Forget Resolutions: Create a “New Decade” Personal Life Goals List

If there was one common theme at this year’s holiday parties, it was that people seemed extra eager to start a new year and a new decade.  In conversations, the topic just kept coming up. It’s natural to talk about New Year’s Eve right around Christmas and Hanukkah, to be sure, but it was a double-dose this year.

“I’m over 2009 already,” one of my fellow graduate students said to me. “Actually, I’ve been over this decade for awhile now, too.”

A good friend, a lawyer, agreed: “This decade sucked.”

And I’ll agree that the 2000 election and the infamous events of 2001 didn’t help set the stage. The list of the oughts’ bad to horrible moments are legion: SARS, Katrina, Iraq and Afghanistan, the second great depression recession, swine flu. And for politeness’s sake, we won’t even go over things like Octomom and ballon boy. We’ve been through enough already, methinks.

“I can’t wait for the new decade to start,” a good friend wrote to me recently. Her husband was laid off a year ago, from his job as a magazine editor, and still hasn’t found work. In his industry, he knows it’s a bleak outlook, so the family plans to move to Singapore in the new year. Where there are jobs. “We just can’t keep living in my parents’ apartment above the garage.”

All this daily talk of the old decade that is passing, and the new decade that is dawning, has made me more reflective than usual this year. I’ve been wishing people a “Happy New Decade!” in my holiday cards and notes this year, instead of just a “Happy New Year!” Let’s face it; a happy new year isn’t going to cut it. We need a whole string of them to erase the past decade.

Over homemade Midnight Millionaires at my holiday party, a group of friends and I toasted the New Decade and made a pact: no resolutions this year. Rather, we want to create a “Wish List for 2010-2019″.

It’s like a list of life goals, written down and kept faithfully somewhere where you can see them on a daily or semi-regular basis. A reminder, if you will, that while we might not be able to control the circumstances of our futures, we can sure as hell pick our own paths and travel down them with a purpose.

“I like this,” my best friend told me the other day. “It’s a good idea.” Then, after a pause, she said, “I want to be a better mother, teacher and wife.” I told her I thought those were solid goals for the next decade – and totally achievable.

But not everyone was impressed with my “New Decade of Life Goals” list.  An older friend of mine, who I respect very much, said that she no longer thinks in terms of “decades”.

“When I was much younger, in my teens and early twenties, I didn’t care about decades,” she explained. “They just zipped by me.”

I nodded. Me, too. The last time the decade changed – oh, yeah, that was the MILLENIAL changeover – I was 27 and just shrugged my shoulders.

“Then, in my thirties and early forties, they seemed like a huge deal,” she said. “I marked them, I took stock of my life, tried to decide what my future would be.”

This time, I’m 37 at the end of the decade, and I’m definitely taking stock. So, check and check.

“But now,” she said, from her position at 50, “I don’t care anymore. I don’t keep track of time like that now. I can’t explain it.”

And maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s silly to mark the end of decades so reverently. But I don’t think it’s silly to come up with a list of things that you want to acheive, create or accomplish before ten more years fly by you.

So this year, I’m making a list of all the things I want to accomplish in the next ten years, and calling it my “Decade List”. It’s going up on my wall next to my desk. So that I can keep the big picture in mind as the “Teens” take the stage and start throwing stuff at me each week.

Happy New Decade, everyone!!!

For God’s sake, don’t become a “writer”

Lately, I’ve noticed that there are more and more “writers” in the world.

Everywhere I go – parties, conferences,  Starbucks – I overhear people talking about the book, the screenplay, the article, the short story or the blog post they are working on right now. They lament that they wish they had more time to write. They fantasize about being a “writer”, as if being a writer involved anything more than writing regularly. They talk about the “reader” that they want to attract.

I don’t know what the real reason is for all these new “writers” that seem to be emerging right now. Is it the blogosphere with its promise of instant readership and the illusion that everyone has a “unique voice” or has something to say – no matter how trivial? Are current economic woes producing a common dream of being what we are not? Is it a collective mid-life crisis?

Not so long ago, back when I was still in college, I remember all my friends and family admonishing me for switching to Journalism as my major, with English Lit as my minor.

“What are you going to do with that degree?” my uncle asked me. “Not everyone gets to write for the New York Times, you know.”

My aunt sighed and said, “I suppose you can work in marketing or public relations.”

“Just promise me,” one of my successful friends from high school said to me one day when I was visiting him at MIT, “that you won’t become a dreamy, bohemian gypsy.”

In other words, deciding to become a writer was not considered a good life choice.  Neither was deciding to become a singer, or an actor, or an artist. Now, suddenly, everyone is “creative”. Everyone has some kind of “talent”, as if inside every child was a hidden seed of genius planted by one of the muses.  Everyone wants a book deal. Everyone wants their shot on American Idol. Everyone wants to be “famous”, or at least “reknowned”.

As Julie puts it so well in Julie & Julia: “I could write a book. I have thoughts.”

