Life Lessons from Children's Literature: The Bridge to Terabithia Is Unstable

It seems as though somewhere in our late twenties or early thirties, we hit a fork in the road. For some of us, it's a reassurance that while not every detail is perfect, we are on the right road. The road we always thought we'd be on. The road we need to keep traveling. For others, it's a wake-up call, a warning sign, a red flag - telling us that we need to change our course before we're too far down a path and can't call on the GPS of life to re-plan for us because we're too far from our original destination. And yet for others, no fork ever appears, because we are swinging on the Bridge to Terabithia and don't really give a shit where we're going, much less feel the need to debate the value of a Garmin versus a Tom-Tom to get there.  

For those of you who don't remember this Caldecott Award-winning book, it was story about two kids who used a rope to jump into a fantasyland across the creek where they could create whatever kind of world they want to live in. A world where money grows on trees (or simply spontaneously generates), success will magically appear if you will it so, and most troubles are remedied with a simple change of scenery. (You may also remember that the girl dies at the end because the rope broke, and just so you know, that isn't the part of the book that's really relevant here. Also, sorry to spoil it for you, but if you haven't read it by now...)

In every group of friends, this wedge appears when some go one way and some go another. Slowly but surely, people start to make commitments - to locations, to jobs, to other people - and others are left behind. And that's when these monkeys jump on a rope and swing on over to maintain their delusion to cope with it. Most everyone I know has one or two friends who live in Terabithia. In fact, I bet as you're reading this you're thinking about who exactly that is, and wondering (yet again) how they earn a living and can survive? When are the favors going to run out? And what do you have in common with them anymore anyway?

Maybe there is something in my nature that prevents me from understanding those who aimlessly wander through life without steady work or direction, hoping and praying they get that audition for "America's Got Talent" because that's their guaranteed ticket out of this town, or maybe I've been privileged and lucky and don't understand what it's like to feel like Eminem in "8 Mile" where all of the odds are stacked against him and he's the talented underdog on a mission. (Though I'd still point out that at least he worked hard and came out successful - "Slim Shady" didn't write itself from the confines of a couch, watching the last season of Oprah and zoinked out on Klonopin.) 

At some point, no matter how low you are, or how bleak your perceived future is, it does no good to trust the plumbing work on your pipe dream. This is the real world, with real circumstances, and you have to live in it and figure out how to put food on the table, afford the material things you need (and want), and find happiness within the hand you are dealt - or better yet, the hand you are able to afford with hard work. There are more fortunate, and less fortunate, and those who enjoy life the most are the ones who were able to find a way out of the latter and into the former. 

It's okay to change course, it's okay to quit a job with golden handcuffs for something where you earn less and feel more fulfilled. It's okay to marry for love and not for money (or not marry at all - also fine!), and it's okay not to be sure where you are sometimes. But it's not okay to sit on your ass in Candyland, do nothing, and expect good fortune to come your way. 

Sooner or later, we all have to grow up. The well runs dry and we're faced with the reality that things don't magically happen for us. But the great news is, we're all in the same boat, and if you swing back over in time, you just might save yourself before the rope breaks.

Consumption Junction, Or Why Did We Buy An 80 Pack of Fruit Snacks?

To those of you who knew me way back when, it may be surprising to know that my weekends, formerly filled with bar-hopping, 3 am last-calls, and notorious stories, have now been replaced by Comcast On-Demand, afternoon nap time, and the Holy Trinity of weekend consumption: Target, Bed Bath & Beyond, and Costco.

If I had to venture a guess, I'd approximate that at least 15% of our household income goes right into the revenue of one of these three stores. And, like a functioning addict, I cannot go a single week (or weekend) without justifying a purchase at any of these retailers, or pondering my next big ticket item. On a related note, I can't help but wonder if my circumstances have predetermined this:

a) Female;
b) 30s;
c) Disposable Income;
d) Estrogen surplus;
e) Irrational fear of the Apocalypse

It does not help to have a life partner who may be psychologically addicted to "acquiring stuff".  I swear, the mere mention of a new purchase creates sheer elation on his part. This is the man who, shortly after our joint decision to stage a two-man coup against Verizon Wireless last summer, walked right up to the AT&T counter and giddily placed his order -  "Two iPhone 4s please. And a family plan."

