Things I learned from my Mother - Revised

1. Blush and lipstick go a long way to making you look good.
(I wear both)
2. Red is a good color for blondes to wear when you want to make a good first impression.
(I do like red)
3. Never to get involved with a man who's too good looking because he'll never treat you right.
(I've always ignored No. 3.)
4. How to dance; the five basic ballet positions, the basics of swing & the basics of ballroom.
5. How to shave my legs.
6. Always wear sunscreen outdoors. And a hat. And sunglasses.
(I don't do this either)
7. Taking the scenic route may take a little longer, but it's worth the trip. Especially if you can stop for the good french bread in Sonoma on the way "home" from Napa.
(I do like the scenic route)
8. It's bad to sit around in a wet bathing suit.
9. Not to gossip.
10. How to drive "efficiently."
11. Christmas trees just look better with white lights and synchronized ornaments.
12. The secret to a good party is keeping everyone's drinks filled up.
(This is more my Dad's trick)
13. You don't have to make everything from "scratch" - doctoring up boxed cake and brownie mix will save you time and it will still taste really good.
14. Always write personalized thank-you notes.
(I have a lot of stationery and always feel really guilty because I rarely write thank you notes)
15. Manners.
16. How to be gracious.
17. How to be feminine.
18. How to walk in high heels.
19. How to identify things that are "tacky."
20. It's more important for your clothes to fit than to worry about the size on the tag.
21. No matter how cute the shoe is, if it's uncomfortable you'll never wear it.
22. Everyone has some redeeming quality.
(Not so much in my book. A lot of people really do just suck.)
23. How to entertain.
24. How to mingle and make small talk.
25. Take a big purse to the movies and sneak in "good & plenty" candy; it's a rip-off if you buy it there.
26. You can be friends with your Mother.
(And another one, not so much.)
27. It's okay to have a cleaning lady.
28. To reserve judgment.
(She really doesn't do this)
29. To question authority - just because someone is a Doctor or a Policeman does not mean he or she is automatically right.
(Mostly she just doesn't want to listen to me)
30. That family is important.
31. That you should always have close girlfriends.
32. That you'll never look completely put together with scrungy nails no matter how hard you try.
33. Hairspray is a must in San Francisco.
34. Wash your hands before eating - always. If you can't get to a sink, use Purell or a wash-up.
35. How to pass French class.
36. How to cut wrapping paper to size to wrap a perfect present.
37. How to come up with a winning strategy for doubles tennis.
38. To never touch the seat of a public toilet and how to avoid doing just that.
(This is just too much trouble in my book.)
39. To stand up straight.
40. That salmon should be cooked through.
41. How to set the table.

Haute Couture

"Commitment" is a word that has always made me sit up and take notice. Hearing it makes me walk a little taller, run my hand over my hair, and suck in my gut. Beaming, ogling and longing all at the same time, my eyes are transfixed by "commitment" as I inevitably trip over my feet. I have "commitment" in my sights. I am transfixed. I won't let it go.

"Commitment" may not want me, but goddamnit, I want it, and I can make it reciprocate. I can. I will. I have. Well, I tried. And tried. And tried.

Somehow, things never quite worked out.

I think I know why. I have always held commitment up to be both the loftiest of goals and the supreme state of being. If you are committed - to your job, to your responsibilities, or even more divine, to someone else - your life is perfect.

I will go one record as having been wrong, on a number of counts. It is shocking, I know, so maybe some people need to sit down before we proceed any further. Grab a glass of water. Perch yourself on the fainting couch. Pull out a fan. Keep the medic alert bracelet at the ready. Everyone prepared?

Okay, so here goes. Being perfect is a stupid goal because it is impossible. It is a self-imposed sentence of unhappiness because, while important to always be striving, you should also be continually achieving. Perfection is elusive and therefore demoralizing. Simple enough, right?

This much I think I have known for a long time. I just didn't want to truly acknowledge it. The quest for perfection is a lofty and honorable (if not practical) enough goal to justify the martyrdom of perpetual unhappiness and dissatisfaction, so you can see how I was loathe to give it up. Deny the pursuit of perfection and part of my excuse to perpetually whine falls away. Couldn't let that happen.

