Why Do We Pretend?

It’s funny that Halloween is the one night of the year children pretend to be something they are not and love it, when adults do this all the time and hate it.  Why do we pretend?  Why don’t we trust our instincts more?  Why don’t we act more like children, who unabashedly dress up, walk up to strangers’ doors, and ask for what they want?  Driving to the store, my son recites his joke in the backseat for the big event.  He is so excited and not afraid of a darn thing.    

Instead, at times we adults trust others’ opinions over our own and lack confidence in our abilities and gifts.  We mull around on the sidewalk more than we walk up to new doors in life, knock and ask for what we want.       

We miss the point of Halloween, which is a little like life – be yourself, have fun, share your experiences and don’t eat all the candy on the first night. 

In a psychology class in college, I learned about a dissonance theory.  Basically, the extent of difference between what you do and how you act compared to who you really are is the amount of unhappiness you will have.  Complicated, I know. 

So if you are in a job that perfectly suits you and you are in a relationship that allows you to be yourself, your amount of dissonance is pretty low.  You should find yourself fairly happy.  Chances are you are also carrying around a bucket full of treats. 

My husband regularly chides me.  “Believe in yourself.  No one is going to do it for you.  Don’t belittle your abilities.”  I reflect on “the why” behind “the what” often.  Why are some people like this?  I think, as women, it’s a double edged sword.  We become so immersed in other people’s lives – kids, husbands, family, friends – because of our caretaker tendencies, that we forget to tell our own story.  We forget to memorize our lines for the reward at the open door.    

We went to a local bar Saturday night where people were parading around in their wigs and costumes pretending to be something they were not.  A man in a spandex cat suit… Luigi, Mario and Princess Peach were up for the best group prize.  100 dollars was at stake.  A man dressed up as a walk-in shower walked in with PVC pipe fastened on his shoulders and a plastic shower curtain wrapped around him.  No one could get within three feet of him.  I had to wonder how many of these people were better at pretending than being who they really were.  The amount of dissonance in the room was probably stifling. 

But not kids.  They know the real reason for Halloween. 

My son is going to the moon tonight.  He’s an astronaut with moon boots and all.  His joke rolls off the tongue – “One astronaut said to the other, ‘I’m hungry.’  The second astronaut said, ‘Me too.  It must be time for launch!” 

Of course, this pretty much suits him.  No pretending here.  Almost daily, he reaches for the stars and rarely misses.         

What's in a Degree?

My sisters are graduating from college.  Yes, it’s plural – sisters.  In a big family, everything is plural.  One with her masters.  One with her bachelors.  The highly organized one sends out a mass email to the family informing every one of her accomplishments and schedule of events.  She was debating about walking in the ceremony, but she has decided in the affirmative.  She ends the email with, “I would love it if you all could attend!”   

The kicker is that these two ceremonies are taking place in the same day two hours away.  We would have to high tail it down to Columbia, Missouri the night before in time for the 8:15 in the morning college graduation, then speed back to St. Louis for a midday masters ceremony – all before we grab a gift (no sorry, gifts, plural) for the joint party they will be having that evening.  I’m wondering how I’m going to do this with my very active six year old in tow. 

I’m sitting at my desk on Wednesday afternoon reading the email biting my fingernails. 

I relay this piece of news to my husband over coffee later that day.  “The third Saturday in December is completely booked,” I state matter of factly before sitting down with my cookie and coffee.  I’m stress eating.  We discuss the details.  I worry and wonder how they make it look so easy.  They are all signed up, ready to go.  The hotels are booked! 

He reminds me that none of them have children yet and have to coordinate hockey practice schedules, play dates, or general kid welfare.  This girds me up a little.  Yeah… They are all still going to proms and homecomings, enjoying single life, getting married and buying first houses. 

Can I also send out an email that I will be getting a masters degree in keeping a six year old alive and healthy, while simultaneously working, managing a house, listening to a husband about his burgeoning company, and trying to find time to show my family how much I care about them by sitting through the ceremonies?  I think all moms should get a degree for this.  Or some kind of certificate at least.      

My mother should probably have a wall of certificates and degrees, with a spotlight and a little mood music.  If motherhood was karate, she would be a black belt.  I would be happy with yellow or orange.   

But, how do we mark the occasions in life where we see progress and accomplishment?  Do we need some type of certificate?  Some document to signify our success? 

I think the occasions mark themselves.  Like when my son shouts with certainty, “You are the best mom I have ever had!”  Or when I make him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner for the third night in a row and he vehemently exclaims, “These are the best sandwiches in the world!” 

Like my sister, we should be proud of our accomplishments and want to share them with others.  Don’t be shy.  You may not be getting a MBA, but I bet you have done something you are pretty proud of.  Mark it down.  Celebrate the occasion.  Book a hotel if you have to.  But, choose to walk in your ceremony. 

 

Yes, I think degrees come in all kinds of forms.  My form just happens to be a talking, walking six year old… and one who will be very well behaved on December 18^th.     

What's in a Bottle?

