That's right. I said it. Contrary to the rumors, I have learned some things about life—like seventy-three terazillion things, to be exact. (Frankly, no one even knows I can count that high, so I'm really showing off if I remind my family of this milestone, which I totally won't do, in case they feel inferior.) But please, go ahead and call me Teacher. You know you want to.
|Look! I'm Doris Day!|
Lesson #1: Fear is one of the most toxic obstacles to authentic happiness. So is apathy, but I really don't care about that. Too often our decisions to do or not do, stay or go, say yes or no, are based on fear. I say, Take a chance. This is no time to shrink, Cowgirl. Lean into the discomfort so you can experience the joy.
Lesson #2: People are going to judge you. Resistance is futile, and while you don't want to internalize their judgment, you can accept that judgment happens, just like shit. And accepting your story—your whole flawed story, including those things you're not proud of or that embarrass you—regardless of the ambient chatter, is the path to overcoming fear and shame. I say, So what? I do what I want with whomever I want. Plus, I am writer—beware.
Lesson #3: Patience is a virtue—and a bitch. Seeing what you want unfold naturally before your eyes, like a flower shooting from the earth toward the sun, is pretty cool. But the value of waiting for the full bloom increases or decreases with your level of fulfillment, and the pivotal moment inevitably arrives when you must stand tall and say, I'm all in with this, or I'm leaving it behind. Case in point, my Fantasy Football team, led by QB Drew Brees. Dude, what happened with the Cheeseheads? I'm totally gonna have to get rough with him.
Lesson #4: All problems have a life span. Sometimes they go away on their own, sometimes you need outside help. But more often than not, pain and suffering is resolved by making decisions you don't want to. Giving yourself permission to let go, to forgive, to be free, to give your heart away or to take it back can seem as easy as going off your meds and chewing an entire fiery habañero. Slowly. Stone-cold sober. I say, This misery gets no more power over me. I choose to pursue happiness—with some peanut butter crackies and a big ol' pitcher o' milk. Naturally.
Lesson #5: A good man is not hard to find. An extraordinary man is. Like it or not, part of discovering who's extraordinary for you is opening up and exposing your aorta—and sometimes other stuff—at your own peril. It is leaping and having faith that the net will appear. Sometimes you get a bloody lip and a rug burn. But I remind myself I'm worthy while exploring whether he is. I say, Be patient, lean into the discomfort—and the joy—shrug off other people's judgments, and know that soon enough the extraordinary relationship I deserve will appear.
Can I get a witness? I know stuff. That'll be two-hundred dolla. Class dismissed.