26. Have closure

I dropped the ball on this blog. I don't know why, and it's hypocritical that I did. This blog was all about accountability, taking responsibility, not walking away from confrontation or discomfort. It was about facing myself, even if I didn't always like what I saw.

Well, maybe it didn't start off that way, but it certainly morphed into a place I came to check in, tell stories, own up, point fingers, mostly back at myself.

But certainly the plan was not to post a blog and then never show up again. That wasn't who I thought I was.

So, I suppose I'm here to take a reprieve, even though that's what I've been doing. I'm here to tell you I'm taking a reprieve. There you go. That's what it is. I think. Maybe I'll write and change my mind at some point, but that's the intention of the post.

It's been a hell of a year, no denying it. My birth mother died, my dear 101-year-old grandmother died, a very good friend died. Those were the heavy things. Then the "lighter" stuff; terrible car accident, our dog hit by a motorcycle (she lived), debilitating food poisoning, lice, loss of work and income, shower door cutting and leaving a permanent scar on my face, and other stuff, nothing tangible, just feelings as I watch my son grow older and need me less and I wonder how I will get on with it.

Get on with it. An interesting statement. I've focused the last 13 1/2 years of my life (including pregnancy) on this fetus who became a baby who became a toddler who turned into a boy who's almost a teen and I wasn't quite ready for this. I've got 6 years and then I'm waving goodbye, as he's off to college. Then what? Who am I? How do I then get on with it?

That is a question better asked now, not when it's too late, when all I was was his mother, the mother who forgot herself, the mother who was so hard on herself, who thought only about how she should be better, doing more, and then since I've done my job right, watch him, metaphorically speaking, drive away as I stand there thinking to myself, "Now what?"

Now what indeed. Despite the fact that I will make myself cringe: carpe diem! I don't have much time. Now is the time to be saying "Now what?" and to stop avoiding myself, if that's what I'm doing. I think, because I live where I live and the generation I am a part of, it's my inclination to need to do it all and set myself up to fall short. So maybe I was being a full-time mother and working and now it's time to redefine what my life means. Figure out who I am and what works for me.

But of course, continue to steer my son down the right path through these next tough couple of teen years.

Because if there's anything I do know, it's how to be a tough teen. I hope mine isn't, but if he is, he'll have a mom who will truly understand him.

25. Weed out the old, make way for the new

This isn't really an age thing, but for me it's been true that only time and experience have given me the ability to make better choices. That goes with who I choose to be friends with, and who I choose to end friendships with. The latter is always painful, even if the friendship has already begun to drift off and you don't feel the loss as much as you would have when your lives were more entwined. Still, there's heartbreak involved. Teary talks and steadfast denial.

When I was younger, friendships were quick to develop. No need to define them by mutual interests or shared values. Simply, you're cool and you'll do. If we could laugh and share boyfriend stories and get into clubs, that was enough. We were besties (no, that word wasn't used then and I don't use it now. I just couldn't resist).

As I got older, particularly when I had my son, friendships were based on proximity (sad to say), whether our babies got along (and later toddlers, kids, pre-teens...), and if we could stand each other for the attention span of our children. Miraculously, I've made some incredible friends that way - friends I know will be lifelong, who I check in with on a regular basis and share intimate details of my life.

I've always been good at meeting people and striking up acquaintances. Some of them have been lasting, some not. I have a large group of friends, and most of them I have a history with. A few I've known for less than five years but most, for much longer than that.

Ending a friendship is an awful thing to do, really. All of my issues come up. Issues of failure, of not having done enough or having done too much. I was distant. I was needy. I was critical. I was a doormat. Everything I feel when ending a romantic relationship (is there a better term for that?) comes up when ending a friendship. When my friendships have ended, it's mostly been with a little drama and a lot of resistance.

A few years ago, a 20 year friendship ended. This was one of those friends I mentioned earlier where the foundation was laid because we worked together and both liked to go out to clubs and look at cute boys. Within a month, she'd moved into my one bedroom apartment in the East Village (with no bedroom door and the bathtub in the kitchen). We managed to stay friends for years. I moved to L.A., had a baby, moved to Austin, moved back. She helped me move to L.A. the first time, in fact, driving across the country with me (though she had no driver's license) and putting up with my insane ("I need to be there in three days!") schedule. She was in Austin to ring in the New Year a couple of months after I arrived there in 2001-2002. She was a staple. Always there. She was the first and only person to have given me a nickname (which of course everyone knows needs to be earned and never given to yourself, but that's an entirely different post).