I know you're thinking, "she's moved on from dating crazy people and having good stories to compulsive shopping at big-box retailers?" But I'm telling you, this shopping habit is more powerful than any weekend plan, and with worse hangovers. Things like waking up on Monday mornings with nothing to pack for lunch but your choice of 80 packages of fruit snacks, an apple, and no entree. Or having 2 60 oz. squeeze bottles of ketchup, but no hot dogs or hamburgers. Or worst yet, avoiding eye contact with your monthly credit card statement, which seems to be erroneously reporting that you spent $160 at Costco last week, yet knowing that you had to buy a lunch because you couldn't cobble one together.

For a family of two, we sure do buy like a family of four. I wonder what will happen when we do start our own family and there are other little mouths to feed with Kirkland-brand goods. Will we buy for 8? 16? 32? Am I wrong to assume this will go up by factors of 4?

So, yeah. This post doesn't have a cheerful conclusion, or an end hook, but if anyone is able to recommend a recovery program for this, please let me know. Until then, I'll be perusing the dairy aisle and justifying a 3 lb. block of cheddar.

You Have Every Right To Be Proud, But I Don't Need To See Your Uterus

I totally get that you are going to have a kid, or your second kid, or the most recent of your gaggle of children.

I totally get that on a daily basis, you are or will be re-experiencing life again through the eyes of a small mini-You who was conceived on a bed of rose petals, totally sober, and by two people who were madly in love and wanted to complete a piece of the puzzle.

I totally get that your entire life has changed and you now have a perspective and a selfless attitude you have never experienced before in your life.

I totally get that if and when my husband and I decide to have children we will be so whacked out of our minds with happiness and also so sleep-deprived that we may impose impulsive, Tom-Cruise-couch-jumping drama on the rest of the world because we don't know how else to express it.

I still do not want to see your uterus on Facebook.

Bad News: We All Date Until We Die

Well folks, totally sorry to start the blog off with depressing fodder, but before you all decide to check out of reality by smoking illicit drugs and buying a porn family to live next door, I wanted to clue you in to this key life lesson.

The thing is, this should actually be a consolation to us all, because it's in the same family of common values that we all share as civilized human beings. You know, like in the same category as "breathing", "paying taxes", or my personal favorite, "diarrhea".

Marriage, as I've learned, does not symbolize the end of dating; rather, it's simply the culmination of the decision to seek out building a future with another person. When you walk down that aisle, palms sweating and hoping you do not fall flat on your face in front of 116 people and a giant re-creation of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, you are saying, "This is who I've chosen to build a future with," not, "Huzzah! I was just issued a license to be socially inept for the rest of time. Peace!"

A few months ago, I decided I wanted to expand my friend base and add some new friends to my life. So I went down the very long mental list of "Acquaintances I Wish I Spent More Time With" and selected a girl friend who I had a lot in common with professionally, but also enjoyed bantering with personally. I was a woman on a mission, and with great intentions. I wanted this girl to like me. I wanted to like her. I wanted us to be the kind of friends who, after our first "date", would start emailing one another hilarious YouTube videos and posting on each other's Facebook walls with inside jokes that made us giggle like small children. I wanted her on the invite list at the baby shower for my future unborn child (FUC), I really did. And while the dinner was nice and we had a good time, I couldn't help but wonder if we had the right kind of chemistry to become really solid friends. Where was this going? Was she really an acquaintance disguised as a potentially good friend? Did I just want to hook up with her and sneak out before there was the chance to discuss a "next time"? Why doesn't the dating ever end?

My better half is always looking for new friends for us. "Couple friends", he calls them. Now now, non-couples, there's no need to get up in arms, because I will address how single friends and couple friends can all be friends - because we can!, but for now all you really need to know is that if you're married, you really do need both. Anywho, after every "date" - without fail - we find ourselves assessing the potential. Did we have enough to talk about? Did we have similar interests? (In our case, interests include food, movies, and sarcasm.) Was one party "carrying" their significant other/partner/spouse with their charm? Did we see ourselves vacationing with these people? Celebrating birthdays for years to come?