But there is more. There is the other axis of the centrifugal force the was the vortex of my unhappiness - the tortured devotion to commitment. I admire commitments made by others (which is why weddings will *always* make me weepy, no matter whether the participants are total strangers or close family members - the pledge of lifelong commitment gets me every time) - in the personal lives, in their professional lives. Those that follow through, regardless of personal price, have always garnered my highest esteem. At one point (but for the marriage part), I though myself to be one of them. In the last few years, I have had to admit that such is not the case for me. It was hard for me to remain committed, to follow through, because I allowed the weight of my pain and inner demons to crush me, and I stopped fighting them in any real sense of the word. Nonetheless, I always aspired to be totally committed in every way (if I had stayed at the firm another day, I certainly would have had my wish, as sooner rather than later, a straight jacket would have been in order), and did my best to honor the ideal. I honored the ideal to the tune of nearly 1400 hours, to living in situations I found untenable for months, to continuing in romantic relationships I found painful, to simply ignoring family issues that pulled and tore at my insides, to ignoring personal needs and still attempting to be someone else more appropriate (and failing). I was committed all right, to all of the wrong things.

I realize now that you can be committed and still walk away, and it is in the very walking away that you are honoring your commitments. I have a friend who recently decided that her marriage was over. There was still love, but there were insurmountable issues. Issues which her spouse may have eventually accepted, but it would have always left him wondering and unhappy. In walking away, she is loving, honoring and cherishing him. She is protecting his dreams and aspirations. She made a commitment and she is honoring that love, that promise, in the walking away. It is the more difficult thing, but unquestionably it is the right thing.

Less extreme, but all I have to offer forth from my own experience, is my walking away from my BigLaw job (at long last). Of course, to the greater world, the move looks like another lateral one - from one job to another (granted a much better job in a much better situation), but I know that I made the decision (and set the process into motion) independent of the other job. I had to leave BigLaw to honor a commitment I had long neglected, the commitment to take care of myself. Nominally I have been doing so, and, let's be honest, I certainly have lavished attention on myself in vast quantities these last few years. My navel has been scrutinized like no one's business. But if I were really committed to caring for myself, I would follow through, I would do the things that are good for me. Item 1 - leaving the job that was not so slowly killing me. I (and I think everyone that knows me even casually) would be hard pressed to come up with a job more ill suited to someone with my emotional makeup than the one that I did for nearly six years. Six years!!! My god, what was I doing? What did I have to prove? And to whom? It was safe to stay. Though I did make one move - but to a place just like the one I had left (or worse, actually). But it was about hedging my bets or rather "leaving my options open." That is how I have made every decision I have ever made in life from college to law school to my jobs (and hell, even in my romantic relationships) - "What is the move I can make that leaves me with the most options?" In other words, what can I do to ostensibly make a move now, but really leave the true decision till some nebulous (and hopefull far off) "other" time. Well, I am nearly thirty. It is probably as good a time as any to start making the "real" decisions now. The ones that commit me to the life I am living. The one's where I do follow through.

I have made a list. There are three things I have to do. Goals - commitments - which I believe will honor the life I want to live and person I want to be. My judgment, especially with regards to what (and certain who's) are good for me has been questionable in the past. Okay, it has been downright shitty. I openly admit it. I have no perspective when it comes to myself. However, in the last couple of months, there have been decisions I have made based on nothing more scientific nor eloquent than "listening to my gut" and these decisions, large and small, which I would have imagined would have caused me consternation have caused me little, if any, pause at all. In fact, the net net has been positive. So my three goals are grounded in the gut. I will just need to honor and commit myself to them as best I can. I may share them eventually, but for now, I want to see if I can hold myself accountable in the vacuum that is my mind. I have so often made promises to myself that I have so quickly and carelessly broken. I need to prove that I can follow through when no one is watching, after all, isn't it what you do then that counts the most?

The Baby Factor

He was a "Definitely (2)." I am a "Probably not." And by "probably" I really mean "not." But choosing "definitely not" comes off as strident and no one approaches me. Ah, I am talking about the wonderful world of internet dating. I don't think that internet dating is particularly unique or all that different from "real life" dating, but it lends itself to extremes more easily. For starters, before you actually meet the person, you practically have their resume, and goals, or at least core beliefs. The dating sites ask you to list your preferences -- everything from tattoos (I hate them) and other "turn-ons" to whether or not you ever plan to have children. Which brings me to the main subject.

I don't want to have kids. I can't claim that I haven't ever thought about it or toyed with the idea. As a child growing up, I never liked playing with dolls. I didn't want to take care of my younger sister. I didn't even like babysitting, although I did like the fact that I could make a lot of money doing it. When I was in my early 20s, my then boyfriend/later fiancee/Marius (I) stated that he never wanted to have kids. Being young, his strident approach concerned me and we fought about it. I had no maternal desire, but I had heard that "sometimes it just hits you one day" and I was loathe to reject that option entirely. I needled him. Asked whether he ever thought he'd change his mind. Suggested that it could be a "dealbreaker" and suggested further that if he loved me, he would consider it. All the while I knew I pressing the issue not because I wanted children, but because I didn't want someone else making that decision for me.

