Do you want to know who you are? Don't ask. Act! Action will delineate and define you.
Thomas Jefferson
More and more lately, I am becoming aware of so many things that I do just “because”. Because it’s expected, because it’s the way I’ve always done it, or because I’ve never stopped to think about it. It’s mind-boggling. I thought I hopped off the societal pressure bus around the time that I stopped going to confession, gave up trying to straighten my hair and realized that I would never be a Carol Brady mom. I never succumbed to college all-nighters, never acquired a taste for beer; and I don’t do the 9 to 5 thing. As Rudolph and his dentist-wannabe sidekick, Hermey, proclaimed, “I’m independent!”
Ha! With age comes self-awareness and the best I can say is that I’m working on it. Take dinnertime. When Jeremy and I first set up house together, I had cozy fantasies of sitting around the table eating gourmet dinners accompanied by good wine. I was sure that’s what I wanted. Working from home and with a love for cooking, as well as deriving immense pleasure from sharing the events of the day with the man I love—who wouldn’t relish that prospect? It lasted about a month before it was pointed out to me that more often than not the love of my life was coming home to a litany of complaints about how I can’t get it all done, how everyone wants a piece of me and there’s not enough hours in the day. And hey, by the way, I’m packing on the pounds and I’m getting sick of doing dishes at 8:00 p.m. so could you come home earlier please? Oh yeah—every man’s fantasy home life! In an “ah-ha” moment, I realized that I dislike stopping work every day at 4:00 to think about dinner, and actually prefer a large meal at midday with a snack in the evening. My supportive honey contained his exasperation and let me know that was just fine, so now we often share our day’s stories over bowls of corn flakes. It works for us, but what a gyration to get there!
Everyone loves the idea of a large cozy B&B, complete with meeting new friends, sipping wine around the fire with fellow travelers and joining them for a hearty, jovial breakfast before going off to the day’s activities. How romantic! I was a huge B&B proponent. Loved them! Stayed in them all the time! You know what? I was delusional. I am so not a B&B gal. I work with the public for a living. And yes, while I love chatting with my clients on a daily basis, when I go away, I want to get away; to spend time with Jeremy alone for the most part. I like fruit and cheese for breakfast, not eggs and something that once oinked and I’m more than a little uncomfortable sitting next to the couple that I overheard having an argument (or worse!) through the paper-thin walls the night before.
In the beginning of our relationship, I spent many a Sunday afternoon pedaling and panting up hills behind Jeremy struggling valiantly to keep up with him. Why? Because I’d told him in our original get-to-know you dates that I loved to bicycle. And I do…on my comfort bike around the neighborhoods of Denver. I forgot to specify that there is a quantum leap between that type of biking and donning form-fitting outfits that do not flatter and setting out for a 30 to 40 mile day-long trek. Oops! Silly me. No bother, thought I, I’ll get in shape and I will like it. I like spending time with him, I reasoned, so how hard can it be? I’m here to tell you, it can be very, very hard! I did come up with some very creative excuses along the way in order to avoid the dreaded bike-a-thon Sundays. I convinced myself I enjoyed them. And I did…when they were over. I finally admitted to myself and to him that this was not my cup of tea. I think Jeremy was relieved. Now we cruise the neighborhoods together and when he wants a more rigorous ride, he happily pedals off solo. When he comes home, I slap a bowl of cornflakes in front of him and it’s all good.
But the best one of all came this past weekend. We decided to celebrate Jeremy’s birthday with a long weekend of camping and boating on Lake Glendo in Wyoming. “But Mom,” Alyssa pointed out, “you hate camping!” I took issue with this—I do not hate camping. I simply had some negative camping experiences and some very poor camping partners in the past. I love camping! So, Jeremy began assembling the camping equipment three days before we left, while I was in charge of food. I planned the menus, shopped, dug out the coolers and arranged for all the spices, utensils and assorted gastronomic accouterments. A lot of work, thought I, but it’s okay, because I love camping!
We had to leave at 7:00 a.m. to beat the heat, but that’s okay, because I love camping, so it was worth it. We schlepped the bikes, the tent, the hiking gear, the propane stove and the charcoal grill so we’d have all the comforts of home. Arrived at Glendo in perfect time, found a delightful site with lots of shade and privacy and set up camp. Went down to the beach.. Ah! Idyllic. Then we returned from the beach and saw the sign that told us that we’d set up camp in a site marked “for day use only”. How we missed the sign I will never know (no wonder it was so private!), but it meant an additional two hours to tear down our temporary home, scout out another site and re-set up shop. Phew! Okay, no one to blame but ourselves. This new site was pretty buggy, but that was to be expected. We made a lovely dinner, brushing away the flies. We took a romantic walk on the beach and agreed this was paradise. We loved camping. Back at the site, we smeared mosquito repellent over the sunscreen and slid into our sleeping bag in the back of the van, propping the door open for some air. Did I mention it was pretty warm? Then the party began. A loud party. At the next campsite. By 11:15, I meandered over and asked the 30 or so fairly inebriated participants to keep it down and pleasantly reminded them of the 10:00 quiet time rule. They apologized sarcastically and I beat a hasty retreat. At 1:00, Jeremy bellowed a slightly less cordial request to lower the noise level, prompting a response not fit for a family newspaper. I think they stopped around 3:00 a.m.
We woke early, slapped on more layers of sunscreen and mosquito repellant. By now, we were just about slithering off the seats in the car, but we spent a lovely day on the lake—just the two of us. It was grand. We returned to the campsite in the late afternoon, praying the partiers would have left. No such luck. The bugs were relentless and the cottonwoods were shedding, adding a thick layer of fur to our lotion-covered skin. Note to readers: do not go camping unless you are very solid in your relationship because it’s not pretty!
I suspect both of us were putting forth a concerted effort not to complain. Finally, in a sheepish voice, Jeremy whispered, “You know, if we wanted, we could pack up tonight and go stay in the hotel up the road. It might be…..” I never heard the rest of his words, as I’d sprinted across the campsite and dismantled the tent by then. Taking this as acquiescence (he’s quick that way!), he pitched in and three hours later, we were showered and de-sunscreened, contently munching on Sara Lee pound cake and watching a Seinfeld rerun. If only we could camp, Jeremy reasoned and eliminate the dirt, heat, bugs, partiers and the schlepping, we’d have it made. I wholeheartedly agreed. Okay, we’re done with camping. We’re made for each other.
And so now I am liberated! I don’t even need a 12-step program. I admit to such untrendy things as taking baths instead of showers, liking to be asleep by 10 p.m., I’m not really a dog lover and I sometimes wear pants with an elastic waist. I’d rather have a plain cup of tea than a frappe-cappuccino-latte something or other. I think $10 a bottle wine can be quite good. And speaking of wine, most of the time, I’d rather have it at home on my cozy couch than in a crowded noisy bar—even if it is happy hour and the drinks are 2-for-1. I’d rather read a good book than watch reality T.V. And don’t even get me started on extended family gatherings. You really should try it—go ahead and redefine what you like to do--it’s like adolescence all over again, only without the acne.
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