My friend is 8 months pregnant and looking for day care centers for her FUC*. She spent hours upon hours going to every day care facility in metro Atlanta, interviewing the employees (and in turn, being interviewed herself by employees, because apparently day care can be very selective - this now solves the mystery for me as to why Octomom and Charlie Sheen do not have a day care) and trying to figure out which would be the best fit for this tiny little alien who doesn't even have a discernable personality yet. Talk about a tough dating situation!

*While technically, she has a FUC, she is already pregnant with said child, so it's basically a FUC  Knowingly End Dated. I'm a stickler for accuracy.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, we're humans who have an inherent need to be liked, to feel simpatico to someone or something else, to belong. And we all have our own set of criteria that we need to fulfill. At best, we're overjoyed when we click; at worst, we're hurt when the phone ceases to ring or we're simply told it's not going to work out. Life is a series of trying on outfits and finding the right fit, and it serves to build character, to give us perspective, to make us appreciate what we have when we find something good.

Wish I could say the same for "diarrhea".

A Fantastic Voyage, With A Little Help From Coolio

November 13, 2004.

It was an ordinary day for anyone else, with little if no historical significance...except I just Googled it to be sure and found out that Ol' Dirty Bastard died that day. Okay, so basically, not terribly significant except for to ODB, Mariah Carey, and myself.

Anyway, on that day I sat in my parents' home office in our house in Akron, Ohio (while home from Chicago for the weekend) and put a piece of my heart on the Internet. (Heart > Ass - definitely more legal, but also far more vulnerable.)

I wrote a blog for over three years (2004-2007), chronicling the evolution of my twenties and the people I met along the way. Naturally, I was inspired by an ex-boyfriend who thought I was a great writer, but not a great soul mate. (Bummer!) And to that end, my first thought was to put my innermost feelings and bitterness into the vacuous space known as the World Wide Web so I could heal better and faster, knowing that my voice was being heard somewhere, by someone. But what transpired was a written snapshot in time, a novel's worth of funny stories, and the best creative outlet I could have asked for. I've included a link to the original blog on the right toolbar, just in case you choose to peruse - as I do - and let the good times live on.

What happened next was sad. If this were a movie, this is where some sort of man vs. man obstacle would throw a wrench into the storyline and I'd have to bust out my acting chops and drop some Visine into my eyes to fake tears while still ultimately conveying the emotion better than Tara Reid and Denise Richards combined. I actually ran out of things to talk about. Yes, it's true. And then I somehow convinced myself that maybe sharing this piece of me was hampering me in some way. Maybe I had jinxed myself into never meeting the right person because I was too busy writing about the wrong ones. So I wrote my last post and vanished into MySpace.

In late 2007, I met and began dating the best thing that has ever happened to me. We met in a conventional way (at a party), and I'm sure I'll share the specifics of that story someday, maybe even here, but what is most important to note is that...well, I married him. There is no post long enough to tell you how much my life changed for the better the day he walked into it, or just how much of a better person I feel I am for having this relationship in my life, so I won't. I'll simply say that life is good.

Over the last few years, I have learned some big lessons. I've learned that relationships and circumstances are fragile, and both require an awful lot of work. I've learned that there is so much more to this life than having someone to hold hands with at the movies, although that is awfully nice - especially when the movie is scary or really gross, like in "127 Hours" where James Franco has to cut through his own arm. I want to get back to writing about whatever I want - married life, friendships, celebrities, philosophy, whatever it is that strikes me...because it makes me feel alive. And most importantly, I've only recently come to realize that my voice - single or married - enjoys being heard on the Internets. Even if no one reads it, in which case, screw you guys, I'll keep writing anyway.

So here I am, back in the atmosphere. Imagine some sort of gangster rap title soundtrack in the background of this post. Something by Coolio or Mos Def or even Cee Lo Green, but not the version where Gwyneth Paltrow or the "Glee" kids chime in because it's not "hard" enough. I hope, as before, that you enjoy reading, and that you feel free to comment whenever the mood strikes.