Gifts of 50

An old friend and I recently spent an evening comparing notes on how it feels to be 50. She said something like "If she were still alive, my mom wouldn't recognize the territory." Both of us remember growing up during an era when 50 really was considered elderly. Women were supposed to wear their hair short and permed into something resembling a helmet, dress conservatively, cook for church socials and sit around waiting for grandkids to happen. Well, okay, they could volunteer for a favorite charity while waiting, but only for one afternoon a week.

Thankfully there are many more options now. Having choices and longer life spans has made it relatively easy for many women in so-called developed countries to really enjoy the benefits of maturing, something women one hundred years ago often didn't live long enough to experience. One of those gifts is being able to benefit from the life lessons we pick up along the way.

If I were able to pass the most useful of these lessons on to my 25 year-old self, this is what I'd tell her:

1. Relax; it's not all about you. As a teenager I remember feeling as though everyone was looking at me through critical eyes, including teachers, guys and the fashion police. Most of my friends have similar memories. In high school, every social faux pas, no matter how insignificant, was examined under the microscope of peer pressure. College and young adulthood were less intense but the feeling was still there. I made one of my happiest discoveries in my mid-20s when I finally realized that every school, office or social circle was just a tiny microcosm, and that most of the world really didn't care what I wore, ate or did on any given day. As I've gotten older I've also seen that this applies to subjective experiences; I don't have to attach an undue amount of importance to momentary emotions, reactions or opinions. This detachment actually makes it easier to step back from heated situations and think before responding.
2. Life's not a contest. In a large family, siblings compete for parental attention. In school, we compete for the teacher's favor, good grades and a place on the varsity team. In middle school this expands to competing for friends, dates and popularity. When I graduated from college in 1982, it was the dress-for-success era and young adults competed for prestigious positions and top pay. My own 30s were fairly mellow since my husband and I decided not to buy into the high-stakes helicopter parenting popular during the 90s. But for many of the other moms I met at schools and activities, parenting was almost a blood sport, complete with weekly score-keeping (her son made team captain but mine got into Yale!). Even parents and kids who can float above all this sometimes have to resist being drawn into this particular sinkhole; other parents routinely asked me if I wasn't afraid that putting a limit on activities would cause irreparable damage to a kid's chances of success. It didn't, and I learned that I can ignore most competitive games, wherever they're being played.
3. Good enough is good enough. I'm not a perfectionist by nature so this lesson hasn't been too hard for me to integrate. Nonetheless, each of us has an area of two where we tend to obsess over minor imperfections. Sadly for many young women, body image is one of those areas. At age 10 I was wondering how to save up enough money to have my nose "fixed" - I wanted a small upturned one like Cheryl Tiegs or Cybil Shepherd, the two top models during the early 70s. Later I doused my hair with lemon juice and broiled it in the sun in an effort to become blond. During college I joined the hordes of joggers, rowed with crew and did punishing high-impact aerobics routines in an effort to be perfectly fit. A decade later, I obsessed over dirty floors and crumb-flecked counters. Only after realizing that neither my happiest friends nor their equally happy households were perfectly put-together did I cut myself some slack. Now I do it regularly. Life's too short to spend it keeping the house dust-free or frantically trying to look like I'm 20.
4. It's not a life-or-death matter unless it's literally life or death. Maybe this point is part of "good enough." Once we realize this, we're set free from the everyday drama that drains valuable energy.  Some people react to relatively small matters by exploding. Others, like me, stew over it. Both reactions can build stress to toxic levels. Being able to separate the truly important matters from the fluff has been one of the most valuable skills I've begun to acquire (I'm still working on it).
5. Be kind. We're all carrying a load. I saw this on a sign at my son's martial arts school and it stuck. It reminds me to remember that I really don't know everything that goes on behind someone's seemingly irrational actions or words. This doesn't excuse bad or dangerous behavior - each of us is still accountable for our actions and their effect on others. However, recalling this lesson has made it easier for me to pause before firing off an angry email reply or assuming that the driver who drove into the crosswalk just in front of me is a total jerk. Not taking things personally removes a huge load from the emotional baggage cart.

All of these learnings add up to relax and enjoy the ride. Come to think of it, living is a lot like driving - if you're busy enjoying the passing scenery and conversing with your traveling companions, you're not going to pay attention to who's faster or who has a better car.

Banish Banality; Long Live Lusty Language

Hearken to me, you world-weary cynics. Are you tired of scurrilious language and churlish public manners? Does ordinary foul-mouthing sound fusty to you? Do you long to give someone a piece of your mind without stooping to such unseemly behavior yourself? Take a lesson from Shakespeare and his Elizabethan compatriots, and join me in reviving the art of creative cursing.

In this endeavor I refer to a message on Shakespearean insults that crossed my screen some years ago. This message contained a table with three columns, two listing adjectives and one listing nouns. Choose a word from each column and string them together to create custom invectives for any occasion.

Think of how much more refined our public life would be if we engaged in florid fulminating instead of simply firing off f-bombs or giving the finger. The problem with our current vocabulary is that it’s banal and boring. Maybe this is the result of overuse; like angry bumper stickers, we’re exposed to so much profanity these days that the shock value is gone. Liberal doses of it sprinkled throughout movies and books sound lame, not edgy.

As I waited in line at a busy store recently, I overheard this exchange:

Guy #1: Man, I hate my boss. Total jerk (not the precise word used).

Guy #2: Sucks, man.

Guy #1: Yeah, well, screw him.

Now imagine the exchange sounding like this:

Guy #1: My boss is the veriest onion-eyed scoundrel.

Guy #2: What, such pernicious outrageous fortune!

Guy #1: A pox on him, the knavish rugheaded pantaloon.

Possible uses for creative curses extend beyond the personal into the public arena. Take political campaigns, for instance. The quality of insulting exchanges has sadly deteriorated since Spiro Agnew coined his famous “nattering nabobs of negativism” Royenish mottle-minded jackanape sounds more villainous than liar or cheat. If candidates widened their vocabularies and polished their imaginations, televised debates would be entertaining again.

Or consider the workplace. When a crafty coworker steals the promotion with your name on it, try muttering “That whoreson dogheaded cutpurse!” instead of an ordinary “Why, that S.O.B.” When your boss turns down your request for a raise, think “grizzled sour-faced minimus” instead of whining to yourself about the unfairness of it all. Not only will you feel righteous but you’ll add the sort of element of high drama to office politics that makes mundane jobs juicy.

And what would a breakup be without passionate recriminations? Surprise your soon-to-be-ex with a parting shot like “you wenching lily-livered miscreant!” or “If I’d only known you’re a total wanton empty-hearted scullion!” and I guarantee you won’t be soon forgotten.

Children could be taught Shakespearean as a second language, thus giving them a sophisticated tool for battling verbal bullies. “Leave me alone, you reeky motley-minded hedge-pig” would confound harassers used to “I h8 u” and other semiliterate sentiments in textese.

It may take awhile to become accustomed to linguistic flourishes. However, after a certain amount of practice, phrases like gleeking clay-brained clodpole and spongy milk-livered measle will probably come tripping off your tongue. The uses of Shakespearean insults are limited only by the imagination of the user. Try it the next time someone cuts you off on the freeway.

Fie, rapscallion!

(Here's a link to a handy Shakespearean "insult kit").