (for some reason I was never asked to repeat this feat). 

Rose's album, in which I was NOT featured

Here’s something else: we all have noticeable hips! Even when I was down around 105 lbs. many moons ago, dieting and exercising to beat the band, the tape measure didn’t budge much. This “Built for Child Bearing” look was a source of shame for decades. But recently, and thanks in part to these ladies, it is more than OK to be a bit hippy. 

And finally: we are all middle aged! Granted, I am a lot farther down Menopause Road than they are. Also granted, they could easily pass for 20-somethings, whereas I have grown weary of telling cashiers that no, I do NOT yet qualify for the senior discount. 

Seriously, though, I admire them both, and am thrilled about their continued success in an industry that still ridiculously favors youth. They may have hit the beauty jackpot, but it was their talent that was most on display Sunday night--that and their incredible work ethic. 

The brief, sweet tribute to Kobe Bryant and his daughter during the show was a reminder that any age is vulnerable to tragic outcomes. Life is short, and in the grand scheme of things, my hip measurement and wrinkles truly do not matter. 

So take it from my friends Shakira and Jenny. Be proud of who you are. Live every day to the fullest. Be trusting, and a little daring. Work hard. And (especially us women of a certain age): keep singing out. The world needs our voices.