fifty

The other day in the comments section of my blog about aging, my blogger/friend over at Gemini Ascending answered the question I so brazenly posed at the end:
“Okay you guys, what little thing (dying your hair is a little thing, you can always dye it back) can YOU do to halt your aging process and help yourself look more like you feel inside?”

She said she was the same age that I am and that she was going to get the tattoo she’d been wanting.

Now me, being the ever curious nosey-pants that I am, I couldn’t just say great or good for you, I had to ask what and where?

“The tree of life on my shoulder” was her reply. I thought that sounded like a fantastic idea but again, I just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

The thing is you guys, I feel like I know all of you — like you’re my friends, especially when we converse via the comments, then we’re like BFF’s (said in a Valley girl voice while flipping my hair and loudly chewing gum). So I reacted like I would to any of my friends, like we do to each other, “I double-dog-dare you to do it, and share the picture. You have until the last day of your 57th year…game on!”

I know, it’s a bit confrontational, especially directed toward an absolute stranger, but hey, what the hell, I tell you guys EVERYTHING and I showed you a picture of my purple fringe.

Here’s the thing: A Double Dog Dare is a relic from my tween days, so that being said it is petty harmless.

Still, it is the ultimate, last word in dares. It means that I just did something a little dangerous and often utterly terrifying and now I want you to join me. There is no going back after a double dog dare. You either do it; or you walk the walk of shame.

Then yesterday, in my inbox was the most recent blog post from Gemini Ascending with the title I Double Dog Dare You.

Gulp. Shit. Had I gone too far? I didn’t mean anything by it except to nudge her toward her perfect tattoo. I’m not gonna lie, I was afraid to open it. Take a look:

https://geminiascending.wordpress.com/2015/05/03/i-double-dog-dare-you/comment-page-1/#comment-209

Whew! Crisis averted. She was up to the challenge. I knew she would be, I had just underestimated the persuasive power behind The Double Dog Dare. It has an alchemy all it’s own and I have to be more careful when I throw it down. Things will change, people will dig deep and find their courage and shit. will. go. down.

So I learned my lesson; for about twelve hours.

Today (Monday) at the dentist, my beloved hygienist, during our one hour, mostly one-sided gab-fest, mentioned aging and her girlfriends and how happy she was that she hadn’t jumped on the retirement bandwagon. Several of her close friends had retired and then gone right back to work out of sheer boredom. One retired couple she knows eats breakfast, takes a walk, eats lunch, takes a nap (yawn — kill me now)…you get the picture.

“Why aren’t they traveling, being philanthropic or taking classes?” I inquired, amazed. “I know” she replied, “I would keep so busy!”

“What would you do, maybe take a dance class?” Uh oh…here I go, even with five of her fingers inside, my mouth starts asking questions.

“Yes!”  she exclaimed, and then told me to rinse.

She went on to explain, “When I was twelve to fifteen I used to take tap, I even took it when my girls were small. One of my patients is a choreographer and when she was here six months ago it came up somehow; anyway she told me about a tap class for people over fifty.”

Since her hands were otherwise occupied my mouth took the opportunity to cross-examine ask her about this class.

“Well, why aren’t you taking it? Did you call? You’ve GOT to do this!”

The conversation had struck a cord with her I could see it in her eyes, “I know! I just never got the info from her, we were supposed to exchange emails…”

I could feel the words start to bubble up. They began in my big toe, rose up into my belly; moving again to my throat; then my lips started forming the words…

“I double dog dare you to take the tap class Jeanette!” Now I’d gone and done it again — thrown down the gauntlet; pulled out the big guns.

The Double Dog Dare hung in the air overpowering even the sound of the drill in the next room. Now, you have to be careful with what you say to your dental hygienist lest she get all Marathon Man on your ass. Luckily she seemed open to the idea so I was safe for the time being, I just needed to keep my mouth shut; well open, but just nodding; no talking.

“You know” she said, all excited, “She’s due back in here for a cleaning this month, I’ll ask her for the details then.”

Her face lit up and she looked more like her fifteen year old self with every passing minute.

“I bet the girls at the desk have her contact information, why wait?  Email her today, in the subject say, “I feel like tap dancing” and give her your personal email address. She’ll be cool with it — after all, she offered the info.”

My teeth cleaning was over so I could safely say that and then make a run for it.

You’re right, she will, I’m going to look up her info right now.” She was practically skipping.

“Hey Jeanette…do the recitals at the end of every session. They’ll scare the shit out of you and when you’re waiting backstage with your family in the audience you’ll think to yourself: What the fuck have I done? and then you’ll go on that stage and you’ll be fifteen again…it’s intoxicating…and the adrenalin is good for your skin.”

That stopped her in her tracks, she spun around and her eyes were like a deer’s in the headlights. “Oh well, I don’t know about that…” she stammered, feeling the fear.

“At our age what do we do that scares us? Think about it. We stick with all the stuff we’re good at. I Double Dog Dared myself into doing musical theatre a couple of years ago and it was the most terrifying yet exhilarating thing I’d done in decades. Just do it!”

