1 of 50 (What I learned from a bad RomCom)

The following is a metacognitive rant.

I’ve been thinking recently about a movie from my childhood: A Lot Like Love. I remember watching this mid 2000’s, largely forgotten romantic comedy as a teenager and falling hard for the dysfunctional characters and their sloppy, flawed attempts to grow into their adult selves and achieve their goals and dreams. The simple plot spans seven years, as a smattering of reunions between Oliver and Emily (Ashton Kutcher and Amanda Peet) punctuate each person’s attempts to ‘get their ducks in a row’. It’s cute, often funny, occasionally sweet, and, in my experience, lands somewhere near the heart of what it means to make the transition into adulthood.

‘This is your life. Right now. It doesn’t wait for you to get back on your feet.’ Someone in the film says this to Oliver. It might be the only line from the film I can pull out of my memory.

I repeat this line to myself when I find I’m afraid or unsure of how to make a decision. The default of inaction, I often find, is cleverly disguised as waiting for a clear answer. Maybe this is a prudent, wise discipline for some people. But for someone like me, who fears a decision will be wrong even before she has made it, the ‘carpe diem’ sentiment is much needed.

Oliver and Emily sped seven years pushing each other away, waiting for the rest of their lives to be in order, waiting for their relationship to be an easy, obvious choice, only to find their quest for assurance was fruitless. Life doesn’t follow the chronology you expect, and she certainly doesn’t wait until you think you’re prepared and have found a balanced footing before throwing opportunities and choices your way.

When I let this perspective settle into my bones, I think I stepped further across the threshold of adulthood. Opportunities show up, and choices and chances blot your sightline according to their own time.

This is your life. Right now. It doesn’t wait for you to get back on your feet. Make your decisions, and then lean into them with all you’ve got.

50 in ’15, a prelude (alternatively titled: Happy 50th, Old Man)

Dear Dad,

Happy 50^th birthday! I’ve spent a few days wondering how best to commemorate this tremendous milestone, and after much consideration, I have concluded the following:

The best gift I can give you is this. This blog you’re reading from right now – the one you helped me build.

This year, 2015, the year of your 50th birthday, I will post in this blog 50 times.  I make no promises as to the quality of these jottings, and I have set up no preconceived expectation as to the content.  This next year of writing may take the form of book reviews, cooking catastrophes, moments in reflection, soapbox rants, lyrical prose, memoir vignettes, and if I’m lucky, perhaps a few retellings of my worldly travels.

In all likelihood, these will not be profound works of literary greatness. I do not assume to astound or inspire great revolution with my words.  Maybe you will be the only person stirred by these efforts, but for this year, for these 50 posts, that will be enough.

So this is for you, Dad. Fifty times this year I will pause to reflect and respond to the world, and in doing so stretch my creative muscles as you have always encouraged me to do.

Happy birthday, Old Man.  I love you so very much.

Sammy