Ya Gotta Believe

Going on right now in politics is a tug of war over who we should believe. A powder keg of accusations, anger, and vitriol that, I guarantee, will accomplish almost nothing. I’m not touching that issue. It’s so far above my abilities and pay grade that I will leave it to others whose job it is to sort out. The evidence suggests it’s beyond them too, but they signed up for it, so they can duke it out. 

He said, she said and who do you believe seem to be the questions swirling around. Well, we can all answer that for ourselves, as we should. With thoughtful consideration, respect and hey, being a little nicer to each other while we’re at it. What is more important, is, do we believe in ourselves? Do we have the courage of our convictions, whatever they may be, or do we shrink back, like Eyore in Winnie the Pooh? Do we sit back and say, “Oh, no, I could never do that, not me, oh no, I am nowhere near good enough.” Says who? Who convinces us that we shouldn’t reach out and make a big leap at something? How does it happen that we become our own worst critics? This week, it became clear to me that I needed to change course in a few areas. When something doesn’t work, you fix it, or if it’s beyond repair, you ditch it.

Let’s think about careers. Eating, wearing clothes and having a home are all habits I’d like to continue, so I work. I’m certainly not alone in that. I’m also not alone in wanting to do well in whatever job I have, because why bother if you’re not going to do your best? It’s not a brag to say that I know how to write, I know how to gather facts, cite sources, and make complex concepts a little more engaging. As anyone would, I take pride in that. On the flip side, I can’t add numbers higher than 21, I can’t sing or dance, and I’m a miserable failure at cribbage, so it all balances out. Recently though, someone told me that I screwed up on something and I was to blame for something pretty important going wrong. When someone says to you that you stink at the very thing you take the most pride in, it’s a wicked kick in the head. We’ve all been there, right? Isn’t it awful?

The reason why it’s so agonizing is that losing a solid belief in yourself is like losing an eye. Not quite as painful and bloody, and you won’t scare the dog, but it will affect how you see every situation. Nothing will be clear because that core belief, in your abilities, your efforts and your choices, is the lens through which we perceive everyone and everything else around us. If it’s cracked? Fuggettaboutit, you’re going to bump into things and fall down a lot.

For a few days, I believed I was a screw-up. Hook, line, and nasty email, I 100% bought it. Then a whole lot of events fell into place. People acted in ways I never saw coming. Some background came to the forefront and made it all so much more apparent. Yes, we need that core belief in ourselves, but sometimes it gets forgotten because it’s intangible while someone screeching at you in real time, is easily heard and seen. At the end of one very hectic day, everything had finally righted itself and guess what? I won. Won, in the sense that I got my feet back under me, pivoted on my kicking red heels and walked on, confident again in what I have done, what I know I can do, and what I will continue to do.

There is no dress size, no amount of money, no shiny new car or toy that will ever feel as good as genuinely knowing your worth and being right about who you are. It’s petty, but if I could have gotten away with it, someone last week would have gotten a big, fat “Neener, neener” from me. I resisted the urge, but barely. It remains to be seen how it will all shake out, but that’s the fun part, right? Once you know your own strength, you’re unstoppable.

The political arena will continue to be a hotbed of controversy and conflict. Hasn’t it always been? We all have opinions on who should be believed, but it’s probably a better idea to have a firm grasp on what we believe about ourselves before we look at anyone else.

Into The Mystic

"We were born before the wind

Also younger than the sun

Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry

Smell the sea and feel the sky

Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic."

----Van Morrison

Here we are, deep into another seaside summer. The Arts Festival has wrapped, Race Week has come and gone, and while it's still light out after supper, the days are getting shorter. I have a friend who says it's the "Summer of J" because he's spending it boating, fishing and annoying his children. He might think it's his, but the best part about summer is that we all make it our own.

Summer changes every year too; it's not always the same. The summer my daughter is having is, quite simply, epic. Paddling around the harbor, zipping through the streets on a bright yellow moped, and sucking down iced coffee with friends is how she spends her days. I'm spending too much time in my much appreciated but artificial feeling air conditioning, working, but at her age, I also had an epic summer. Summer evolves each year, or does it just seem that way to me?

When I was five years old, my mother decided I could be at the beach by myself. I know, right? It was 1969; if Neil Armstrong could go to the moon, she figured I was safe at the beach. She'd pack me a lunch and send me down the street. It's not like I was alone, the whole neighborhood was there, that's how it was. The moms showed up later in the day. Looking back, I think they were all in cahoots to get us out of the house. When we weren't at the beach we were riding bikes, or at the park or playing in someone's driveway, with a hose and buckets. It was what some marketing genius now calls a "free range" childhood. It was just another summer though.

As I got older, summer definitely changed. In high school it was all about my babysitting job, which fortunately was only mornings, going to the beach, and joy rides in my boyfriend's truck. There were ice cream runs to Treadwell's, a pool day now and then at the JCC (full disclosure, none of us were members, we would hop the back part of the fence and blend in) and trips to Salem Willows for Skeeball and lousy pizza. It was everything a teenage summer should be, including the inevitable heartbreak and boyfriend drama.

Once I was college, summers became about internships and resume building. I spent every college summer working in Boston, sweating through broken down subways and lunch breaks on the Common. When you're nineteen years old, and you get to sit in on meetings about what will happen in case of national disaster (FEMA has an excellent internship program), and then you spend your weekends going on road trips with friends, zipping around North Conway and swimming in creeks, you start to feel like the world really is your oyster.

What I wouldn't recommend doing in the summer is being 14 months pregnant. OK, it wasn't quite that long, but having a baby in mid-July immediately cancels out any swimwear or, for that matter, sleep. My oldest didn't like air conditioning; only one bedroom had it, and he wouldn't sleep there, so I put his crib in the living room while I slept on the couch. In this context "Slept" refers to the few hours between midnight and dawn that I spent with one eye open while Andy was alternately hangry, wet or generally unpleasant. I took him to the beach that year once, as I drove by it at midnight, with the car windows open, hoping the night air would help with the croup he had.

Summers have come a long way in our house. No more babies unless you count the whiny pug (who is feeling much better, thank you to those who have asked.) There are still beach days with friends, but mostly at sunset, after work, and with a tiny glass of wine, because hydration is essential. No more water balloons and super soaker battles in the yard. No more rushing to catch the boat to Children's Island. One thing hasn't changed though. Each summer, I treat myself to a giant plate of fried clams. Because nothing says summer like a mouth full of sand and clam bellies. There are still a few precious weeks of lazy days and ocean waves. Enjoy them. Let your soul and spirit fly.