Well, I’m not so sure. As Jay Z puts it in his song about coming to NYC to fulfill your dreams: “Too bad half of you won’t make it.” And half is a generous number, believe me.

Not everyone is Julia or Jay Z, or Elizabeth Gray, or Stephanie Meyer. Most of us will remain at the bottom of the slush pile. Most of us will be lucky if we ever finish the manuscript that is placed in the slush pile. There’s a reason so many talented people are drinkers or drug addicts, people. Trust me.

My husband, who is one of those talented writers with an MFA from NYU, asked himself – and me – a pertinent question the other day: “What is wrong with being mediocre?”

You see, we’re both terrified of just being “average” at the things we love. But in truth, most of us are only “average”, which is why it’s “average” in the first place. It’s coming to terms with that, and making peace with it, that becomes important.

I’m beginning to think that we live in a self-obsessed age.  As Garrison Keillor playfully suggests, we live in a place “where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.” Or, at least, that is what we want to believe.

I fear that something about the rhetoric of being “the best” stops us from actually being able to take home the proverbial gold. I worry that our worship of the perfect makes us natural enemies of the “good enough”. And I wonder if all this obsession with our creativity and talent is at the expense of our more practical, and just as valuable, traits.

Any real writer will tell you, you don’t quit your day job to pursue writing. And if you do quit your day job, you certainly can’t complain about the lack of money, the stress, or the insecurities. Writers have piles and piles of rejection letters for every acceptance. And most writers – even the most successful – will give people the same advice: “If you can do anything else and be happy, for god’s sake, do it and do not become a writer.”

Helpful Hints for Men at Xmas: Stocking Stuffers for Women

Like most people who celebrate Christmas, I stress out over the perfect gift. I usually have no trouble whatsoever in purchasing for my women friends and family. Most of my good-gift-giving challenges have to do with purchasing something for the opposite sex. I don’t think I’m alone in this.

As a man in a relationship with a woman – be that as a son, boyfriend, brother, friend or husband – I’m sure you’ve stood in the stores a hundred times and thought to yourself: “This is impossible.” You’ve been baffled at the perfume counter. Or struck dumb at the lingerie. Or humbled by the cosmetics aisle.

In other words, unless it’s jewelry, you’ve no clue what to put in a girl’s stocking at Christmas.

Since it’s the giving season, I decided to take some of my favorite shopping finds this year and put them into a shoppable list for men.  Now, not every woman will love everything on this list, but there should be something for most women on here. If she’s stylish, fun, or girly, she will like some of these small gifts. Trust me.

Stocking stuffers for women, in no particular order, but numbered:

1.  L’Occitane Hand Creme. It’s winter. Our hands get cold and chapped. This hand creme is so luxurious that it’s almost embarassing to have to buy it for yourself. Just in time for Christmas, a set of three for $25 at Sephora.

2.  Almay Smart Shade Blush in Berry. Available at any CVS or Walgreens everywhere. This creme blush blends in and gives a natural glow. Also, because it’s a creme, it’s perfect for winter. The shade is perfect on any skin color, guaranteed. $8.34 at Walmart.

3. Dior Best in Show Mini Mascara Set. Dior’s mascara is the absolute best. I used to work in fashion, so you’ll just have to trust me on this one. $18 for two at Sephora.

4. Sparkle Bow Bobby Pins. Cute, fashionable bobby pins to just tuck those long bangs back for a night out on the town.$18 each at Banana Republic.

5. Mac Lipglass.The clear lipglass is a staple of makeup artists. Layer over lipstick for a glossy, stay-put finish. A bit sticky, but worth it. $14 at Nordstrom.

6. Flower Hair Clip. For the bold, fashionable woman in your life. But definitely not a good choice for the wall-flower. $5.95 at H&M.

7. Vintage Rock Tees. Several to choose from: Madonna, Blondie, or MTV shirts. For the slightly older, but still hip, woman in your life. Or, for the young hipster who is too young to remember the 80s, but likes to dress like they do. Personally, I love the Duran Duran and the MTV shirts. $17.50 at Old Navy.

8. Laura Mercier Undercover Pot. This is a tough one, but if you have some clue about your girlfriend’s skin color, then this is an amazing gift. It’s undereye and blemish concealer with translucent powder for finish – all in one. It’s a bit pricey, but Laura Mercier is basically the sole reason why women look so flawless in photos. It’s the go-to choice for make-up artists that I’ve worked with myself. $34 at Sephora or any high-end department store.

9. Juicy Couture “Initial Wish” Neckace. Ever since Carrie wore her name around her neck in Sex and the City, it’s been fashionable for women to have their initials on a chain. These are cute, hip, and a perfect stocking stuffer. $48 each at Nordstrom.

10. Harajuku Lovers Solid Perfumes. Great for the woman on the go. Five scents to choose from, and you can’t really go wron. Thanks, Gwen Stefani. $18 at Sephora.

