The Vince Vaughn Train Has Left the Station

As I watched The Ellen DeGeneres Show today, it became apparent to me that I have not been paying enough attention for the last… oh, quite a while. Ellen’s first guest today was my favorite lust object, Vince Vaughn. ***Major sigh***

 

Vince was there to plug his new movie, which comes out today, but also to talk about his newest and most adventurous role to date – fatherhood! Wait, what? Vince Vaughn has a baby? Then that must mean… gasp! … I listened in shocked silence as he gushed about his wife!  His wife. He’s not only a daddy, he’s married. What hole have I been hiding in that I was not aware of this important bit of information?

As it turns out, this is very good news for my husband. I informed him today when he came home from work that he is no longer in danger of my leaving him to run off with Vince Vaughn. As you can imagine, he was hugely relieved. Now that Vince is out of the picture, I can safely say that I’ll be staying put. Vince is married and that’s that.

 

Of course, there is always Johnny Depp, but frankly, he’s just too bohemian for me. Yes, I do know that his bohemian bent is largely responsible for his incredible attractiveness, however, my primarily conservative nature would probably go on tilt with a full-time diet of Johnny Depp. I’m not saying that a short ride on the Depp train wouldn’t be a mighty nice diversion, but, well…

 

 

The Mystery of Grief

Grief is a sneaky thing.

On my way to a job interview two days ago, I was feeling particularly buoyed, having had the benefit of several almost back-to-back sessions with a new (and apparently very capable) therapist. As I drove, I reflected back on the conversations I’ve had with the new doctor, filling her in on the traumatic events of the past several years. In particular, we had concentrated on the events surrounding my dad’s sudden death: my very strong suspicion that my dad was poisoned, the horrific probate fight that drug on for years, the ex-business partner and my dad’s banker who framed my brother for bank fraud and sent him to prison for fifteen months (stealing Dad’s business in the process.) Yes, I know, I sound like a paranoid delusional crazy person, which is why I don’t talk about it much and that has apparently contributed greatly to my shaky emotional status of late.

All of this was in the mental stew that was boiling in my mind as I drove along heading for my job interview. I happened to notice a new business, a steel fabrication company. It just so happens that was the kind of business my dad owned. As I read the sign with the company’s name, I felt a little flutter of happy in the back of my mind. Pure reflex kicked in as a fully formed impulse presented itself in my consciousness. I reached for my cell phone, actually had it in my hand before reality yanked me back to the present. I was going to call my dad, anxious to tell him that I was taking control of my life again. It all happened in a split second – the jolt of happiness, the impulse to call, and then the clutch in my stomach as I remembered – he’s gone.

Suddenly, my mouth was agape, my eyes filled with tears and I felt the grip of grief. My dad has been gone for six years, not to mention the fact that I was consciously reviewing the circumstances of his death at the very moment that I had the impulse to give him a call. It was a surreal moment. I marvel at the capacity of the human brain to compartmentalize so completely that such an event can occur.

I wonder if the trauma of those events somehow stunted the natural process of grief. As I woodenly marched forward through all those months following his death, performing the necessary tasks by rote, somehow managing to do everything that had to be done, did I so successfully compartmentalize the events that I never fully experienced the grief? Or was it just some kind of “brain glitch” that allowed the two experiences to fully co-exist in my brain that day – the full realization and analysis of my dad’s death versus the complete momentary lapse of awareness that he is gone?

I don’t know the answer to that question. I only know that the stunned realization that I couldn’t call him that day, or any day, was so fresh, so intense, that it took my breath away. I miss my dad. Maybe the healing process has begun.

 

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Have You Seen My Missing Life?

 

 

It just goes to show you, it’s always something. I’ve never been one to ascribe to this line of thinking, but the tragedies falling like so many dominoes around me for the past six years have flipped a switch within me, turning me into the Roseanne Roseannadanna of the twenty-first century. Mimicking the attitude of the brash, explosive character played by the lovely and talented late Gilda Radner was certainly not something to which I aspired. For most of my life, I have considered myself an unapologetic optimist, a glass-half full kind of gal with a penchant for looking for the proverbial silver lining in every cloud.

