Life shopping

My childhood best friend Shelly and I used to take the Sears catalog and "call" an item on every page spread.
"Oh! I call the green shimmery dress..."
"Well, I get the leopard print pajamas..."
on and on through the whole book, through lingerie (interesting and educational!) and power tools (I call the riding lawnmower!) and jewelry (where subtle and understated was not in our vocabulary).

Then we'd shut the book and go climb trees and pretend Donny Osmond was our boyfriend. (We were good at sharing him.) The wanting of things didn't get in the way of living our real lives; it was just a game of choosing and figuring out what we liked. We knew we couldn't have everything in there but we knew what we'd choose if we were given a choice of wigs, that's for sure.

* * *

Recently it has come to my attention that I have been treating my forays into blogland like a catalog of regrets and longing, thinking wistfully that I would love to have everyone else's life but my own

{oh! I wish I had...

a newborn baby with sweet eyelashes...

a fabulous closet of shoes...

a big happy brood of six children...

a marathon-running body...

a fixer-upper cottage in France...

a career as an actress on Broadway...

a flair for dressing with just the right knack...

exquisite phototaking talents...

a bestselling novel...

a husband who works from home...

big jolly dinners with extended family who live nearby...

an obsession with cleanliness (or at least a very clean house)...

such a hilarious way of writing about life...

etcetera...}

When I should be treating these views as a fascinating museum of lives and a chance to celebrate differentness and sameness, to say "good for her" and "well done" and "I feel for you."

{Okay, with the secret hope that you have dustbunnies sometimes, too}

I like my life. I do.

It's constructed out of a series of choices and silly luck (both good and bad) and trade-offs.

Yours is too. I like that about all of us.

I'm just relearning that lesson about shutting the book, walking away, and living my own life.

{And cheering you on while you live yours.}

Get me to a nunnery?

I am, at heart, a bit of a loner.  That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a good friendship or gathering or love my people or crave connection.  But, it’s true, if I were banished to a desert island somewhere, upon receiving the news I would happily get up, say a little too cheerfully “Really?” and run to pack my things.  I don’t mind alone time is all I’m saying.

In fact, when I used to read about someone sentenced to jail time (or even solitary confinement) I felt a teensy bit jealous of all that quality time & mused “Eh…that wouldn’t be so bad…especially if I had my own cell” (sharing a cell? Not so much).  In another place (and religion) I might have been well suited to the nunnery.

I trace this back to when I became a mother.

For example. When I was about to turn 30, G asked what my heart’s desire would be.  I knew exactly what I wanted but I hemmed and hawed a bit before he got it out of me (I didn’t want to hurt his feelings!).  What I really wanted more than any thing on earth was a weekend by myself.  Keep in mind that at the time I had three kids under the age of five and a traveling, working-overtime husband.  I didn’t want any demands or agendas, not even a romantic weekend with my husband.  Just me, a stack of books, and 36 hours of my own free will and choice.  G (knowing me as he does) didn’t blink twice, just cleared his schedule and carried my bags to the car, waving as I headed south to an inn in rural Virginia.  I slept in, stayed up late, walked, took long drives around horse country, readreadread, and wrote pages and pages.  I wanted to figure myself out a bit, this new 30 version of me.

Nowadays I get my fill of me, of aloneness.  The kids are all gone during the day and now I miss having a little buddy tagging along with me.  Lately—probably because I’m past the high-intensity early years of mommying with those constant needs, full body contact, and sticky hands, beloved but constant—I’m going back to my more social roots (my parents attest that I was a very social girl!). My 40^th birthday happens this year and I'm finding that my dream of an ideal celebration has changed over the last ten years.  Now I’m dreaming of a getaway with a gaggle of people, much loud laughter and breezy conversation. 

 

With some quiet alone time built into the schedule, of course.

Do you know of any nunneries that host that kind of weekend?

Or maybe the lovely island of Alcatraz, with its private suites and city views?

Alternate reality, part 2

I was a graduate school baby, born in New York City when my parents were living there while my dad went to NYU.  There's a great family story about their arrival there, fresh from Utah and pretty newly married.  They were looking for an apartment, walking around the city and checking things out. One street looked especially promising. And there was a sign for an available studio apartment!  I think the conversation went something like this:

"This looks kind of nice."

"Yes (hesitant, looking with a critical eye), but it's on a busy street." 

"Well, it is kind of nice to be close to a park."

"That's true. Maybe we could get used to the noise."

"Should we go in and ask?"

"Okay."

So they did.  And were stunned by the rent amount the amused doorman quoted.

The address? Park Avenue across from Central Park!!!

I love the hearing about the charming, young naivete of my now seasoned and well traveled parents :)

Maybe it's because part of my heart is still in NYC but I love to read about people living there.  To live vicariously. Maybe in a parallel universe I would be younger, graduating from Juilliard, attending Fashion Week and the US Open, finding spontaneous fun around the city.  Just like Naomi and her cute husband living the newlywed life in the big apple.  I love this spontaneous dance fest she and her friends staged when they saw a cool painted van (more here). Everyone needs a good dancing posse who will embrace a moment like this (Naomi's the one with the long hair): 

Or maybe in yet another alternate reality I would be working on Broadway, having fabulous times with my actor friends (some of them famous) and embracing the city life like beautiful Natalie, a member of the cast of Grease.  

I really am happy with my own set of circumstances and life. But it's fun to know someone's living those other dreams, anyway.  

* * * 

Do you have a favorite vicarious living blog?

Alternate reality no. 1*

I live in the English countryside in a farmhouse. I have an old fashioned bike (with a basket on the front) that I ride into the nearby village on nice days. I have several animals (dog, cat, cow, chickens) but the details are hazy so I must not take care of all the grueling chores--just enjoy them and pet them and leave the milking and mucking to a helper named...Fergus (hey--it's my alternate reality!). I have a huge scrubbed pine table in my kitchen and a red Aga stove and a dutch door to the garden that is painted blue. I am a writer and artist but not struggling--I do just fine, thank you very much. I live alone but have hilarious and lovely friends throughout the village who stop by (popping their heads through the top of the dutch door of course!) sometimes for a chat. My social world is small but, very Austen-like, it is filled with characters and relationship intrigue so it feels plenty full.

I have time to notice details: the slant of a beam of light, the slow progress of a flower's blooming season, the sound of different times of the day. I have time to listen and do it well. I have a wicked sense of humor and act in the local Gilbert and Sullivan productions. I read a lot. I sleep in if I want.

Basically, I guess I am Beatrix Potter of the 21st century. Kind of corny, I know.

How this shows up in my actual reality: I just bought a red cruiser bike with a basket.

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*I am content with my life. Really, I am. I helped to create the life we are living here in Boston, made many of the decisions that placed me here with G. and three kids, doing what we do, where we do it. I love it. But that doesn't stop me from wondering what if..., along the lines of the movie Sliding Doors (remember that great short haircut Gwyneth had? I tried to copy it but it didn't turn out the same). Let's just say there are parallel possibilities in my head...different ways I would try out living if I had the chance, questions about where the road would have led if I made different decisions here and there. Maybe I'll let them loose now and then by describing them here. But let me just make clear that I am happy with the one I have...did I already say that?