The Thirty Before The Dirty Thirty

30 is not the new twenty. Twenty is hiding from the streetlights with a lit joint tucked between fingers and smoke trailing behind your bootcut jeans. Twenty is covering your knees with skirts. Twenty is asking an upperclassman to buy you a bottle of cheap vodka on their trip to the spirits store or sneaking sips before bed from your parents’ liquor cabinet on summer break. Twenty is believing that you’ll be happily married by the age of twenty-eight. Twenty is for emotional breakdowns that have you bingeing on double orders of fries and double fisting Red Bulls. Twenty is for convincing yourself that he is the one.

Thirty is for acceptance, adventures, and appreciation (and apparently alliteration!). With that said, let’s get ready to bring in the next milestone with a big to-do list. Inspired by my wonderful and detail attentive cousin, Isa, who made her own fabulous list of things to do before she turned forty, I am making my own list. 

Here it goes. Two years to get it done. 

1. Go fishing on the Cape. 
2. Drink bourbon on Bourbon Street.
3. Stay at the Taj Boston Hotel. 
4. Drink champagne on a rooftop overlooking a city. 
5. Do yoga for two weeks straight. 
6. Take an art class.
7. Take a writing class.
8. Eat fried eel again at that small restaurant in Cabo Verde.
9. Eat gnocchi in Italy.
10. Visit California and eat an In n’ Out Burger.
11. Go on a vineyard tour. 
12. Swim at the Colonnade’s rooftop pool. 
13. See a drive-in movie.
14. Ride in a convertible.
15. Get my driver’s license. 
16. Buy something from Chanel. 
17. Get a piece published in a magazine. 
18. Go on a second, third, and fourth date.
19. Drink a cup of coffee in the rain in Seattle. 
20. Go to a Broadway show.
21. Dance until the sun comes up.
22. Ride a bike in the city. 
23. Snorkel.
24. Bake an elaborate cake.
25. Buy a DSLR.
26. Walk all of Central Park.
27. Visit the MET. 
28. Buy lunch for a stranger.
29. Go to a ballet.
30. Go to a Bruins’ game. 

...you'll stop thinking about how your body looks.

And you'll be more concerned about whether your body works. From the early morning aches when you get out of bed to the fear that maybe your eggs won't ever be fertilized, the non-existent gap in between your thighs just doesn't seem to make it on the things to worry about list. And you'll wonder why everyone else isn't doing the same.

Earlier this week, I saw the tweets about the new Dove Real Beauty videos and decided to skip out on the conversation. I can't believe we're still putting so much of our collective energy into convincing women that they are beautiful, as if it matters. One of my team members thought it'd be a good idea to show our students the latest video. They're trying to send a positive message: "you're not as ugly as you think." But I want to know, does it matter? 

You'd imagine that middle schoolers think about their looks all day, and maybe some of them do, but from what I have seen they only care about what they think adults care about. Maybe little girls are so obsessed with being beautiful because we say things like, "YOU NEED TO KNOW YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!" 

And when they don't feel it (still not sure of what It is), they go searching down the endless rabbit hole for beauty products, push-up bras, and unsolicited (but still loved) negative attention from boys. We, adults, have allowed (physical) beauty to hang around on our list of societal values. We allow it to be relative. For the young people who want to do nothing but grow up a little bit faster, they focus all of their attention on it because it seems so important. I wonder what would happen if we stopped talking about it? If we erased it from our daily conversations (i.e. She has the perfect nose! She is just so stunning! Her body is to die for!), what would happen? What could happen?

What if being beautiful didn't matter? What if we spent our time talking to our girls about the good and cool things they do, by the company they choose to keep, and the positive impact they have on their tiny world?

I'd rather tell (my) girls that they're kind and smart. Or that I love how they take the time to get the math problem right even when it's hard. Or that I like the way they wrote their name in chalk on the sidewalk in bubble letters. Or listen to them talk about the social studies teacher that they just can't stand and then encourage them to still get their homework done. I'd rather talk to (my) girls about how brave they were when they had the courage to tell  an adult that their BFF was self-harming. I'd rather show them that girls can feel, think, and do so much more than to feel, think about, or do something about their doggone beauty. 

And yet, before they leave everyday, I like to give them a hug and call them Angel Face. There is nothing more heaven sent than a little girl with the big dreams, the kindness, and the power to make the world better. This is what I want them to know, feel, and do something about. 

on how to love your job again/getting over a quarter life (mini) crisis

1. read books about a quarter life crisis, being a bossypants, and a little Jane Austen for some perspective.

