I can have a conversation with a stranger - not caring so much about what they think of me, but letting them know that I am interested in them. I can make that phone call, not knowing what I will say until I say it. There is no editorial committee reviewing my statements from the previous day, informing me of how they might have been more clever or less embarrassing. It turns out that no one cares if I stay up too late eating toffee. 'Should I really be doing this?' I might ask myself.īut now I answer, 'Who wants to know?' And there is silence. I might wonder (as I did last night), what I am doing in the kitchen at 1 o'clock in the morning eating the last of my sister's homemade toffee? If I accept that I am imperfect and just treat myself with love, I can hope folks will follow suit. If I don't take myself too seriously, I can't expect anyone else to. 'Why did I say that?!'Īccepting that I'm foolish removes this burden. 'Ack!' I'd yell aloud while washing my vegetable steamer. I used to beat myself up (usually hours later, while doing the dishes or trying to fall asleep) for some dumb thing I said - something that someone could have taken the wrong way. I used to obsess over not looking my best, walking around with spinach in my teeth or toilet paper on my shoe or a tag hanging out the back of my shirt. And I believe this may be one of my best qualities.īecause the older I get, the less seriously I take myself. 'I gave up goals and dreams in the summer of 1971,' he says. He says any promises he makes to himself will be broken. He says the days are growing longer, and that means intolerable heat is around the corner. He says there is no cause for rejoicing in the new year. This is the same grouchy friend who has cursed my cheerfulness in the past - and is a source of unflagging pessimism - so I should have known what was coming. I spoke with my grouchy friend yesterday. I imagine they make it through the holidays, finish off the toffee, take down the tree, look out at the gray weather, decide the New Year is not looking significantly better than the previous one and give up the effort to keep on living. More people die this time of year than on average. (At least, not a lot of toffee every day.) The sky is gray, the temperatures cold, and I am coming to grips with the fact that I cannot eat toffee every day. Already expectations are lowering, and reality is setting in. It's the time of year when we try to do too much, change too quickly.

Wolf drawings middle finger