Ultimately, our undoing was work. A project. A misunderstanding. There was money involved. There's a reason for the cliche, "Never mix business with pleasure." Rarely does that have a good ending.

Now, another friendship has come to an end. We haven't talked about it, and we may not. I was her "foul weather" friend; the friend she came to in her darkest moments, the friend who heard all of her secrets. I was the priest in the confessional, in a sense. Recently, her life changed. She got away from her bad situation and I stopped hearing from her. A few weeks ago, we had an awkward phone conversation and some even more awkward emails, and it occurred to me that I didn't need to repair this. I didn't want to repair this. I could make a good choice for myself - walk away from something that makes me feel bad.

As minor as it may seem, it was a revelation to me.

I can choose who my friends are, sure. But, equally as important, I can choose who my friends aren't.

24. If you want to stop seeing someone, TELL THEM.

Recently, I've been in touch with a couple of guys from the past - one from 10th grade, and another from 1990. Both said the same thing about me: "One day you were there, and the next you were just...gone". In each case, I moved away and never looked back. It wasn't personal, of course. I just...moved on.

Years later, having reconnected with people on Facebook, I get to hear what friends and acquaintances thought about me. It's really interesting how we view ourselves and how others view us. Of course, everything depends on a good foundation and healthy self-esteem, and to be honest, I was so busy running away from myself that I wasn't much able to focus on anything but the trip. What people thought of me or how I affected them, it just didn't occur to me to wonder. I assumed I was expendable and forgettable, so therefore I needed to make people nonessential.

Of course I made good friends along the way, deep lifelong relationships, and ultimately managed to carve out a life for myself. But there were, as these two guys pointed out, casualties in my wake. People who genuinely thought they were having a relationship with me and who I just up and left, with no explanation. How could I do that? How does anyone do that? I know for myself it was, getting back to what I said earlier about self-esteem, all about not feeling I made an impact. I didn't matter.

Well, it's years later and I don't do that anymore. Perhaps it was having my son, someone who needed me, who grounded me. Perhaps it was caring about myself and those around me and not wanting to hurt them. Or maybe it was just the natural progression of life - you get older, people matter, life means more than something better around the corner.

This blog is nothing if it's not about learning, moving on, growing up and trying to be accountable. But growing up doesn't really have anything to do with age, as I'm learning. I have a friend who's 24 who seems more mature than some guys twice his age.

One in particular, and the one who brings me to the title of this post.

Remember the guy I blogged about a few weeks ago who convinced me to go out with him even when I tried to say no? The one I got on here and talked about his being the adult in the situation? You know, the 48-year-old skateboarder? Well, it turns out going against my instincts was not such a good thing. It turns out that "excited" feeling one gets in their stomach is actually a warning sign, a danger signal. But we know that, don't we?

We always do know better, but sometimes it takes behaving like our younger selves to find out that our experiences weren't for nothing.

And sometimes it takes someone else behaving like our younger selves as one last kick in the gut: Dude, U R 2 Old.

Rules are made to be broken...?

I just realized it's been nearly three weeks since I last posted. A lot has happened in these weeks, the main (huge) event being the death of my birth mother on November 20. I'm also realizing that the last post was about the death of my friend Ken. Wow. What a few weeks. What a year. What a decade. I am looking forward to 2010, despite the fact that I've never really used years as markers; rather it's been events that have imprinted themselves into my memory and surfaced to remind me of what happened when. There was the move to Miami, New York, L.A., the birth of my son, the move to Austin, the move back. Then of course many things in between - sometimes it was the guys I went out with who stamped a date into my head; I could remember the music I was listening to or the color of my hair. Recently, I met up with someone I'd been involved with and he was shocked to see my long hair - he'd only ever known me as a tomboy with a buzz cut, hopping from club to club in New York. But, we all must grow up...

...which leads me to this post. This confession, if you will. One I'm embarrassed to have to admit, and not because of what I did but because of the rigid rules I so publicly rant about. So here it is: I went out with a 48-year-old who used to be a pro skater and who - gasp - still skateboards. I went out with him despite my rules, despite my belief that yes, he's probably too old to be on that skateboard, because of all the things I mentioned way early on and do still believe (broken bones, family to be accountable to, etc.). I went out knowing who he was, what he did, and that I was being a complete hypocrite. I went out with him even knowing I'd have to come here, 'fess up, and take the heat.