“You’re right” she said like someone who has just been told they have to do something excruciating, like give up sugar for a year.

“Janette; call her, take the tap class and dance in the recital…I Double Dog Dare you.”

Damn I’m pushy.

And sometimes, I swear to God my mouth says stuff my ears can’t believe; but as I left she gave me a big, long hug and thanked me. For reminding her about dancing and feeling alive and aging and feeling fifteen again.

Whew, another disaster averted and not a bad day at the dentist.

Ok you guys..I double dog dare you to take a least ONE action. Something you’ve been putting off, waiting for the perfect time. We’ve been focused on age related activities but it can be anything!

Come on — what’s it gonna be?

Carry On, and on, and on,

xox

I never thought of myself as a late bloomer until recently.
But I most certainly am.

And I don’t just mean someone who found a new life’s passion in their fifties, which by-the-way, has been a big surprise.

No, when I think about it, I was alway one. I didn’t get it right in the relationship department until I hit forty-two, and I didn’t start a real profession until after I turned thirty.

It didn’t even occur to me to channel my focus and dive into antiques and jewelry until after that pivotal birthday.

Turning thirty was the proverbial line in the sand that I had drawn for myself. I was the  deadline to get my shit together and measure how close I was to my desired goal, which back then was a paying acting gig.

I had some income trickling in from TV commercials, but I was always in debt, living a deficit life.

I worked two jobs to make ends meet and that was all right –– until it wasn’t.

Most of my friends were still in school, working at real jobs or having kids. It didn’t look like it but I was seeking fertile soil with my face to the sun, trying to bloom.

Not too much later, I had a real career, making real money. By the time I was forty I bought my own home.

Then in my fifties I started writing, or rather, the writing began to pour through me, and this little seedling has not only broken ground, it has started to blossom.

Some days I wish I’d started writing in my twenties, I can only imagine how much further along I’d be. Then I remind myself that everything happens at the exact right time –– Divine Timing –– and I stop my daydreaming and get back to work.

Late bloomers; blooming later in life;  it’s a subject I’m starting to embrace.

Read the New York Times article below if this subject interests you, and you will feel in such good company, I assure you.

They say the key is the ability and willingness to try new things.
I can sum it up in one word: CURIOSITY.

Remaining perpetually curious will facilitate a bloom later in life, and aren’t the flowers that show up after it snows the most beautiful?

Carry on my late blooming loves,
xox

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/21/your-money/finding-success-well-past-the-age-of-wunderkind.html?emc=eta1&_r=1

This is a reprise of one of the more popular posts from earlier this year.
Have a wickedly great Saturday!
xoxJ

I have a slogan for when things get messed up: Wait for the turnaround.
~Debbie Harry~lead singer of the punk rock band Blondie
(If you don’t know that – shame on you)

I’ve always been a “fix it” kinda gal.

If you present me with a problem or a mess, I’m gonna brainstorm it until I find a solution.

I’m going to fight it and wrestle it to the ground, I rarely take NO for an answer, and everything is figuraoutable.

I’d like to think I’m a lot like Debbie Harry…in more ways than one.
Truth is, I have waited for the turnaround…after I have exhausted every other option known to man – and then some.

Then I wised up.

I bet that wasn’t her slogan at 25 or even 35.
That’s the kind of wisdom you gain with maturity; the end result of many, many, many, mess ups.

Fifty – I’m going to guess that she came to that epiphany after fifty.
It’s around that age that you realize that there can even BE a turnaround.
That there will ALWAYS be a turnaround.

After fifty THIS you know for sure: You have to pick yourself up off the bathroom floor to be ready for the turnaround.

You have to make it until the sun comes up, because in the deep, suffocating blackness of 3am, you can’t even imagine a turnaround.

That you have to get sober to start the turnaround.

That tears make your eyes that much more capable of seeing the turnaround.

That sometimes you have to be alone, inside the silence, to listen for the turnaround.

That your wounded heart, with its bandages and skid marks, has to open enough to let the love in.
That love – is hidden in the turnaround.

Note to self:Look away.
The turnaround doesn’t reside anywhere near the mess, so if you stay digging around in that pile of shit, it will allude you.

You can’t stalk the turnaround, you can’t cajole it. You can’t bargain with it, or coerce it into place. AND……you certainly can’t rush it.

Believe me, I’ve tried.

When things are messed up. When they are epically trashed. There WILL be a turnaround. History has proven it.
It comes in its own time. It can take years or days or even just hours. Look at every disaster, natural and man made. Things appear bleak, all hope is lost, but eventually the dust settles and in rides…….the turnaround. Remember 9/11?
We were in shock, then despair, then pissed off, then….wait for it…we emerged stronger and more united than ever.
Humongous, miraculous, turnaround.

You gotta love Debbie Harry. Gorgeous, Sexy, smart, 70’s-80’s rock star icon and a guru after 50. Just like me. 😉
I bet she never thought she’d be quoted in a spiritual blog. There’s a first time for everything…even for you; Debbie Harry.

Tell me about a big turnaround in your life. I’d love to hear about it.

Xox