When I was dating my next serious boyfriend, I felt I needed to consider the idea because we hadn't discussed the baby factor. I was head over heels in love with him and in my head, I was willing to do anything to make that relationship last; even if it meant having children. I have always been a hopeless romantic - the kind of person who believes that real, true love really does conquer all and that real life issues are really not issues with the right person. I constructed a fantasy life for the two of us where we would live happily ever after practicing law in a small town where we lived on a shady street and he coached the kids' soccer team in the fall. This life was briefly alluring, but I didn't like it as much as the fantasy life where we lived in a major metropolitan city and traveled to little bed and breakfasts on the weekend or went to see the latest art exhibit at the museum after reading the morning paper, sans anything remotely childlike. I was relieved to no end when I learned that he didn't want to have kids either so the small town, soccer coaching life was not something I needed to talk myself into.

That relationship is long over and I've dated others since him. None that I've fallen deeply in love with such that I've needed to consider the potential fantasy lives. Most of those men have not wanted children either, so it's never been a dealbreaker, just a point of mutual agreement. I knew I really didn't want kids when one man I dated mentioned he had had a vasectomy, and my emotional reaction was one of intense relief -- he meant it, he really didn't want them as much as me.

It's not that I have anything against children. I actually can quite like the little suckers. They say things that are funny from time to time. I also like being a "mentor" of sorts. I fill this role at work with younger lawyers. I like to share the "lessons" I've learned the hard way in the genuine hope that someone else can avoid the pitfalls of my past. I just don't like kids all the time. I don't like the lifestyle. I don't want to know anything about bugaboos or cribs or what preschool is likely to give a child the leg-up on their application to Harvard. I don't want to go to a soccer game or a basketball game on my free Saturday, I want to get a mani-pedi and go shopping! I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night when the child cries in need. I don't want to worry about tuition or the rising cost of textbooks. I don't want to talk to other parents about where our respective children are on the growth chart. I don't want to go to Back-to-School night or to parent-teacher conferences. I hated being a child. I have no desire to relive that experience as an adult. I think I would be a fantastic aunt/cool "family friend" who someone else's kids look forward to visiting once a year.

So you can see that I am really quite set in position on this and I am not going to change my mind. I kept hearing that would happen too, but I'm out of the hormonal zone where that allegedly happens, and am fortunately too old now for this to be a real issue unless I wanted to start reproducing tomorrow.

But, all of the above makes it impossible to date a "definitely (2)," apparently. Last week I had a very good time with an internet date who had chosen "definitely (2)" as his answer to the cryptic questions "want kids?" The child issue came up in the 11th hour, as I was leaving and we were saying our goodbyes. He said "at some point we'll need to talk about your 'probably not'," to which I responded, "well, are you really a definitely (2)?" He sadly said, "yes, I am." I knew I would never hear from him again.

It's probably better that way. It clearly is a dealbreaker for both of us. But there's no fun in agenda dating. It makes me miss high school. When we dated for fun and not for ovaries and other life goals. When the screw-up was a catch because he was hot. When everyone was looking for someone to go to the proverbial museum with on the weekend. (Then, it was probably a beach party; but same difference.)

Cherishing the Life I Live

Tonight I walked home through the foggy, silent, city. It was only 11:30, but most people had gone to sleep. The streets were quiet. Lights were out. I passed a pair of lovers kissing in an alley while his car was still running -- the only other two out at that hour. I came from a wine bar where I spent the evening chatting with my friend. The place was jumping. Music was playing, loudly, but not so much that conversation was inhibited and people simply posed rather than conversed. It was the good kind of busy -- busy with people who were simply out for the evening because they could be. My plans were spontaneous. I worked late and had deflected a few earlier emails from other friends sharing their Friday night plans. Asking if I wanted to meet up at different places around the city. I was tired today and I didn't plan to go out. As the day wore on I had a brief call with my dear friend and we made last second plans. I left work when I wanted to. Met my friend because it was exactly what I felt like doing. Even earlier today I received a call from a would-be lover. And last night I went out on a date with another. And while I was on the date with the potential other, I received a call from a lover from days gone by. I am not slutty; merely single. I can juggle people and it's acceptable for the boys from the days gone by to call and to leave messages that hint at the past we've shared or for the new ones to flirt with the days yet to come. This is my life and how I love it so. This week is typical. The players change and make for good conversation. I can do what I want to do, when I want to do it. No permissions. No check-ins. No explanations. No apologies.