2. take your hard earned money and buy yourself a nice laptop.

3. spend early mornings writing in cafes and eating crepes alone.

4. spend late nights listening to good music like Nina Simone and Corinne Bailey Rae. listen to songs that make you feel things, not just those that make you take a shot of tequila.

5. buy a really good eye concealer so that you look like you're 21 again.

6. buy your kids/students/staff ice cream.

7. hate your job.

8. hate it some more.

9. write a list about why it's so awful.

10. then on the following day, keep a tab on how many times someone goes out of their way to make you smile or laugh.

11. get angry.

12. watch films about feminism; especially this one.

13. be thankful that you are at the table and are finally able to make the decisions that will impact the future.

14. get over yourself.

15. get back to work.

The Wobbly Morning

It started with black tights, black boots, and a black tulip dress. An hour later, I was picked up by a coworker to go to yoga. Hair wet; curls loose and frizzing and walking around in public with runner leggings and a long t-shirt, I left bacon sizzling in the oven. My usual coffee had not been purchased from Dunkin Donuts, either. My friends bullied me into working out. It's not that I didn't want to be active, but I hated the way it messed with my morning routine: Wake up, listen to Rihanna's, "Do Your Thang," get pretty, drink coffee, write, and then work.

Melting into the mat in 89 degrees with a trickle of sweat slipping from my neck and between my breasts, I almost forgave my comrades for their peer pressure.  Legs were criss-cross apple sauce style and hair was in a messy bun, barely hanging in the elastic, and yet it felt right.
With one leg in the air and head buried into my chest, through the heavy breathing I could hear the instructor say, "People always fight against the wobbles. You don't fight them, upi use them to help you balance." In that moment, I cared about nothing other than finding a way to keep my ass and foot in the air. However in the aftermath with sore shoulders, a tight neck, and a bit of regret, I thought about what he said.

I had hoped that with a strong start in the morning with breakfast (bacon, yo), a good hair do, and a sleek outfit that I would find some balance. . With work and sleep (mixed in with lots of Vampire Diaries episodes) taking up most of my life's hours, it was nice to feel out of sorts. Yet, it was in the in consistency(the wobble), I found stability.

Disney 2012

Magic. Joy. Friends.

Drinking butterbeer, reading book 2 of 50 Shades, and general posing.

Having my breath taken away by large animals and carved mountains and trees.



Bringing shenanigans to a child's paradise.

Harry Potter World. I teared up a bit once I got there.
They made one of my favorite books come to life. How could I not get emotional?

A New Lesson at Old Orchard Beach

I buried my toes in the sand for warmth, bracing myself for the crashing of the waves against my hips and ribs. The inevitable flinching and contraction of the joints in anticipation of the water is a part of the experience at any beach in New England.

I came into the summer thinking that I had to learn how to put my feet up and let go of things, but my body rebelled against the couch potato syndrome. Doing nothing makes my head swirl in anxiety; making to-do lists to feel productive and accomplished.
As long as I get enough sleep, the real rejuvenation comes from joyful experiences with loved ones in the presence of natural beauty (a sun setting while riding a ferris wheel), creativity (a friend strumming on a guitar singing about the color pink), and good food (turkey, salami and cheese sandwiches with mustard and pickles on a sub roll with the occasional grain of sand). It's a simple solution to a complex problem.

There is success in waking up early, packing up a cooler, and getting on a ferry to Martha's Vineyard. Getting lost isn't enjoyable, but if it's a three hour car ride filled with good music and conversation with friends success is in just getting there. This is just as important as managing a team and putting together a successful youth program.

 

I picked up the stick and took a quick bite off the head of the corndog. I posed for a picture, wanting to look cool or something like that. As I look at the photo now, I regret not smiling straight into that dog like I would have as a kid.
As we age, we allow our problems to become more emotionally consuming. Working with middle school youth who are trapped in their hormones and irrational feelings, I watch how they can have a meltdown one minute, and the next they are bent over in a fit of laughter. Right now, I am practicing working towards solutions and letting go of situations that I cannot control.

Waves are going to hit us and may even knock us over, but the fun part is getting back up and trying to stay up against something so much more powerful. Is it a corny analogy? Absolutely. Is it true? Without a doubt.

 

The Time I Ate My Way Through Astoria