On the phone with him one night, I said "I'm not a teenager!" and his response was, "That's right. You're not. Now grow up and come meet me...". As I took his words in, this person I'd offhandedly assumed was a man-child, discounted over a piece of wood and some wheels, it occurred to me he was, in fact, the adult in this situation.

Because really, it takes an adult to see past the outside to get to the cool stuff inside. In the end, rules are ever evolving - made to be broken.

At least that's what I'm telling myself.

23. Don't Put Off Today, What You Can't Do Tomorrow

This one comes hard-learned. In the photo to the left is my friend Ken Ober, who died this past weekend (also in the photo is my friend Stephanie). I hadn't talked to Ken in a couple of months, but maybe it's been longer. There'd been email exchanges, perhaps a random phone call here and there, but I always thought there'd be time. He wanted to get together awhile back. He was willing to drive over, pick me up at whatever time I wanted, and bring me home. Yet somehow I managed to not go. It wasn't about him. It's sort of been like that with most people lately. I blame it on not having the time; life is too busy, I have too much to do. But somehow, over the past couple of years, I've just let things slip past me. Friends I adore, things I love to do, have just little by little started to fade away. Partly this is because I am busy - that's what happens when you're a single parent for most of the week. Single parents are in worker bee mode. That alarm rings at 5:45 a.m., and you are on the go until 10:00 p.m. There's not an ounce of spontaneity on those days.

However, I do have two nights a week to myself so why have I let this happen? I write this not really having an answer. This is, perhaps, self-examination on the fly. And why is it so many of us don't really stop to think about things until something terrible has happened? In this case, the death of one of the kindest, funniest, most generous friends I've ever known.

I used to be one of the most social people I knew. In my 20s, I was out every night. I loved crowds, parties, clubs. I even loved the packed subway. I found it exhilarating. Everyday was an adventure I couldn't wait to explore. Of course, by 31 I was pregnant and life took a different path. Now I was up in the middle of the night not because I was rolling in before the sun came up, but because I was breast-feeding. Yet I was still social; dinner parties, drinks with friends, art openings. When I was in Austin, I was going to see my friends play music or hosting parties at my house all the time. I met new people constantly.

Now, at the time when I probably should be social (single, in the last few years of being somewhat okay to look at, still in possession of bodily and mental functions), I'm the most isolated I've ever been. It's not that I don't go out - it's just that I go out and I'm home by 9:00 p.m. most of the time. No kidding. Now there's a nice little life I've carved out for myself, right? Meanwhile, life goes on. My son gets older, I get older. Time doesn't stop because I have.

If I constantly say no, eventually no one's going to ask. If I don't answer the phone, it will stop ringing. If I don't go see friends I've known for nearly 20 years, they will go away and that is a very, very sad lesson to learn.

I vow to call my friends, make plans to see them, and open myself up to the adventure that life still is.

That's probably the corniest, most embarrasing line I've ever written and I am cringing, but it's message is important. To me, anyway.

Everyone is probably blogging about this...

But, just watched the season finale of Mad Men, and how is it that I'm siding with Don? Especially given that my own situation with my parents divorce was not so simple, not so cut and dried that either one was right, really. It was a complicated situation, and I probably do side with one more than the other, but for the sake of my own peace in the family, and my son's place in the family, I don't choose sides. It was hard, it sucked - and I know that because my own relationship didn't work out. I made bad choices that affected my kid, and will likely haunt him for the rest of his life. I mean, again - we're Upper Middle Class in a First World Country so really, how hard can it be? His parents broke up, that wasn't great, but he still gets love, good education, basketball shoes and utter devotion from both of his parents. When he comes to me later with his problems with me, I'll step up - but I'm saying now that he has it pretty good, under the circumstances.