I tell you, I thought I was gonna die! Another Roseanne Roseannadanna gem, this phrase has taken on a life of its own for me. Oh, joy! As if I always wanted to be a bitchy, 53-year-old woman with a healthy sense of impending doom. In my previous life - before I became an unrepentant pessimist – friends would have described me as happy, fun-loving, friendly, and (not to be forgotten) optimistic. My smile was perennially plastered on my face. Where the hell has that woman gone?

What are you trying to do, make me sick? I remember when I turned fifty, I was seeing a therapist (and in this case, I use that term very loosely, a more fitting title would be emotional terrorist) who glibly informed me that very often, when women turn fifty, they redefine their lives and emerge as a stronger version of themselves. This she told me as I sat in her office a blubbering, shuddering mass of exploding emotions. A year later, after extensive torturous mining of my shattered emotions, I made the decision to leave her office and never return; resolving instead to find my own way through the minefield that had become my life.

So, how did that work out for me, you may ask. Not so great. Not really great at all. Seems my therapeutic skills leave much to be desired. Hence, the pessimism, bitchiness, doom and gloom attitude, etc, etc.

Having grown weary of being the reincarnation of the brash, road-weary, explosive Ms. Roseannadanna, I jumped back into the pool and found another therapist. She is the polar opposite of my former emotional terrorist therapist. I’m actually starting to believe that the sun may very well rise again and someday I may start looking for those silver linings again.

Maybe I’ll even find my sense of humor again. What a bonus that would be!

The Only Way Out

 

_{photo by menchaca17}

LIFE IS ALWAYS MORE TROUBLE THAN YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE...

As we near the end of yet another year, so arrives the inevitable impulse to engage in reflection. We grade each passing year – assigning words like good, worst, best - as if the preceding twelve months have somehow earned a rating, a pass or fail on some celestial report card. We hand out wishes for a happy new year like so much confetti at a parade. We stack last year alongside previous years and compare, judge, rate; we reflect. We make lists chronicling the year: the best of, the worst of, my favorite, my least favorite. Again – reflection, grading, rating.

When we finish dissecting the year past, we start on the year to come. Now our reflection turns to speculation. We wonder at what the New Year holds, we set goals, strike bargains with ourselves, hope, wish, and dream. More confetti wishes sprinkle our conversations with each other. It’s not that our words aren’t sincere, for indeed they are. We certainly hope for better times, both for ourselves and for our loved ones. It’s the human condition to seek improvement, to long for more or better.

Given all this reflection and wishing and hoping, the question begs asking: do we stop there; or are we moved to action? There is a choice to be made on every level, be it personal, professional, relational, and even on a grander scale all the way to global. Do we make the choice or do we settle for wishing and hoping?

On a personal level, I am forced to admit that I have become a voyeur of my own life. I have allowed myself to become so overwhelmed by the capricious nature of life that I have settled for letting my life take its own course, instead of grabbing the reins myself. The state of malaise I have wallowed in has led me to a place of deep discontent. The bad news is that I’ve reached a dead-end. The good news is that the only way out is up.

All of my reflection has led me to understand that I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting for my life to take a turn for the better. I have graded the past six years and found them wanting. Yes, those years were filled with knock-out punches, but that is nothing novel. Who among us hasn’t faced some of the worst life has to offer and still come back swinging? I simply stopped swinging back. It’s as if I sat down in the rubble and refused to get back up. Then the tide of life easily carried me to that proverbial dead-end.

I don’t like this dank, dark dead-end I find myself in. I haven’t liked it for years, but it became familiar enough that I was willing to stay there. For whatever reason – providence, divine intervention, the encouragement of family and dear friends (yes, you, dear ones) – I finally remembered to look up. Yes, indeed, the only way out is up. I’m headed in that direction.

It’s a beginning…