It’s a sad day when you are standing in the checkout line buying a bottle of wine and the cashier asks for your license for the wrong reason.  Momentarily, you think  “How great is this!?  They are still carding me!”  But, then your heart sinks.  They do not want it to verify my age.  I am writing a check.  They are getting my correct address.  Come to think of it, when the wine bottle passed over the bar code scanner, the cashier did not even look up.  I even got my license out for her to look at just to be sure. I held it in my hand, but she didn't look up.  She punched in a few numbers to override the code that asks, “Does this person look old enough to be over 21?”  She had obviously already appraised my age and decided that there was no need to bother. 

But, the point of this story is that I got the bottle of wine, and it got me to thinking – “What makes a bottle of wine so good?” 

Wine is a bottle of fruit juice, yes.  But, it is not just bottled grape juice.  It is someone’s passion, hard work, purposed intentions, specific choices of grapes, when to pick them off the vines, time spent in fermentation, method of storage…  A bottle of wine is a winemakers’ masterpiece.    . 

As I was sitting on the veranda of a winery this weekend, I observed different groups of people with various bottles of open wine on their tables celebrating occasions.  One table had someone turning 50.  Another table had someone turning 30.  Another table was quietly enjoying the bluegrass band. 

They were moments to be bottled. 

Have you ever had those moments that you just want to bottle and save forever?  I had one driving home from the winery… listening to music… watching my son drift off to sleep in the rearview mirror. 

What makes these moments special?    

It bottles something of balance, flavor, uniqueness that all come together to make us go – “Wow. I wish I could keep this moment forever.”

I think the moments that we want to bottle are like the best bottles of wine.  They contain just the right amount of balance, flavor and uniqueness.

They are a glimpse of the embodiment of a heart’s desires and our true selves.  These moments of time that we want to bottle are the moments of realizing who we really are and what our true passion is.      

How do we fill our cellars with more bottles of these moments of happiness?

We find out what makes our life balanced.  A good wine is always balanced.  There may be a lot of good healthy and ripe grapes ready to be harvested, but they cannot all go in one bottle.  Our job is to pick the right “grapes” for what we want in our bottles.  

We find the best ground to plant ourselves in.  Different grapes grow better in different environments.  And if we don’t start growing in the environment most suitable for our varietal, we are not going to get any ripe fruit for harvest time. 

A good wine has just the right amount of sun and shade.  Some grapes like it hot.  Some like it wet and breezy.  We find out which one we are.

But, most of all we find our passion and pursue it.  No good bottle of wine was created without someone’s passion to make it the best bottle of wine possible.

We are all blends of emotions, past experiences, abilities, and dreams.  It takes the right blend to get the right bottle.  When moments in life come up that you just want to bottle and cherish, act like a winemaker.  Break it down like a great bottle of wine.  What blend made this so good?  What were the key ingredients?  What environment made the grapes thrive?  Chances are those answers are what make up what you really are and what you really care about.  

And those fleeting moments you want to bottle can become genuine realities you can embody. 

For the Love of a Pumpkin

Ladies, I have to carve a pumpkin for our front porch.  My son insists on it.  I have never done this before.  We bought a smallish sized pumpkin at the store, so as not to make this task too difficult.  My son named it Dave in the checkout line.  We’re not sure why.  And now I have to carve it… When we got to the cash register, he wasn’t even labeled.  “How much was this?” the cashier asked.  We shrug our shoulders… we have no idea.  He was in a pile of pumpkins by the front door.  No sign.  No sticker.  The poor thing.

What do I use?  A knife?  Scissors?  A chainsaw?  I have no clue.  But I feel a little sorry for this soon to be mangled pumpkin named Dave.  Maybe he should just sit outside whole and untouched.  But, then he would never light up.  No one would say, “Oh look at that cute Jack O’ Lantern!”  He would just be a vegetable… on a porch … of people who were too lazy to carve out their pumpkin. 

Do I really have to use my nice Wustoff knives?  But, I do.  I use my sharpest knives, a spoon and a sharpie… and some newspaper to catch the scraps.    

Ladies, let me tell you… with a Wustoff knife, a spoon, and a sharpie, you are unstoppable.

In fewer than 20 minutes this thing is scooped, carved, and lit up.  It is rather charming… and looks a little like a “Dave.”  In fact, since he has been lit up, he has been given a middle name… he’s now Dave Flynn.  He has a one toothed smile, but besides that looks rather happy.  We think we might want more Dave Flynns.  He might like company on that soon to be chilly porch.    

I guess, in a way we are all a little like pumpkins.  We need to be carved, carefully, and given a face, a candle and an identity to light up.  If we aren’t, we are just vegetables. 

But what makes the light turn on?  What carves that toothless smile? 

I think it has to do with what you do and how you feel about it.  If you are in a dead end job that is just making you crabby, find a way to get out of it.  No one there is going to carve you into what you want to be.  Do what you love.  Find your own sharpie and Wustoff.  And only do that.  If you don’t love it… what is the point? 

I heard this in an interview on Charlie Rose (an amazing show on PBS) and it struck a chord.  This guy quit a high powered, successful job because he didn’t love it.  Not only that… it took away from the things he loved…

The immediacy of the question, “How do I carve a pumpkin?” prompted the question, “How do I carve a life?”  And what kind of life do I want? 

I know that I don’t want to be a vegetable.  I want to be a “Dave Flynn.”