Having said all that, watching Don Draper cheat for the past few years, seeing how he grew up and how his family life has played out - I don't know. I don't think he was so bad. So he cheated. Big deal. I mean, okay - commitments are made, vows are spoken. I guess I get that. But don't both people have to hold up their end of the deal? As in, love and understanding and friendship and compassion? And yes, I know - he lied about who he was. That was a big one. But in my viewing of the show, what I took from it, Betty absolutely loved getting that information about Don's past, learning he was Dick. She wanted OUT. I get that too. It was the 60s. Women were being subtly, and then not so subtly, told that their lives as housewives were meaningless - they should think about themselves for a change. It was the beginning of the "Me" generation (of which I spoke about in the blog just before this). In my view, Betty took that and ran with it. But she's sealing her fate - running from one guy to the next. That was absolutely not the point of the women's movement - from what I got, it was to go on without the men. Make it on your own. Whatever. None of it worked. Betty and Don are just the T.V. version of many of our parents, though ours not so glamorous - but at least, for the first time in my memory, portrayed realistically and sympathetically.

At any rate, as much as I am for the girls and always ready to take it for them, I'm on Don's side on this one.

22. It's not all about you.

This picture is from Hideous Kinky, which to me is the ultimate depiction of the "Me" mothering.

Okay, this might not be typically on blog point, but I think that what I am feeling and planning on conveying is related to aging gracefully, even if in a round about way.

I've had an interesting couple of weeks and I'm just now beginning to process all that's happened. I don't need to tell everything, but some of it is important, and it's particularly important if you're someone who questions every move you make, every word you utter, every look you give or breath you take. Some of it's private and would hurt people I love, and therefore, even if I find it important to a point I'm trying to make, out of respect for those people, I will refrain.

My birth mother is terminally ill and two weeks ago my son and I got on a plane to visit her, likely for the last time. I met her when my son was a baby, and he's now 11. I've kept in touch with her over the years, including a few visits and many phone calls and emails. I have siblings, one whom I don't know very well because he is, sadly, in jail and has been for a long time. One sibling died before I had much of a chance to get to know him, but there are two girls - much younger than I - and we are close. I've written essays and emails to friends and talked to therapists. I have left no stone unturned when it comes to figuring out what I feel, how it affects my life, and more importantly my son's life where this family is concerned.

Yet, when it came time to face the situation - to take a look at this woman who gave birth to me and was now dying, I wasn't sure how to feel. No one had told me what this would be like. There was no guide, no road map. What the hell was I supposed to be feeling? I felt like an outsider, to be honest. Was there something I should be feeling? Shouldn't I want to do everything in my power to help, to caregive, to pitch in, to be a good example to my son? What was I so scared of? But then something amazing happened. I was able to see her for who she was for the first time since I'd met her. There was great freedom in this. I didn't have the growing up issues my sisters did - I was removed, in a sense. We all shared blood, yes - but I'd had a whole other life. Other parents and siblings and a lifetime of memories with them, some good, some bad - some life altering. But a whole other family, nonetheless. With that came power and knowledge and compassion and perhaps some perspective I could share.

The thing is, for those of us born to parents of the 60s, those of us who grew up in the 70s and 80s, we really had to figure life out for ourselves. We were, in a very real sense, on our own. That "Me Generation" was very real, and I was a part of it. I know now how much my parents loved me and I have spent many years working through it and trying to overcome my alienation from that life. It's worked. I'm close to my family, we talk a lot and I see them twice a year and they're always there when I need them. But growing up, and my mom admits this, it was about them. Their needs, their desires, whatever worked for them and however us kids fit into the picture was kind of how things went. I'm sure, in fact I know, they thought they were doing a good job and I have too much love for them now to tell them "You know what? It sucked. It hurt. I was lonely. I had no idea what to do and no encouragement and way too much opportunity to get in trouble."

Back to Santa Fe and my dying birth mother. After seeing the dynamics that I missed by not growing up there, it finally occurred to me why I was there. I was there to assure her that I did not hate her for giving me up, I was there to try and convince her to let go of her wound and anger, and to start letting her daughters go so they weren't left with those same wounds after she was gone. It was now her gift to be able to say to them "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I messed up. You didn't deserve that." It is our job as parents, after all - to let our children have a voice. Let them tell us how mad they are and take it in the gut. It. Is. Our. Job.

One day my son will come to me with a list of all I've done wrong, and you know what? He'll be right. I will have to look him in the eyes and say "You're right, I was wrong, I'm sorry.

I hope it's not hard, because in the end it's not all about me. Or you. It's about them. Children or friends or siblings. Take it in the gut. It's the parting gift, I believe.