Promise #22: Be there
Be attentive.
Be friendly.
Be generous.
Be humble.
Be silly.
Be thankful.
Be open.
Be honest.
Be wishful.
Be engaging.
Be shameless.
Be trustworthy.
Be ingenious.
Be gentle.
Be comforting.
Be unconditional.
Be brilliant.
Be loving.
Be yourself.
Be there.
Promise #21: Rock with Lesson
Failure has a sister named Lesson. She’s much more pleasant to rock out with.
Lesson isn’t judgmental or argumentative. She’s not nasty or condescending. In fact, she’s refreshingly bright and engaging. The minute you meet her, she makes you feel like the most enlightened person in the world. It’s just her way.
I met Lesson when I was six. I wandered away from my house, was picked up by a borough official and promptly (luckily) returned to my mother. Lesson was standing in the driveway. It was tough to understand her with all the screaming and yelling, but once things quieted down she and I became very good friends. She didn’t mind hanging out on the couch with me until my dad came home. She’s good like that.
Our relationship has certainly grown. She’s reeled me through the years one event at a time…here are some highlights from 2009-2010:
- If you’re not excited to get out of the bed in the morning, then roll over and keep dreaming until you’re ready
- Stop worrying about what everyone else is thinking because chances are they’re not really thinking about you
- NO is a magical word that delivers great joy to those who use it wisely
- Laugh lines are the sign of a really good life
- Last person at the party is a rotten egg, leave before the lights go out, it’s easier to find the door
- Karma always has your back
Sometimes Lesson’s visits cost me a fortune. Sometimes they’re just a big, fat, emotional funfest. One thing is for sure: regardless of the amount of time we spend together I always walk away a little bit stronger…a little bit smarter.
I just wish she’d call and let me know she’s coming…I’m always so freaking surprised to see her barreling through the door.
Promise #20: Wear a helmet
Every brain has a front office where executive decisions are made. It’s called the prefrontal cortex. Good versus evil; consequences versus kudos; control versus chaos; chocolate versus vanilla. It’s all decided in cushy space located at the forefront of the forehead.
I have a huge forehead. My brother always referred to it as a “big blockhead.” I’m not scarred by this. In fact, the only reason I recently asked my hairdresser, Kelly, to sweep my bangs across my forehead was because I thought it might look pretty. “Really?” she inquired, “Nobody’s ever requested a forehead comb-over before.” A first for us both.
As luck would have it, I stumbled upon a wonderful bit of insight that I wish I had years ago. Professor Samuel R. Wells, a leader in phrenology, wisely wrote that the forehead “in natural total idiots is very diminished.” Thank you, Professor Wells, for validating the size of my lid.
Isn’t it strange how a little childhood teasing can stick with you…forever? I don’t even need to address the prominent widow’s peak that rests on top of my big forehead. I’ll merely add that Eddie Munster and I were VERY good friends growing up. Even our skin was the same shade of white that cosmetic companies refer to as “barely there.”
I think the secret to survival is a snug-fitting helmet. One with enough padding to protect the front office from a sneak attack on the psyche. I wish helmets were popular when I was a kid. I may have avoided the comb-over altogether (although I do like the way it looks).
Even though my brother and I have (thankfully) moved beyond the teasing, every now and then I do overhear him tell my son that he inherited his forehead from me. I can only hope that, for once, he’s right. But I don’t see how it’s possible, my brother has the smallest forehead in the world.
Promise #18: Develop a craw-clearing plan
I just learned that when something is stuck in your craw it means stuck in your throat. I always thought it meant something was stuck somewhere else. “Stuck” is an uncomfortable word and “craw” is butt-ugly, hence my assumption.
I had something stuck in my craw on Memorial Day. I was cleaning up after a little get-together and a huge, unopened bottle of Jack Daniels slipped from my hands and landed on the stone floor. It was late. I was tired. The day shattered at my feet. I spent an hour cleaning before I walked away from a Pine Sol and whiskey cocktail with a boat-load of ‘tude stuck in my craw, but I didn’t tell a soul. I tore through the night…alone.
Isn’t that stupid? I let a mindless accident ruin a fabulous day. That’s not going to happen again. Here’s my four-step craw-clearing plan. The minute I realize I’m choking I’m going to:
- Cough (very) loudly. I’m not a doctor, but I believe the best way to clear my throat is to cough. Added bonus: coughing creates noise. Noise attracts people. People are inherently caring. Someone might help me feel better. If that doesn’t work I will…
- Drink (very) slowly. I’m not a genius, but I know that a few sips of water might wash my troubles into my stomach where they will dissolve in acid or feed my ulcer. Okay, so maybe this step is not such a good idea. Maybe instead of water I should pony-up for a new Jack-in-the-bottle. Or maybe I should just…
- Stop, drop and roll. I’m not a fire fighter but I realize that if something is stuck in my craw it’s flammable. The faster I stop fanning the issue, the faster I will extinguish the flame. As a last resort, or possibly a first resort…
- Thrust forward. I’m not an idiot, but I understand that I’ll be one if I allow myself to choke on anger. So I’ll force myself to put the issue out there and deal with it before it (inevitably) takes my breath away.
I wish the phrase meant what I thought it meant—to have something stuck in your butt—because it would be so much easier to just flush and move on.
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