11. Rene Furterer Dry Shampoo. All women do something crazy to their hair every day. Which is why we should be shampooing it less often. This dry shampoo is the best. I started using it a year ago, and I’ve never looked back. $24 at Sephora.

12. Sonia Kashuk “Twist of Fate” 6pc Makeup Brush Set. Decent brushes at good value. Comes in a cute case for travel. $19.99 at Target.

There, these ten should get you started. And I threw in two extra, for good measure.

Happy Shopping!

Shopping in your late 30s – at Forever 21

Yesterday, I met a friend for lunch at the Ferry Building in San Francisco. After a well-balanced meal of salad and diet coke, I decided to walk down Market Street to the Union Square area to do some window shopping, maybe try on a few of the latest fashions for fall. You know, browse. I was in the mood for love – love of knee-high boots and a possible fun new dress, that is.

I went into the Gap, which of course had nothing new. It seems to always just be a rehashing of what they had last year, and the year before that. Everything seems so late 90s in the Gap, even though I know they have a hot new designer running the show now.

Now, I don’t know what was wrong with me. Maybe it was the sunny day, maybe it was the crisp edge of fall in the air, maybe it was my upbeat mood. I decided to cross the line waiting for the cable cars and go into the flagship of Forever 21. I know, the name is ironic and I’m surprised that there are not age-detectors at the entrance. If there were, I would have set them off.

Everyone in the store was wearing skinny jeans (so last year) and some type of plaid shirt (so college-in-1992). Also, there were only about three other women in the store over the age of 21, and I think they were chaperoning their daughters. One of the women working there – probably the manager, since she was about 40 – smiled at me and said: “Can I help you find something, Miss?” I could have kissed her for adding in the ‘Miss.’ As we exchanged a knowing glance, sympathetic in nature on her part, I could tell we both knew that the ‘Miss’ should have been “Ma’am”.

As I trolled around, looking at this shirt and pulling that pants suit off the rack, I wondered about what kind of fashion choices I should be making as I get older. We’ve all seen that women of a “certain age” that is wearing what looks to be an outfit stolen directly out of her teenage daughter’s closet and groaned inwardly to ourselves. We’ve all said to ourselves: “That will not be me.” So, as I padded around Forever 21, I kept thinking to myself: “Is that going to be me? Today?”

To tell you the truth, most of the clothes were objectively WAY too young for me to pull off. A black and red plaid mini-skirt? No. A black lace, ruffled, Madonna-in-Holiday-esque mini-skirt? Probably not. A shiny, spaghetti-strap, black unitard straight out of the “Let’s Get Physical” video or from Studio54? Definitely not.

But there were some things I tried on and liked. A black, purple-polka-dotted, slightly ruffle-edge trench coat with hot pink lining and just a touch of taffeta inside to poof it out? Stylish and cute. A hot-pink feather flower for my hair, circa 1920s? I actually bought that, and will need to muster up the courage to wear it outside. A strapless black jersey pants suit? I looked like Bianca Jagger in the dressing room and decided that even if I never had anywhere to wear it, I was absolutely willing to pay $27.80 to own it.

As I was trying these things on, I heard two of the teenagers who were working the dressing room talk about things they thought were “hot”. Standing inside in my pants suit, I half thought about asking them what they thought. But what do they know about being 37 and looking too old to wear something? They were eighteen if they were a day. Then I remembered all the insecurities that went along with that age. At eighteen, I wouldn’t have the balls to wear this. Now, I think I do.

I might shop at Forever 21, but that doesn’t mean I’m dying to be 21 again.

On Cougar Town – ABC’s new show

OK. I watched the debut of this show the other night, and I have to say that I, like Judith Warner at the NYTimes, disliked it. I thought the show itself was trying too hard and I found myself wondering if anyone who still looked as great as Courtney Cox over the age of 40 would really have as many insecurities and anxieties. I doubt it, but maybe I’m wrong.

Something the show did get right, I think, was the sense of loneliness that Cox’s character feels after she gets a divorce. That is all-too real for most women. There’s the sense of relief that you’re out of that dull or horrible marriage, to be sure, but then follows the crushing realization that you are no longer young and you are spending your nights alone with your book or the latest reality television show. Even a bad marriage insulates a woman from having to feel old and alone. So that hit the right note for me.

But, then, I just don’t believe that someone like Courtney would be alone for that long. Her odds are upped, aren’t they? What about the rest of us? With our sagging boobs and dimpled butts? If we have a scintillating personality or a fascinating life, then maybe we will do well on Match.com. But, if not? Ouch.

Perhaps one of the most disturbing things about the show was Christa Miller’s face. Is she in the running to become the new Joan Rivers? She used to be so cute on the Drew Carey show, back before all that face-saving surgery. Yikes.

This is the photoshopped version.

Her smile here reminds me of the Joker.

If you watch the show, you’ll see what I mean. Her face barely moves and her lips are ridiculous.

This is exactly what I hope NOT to be like when I’m over 40. To my friends out there, if I go overboard someday on the silicone and botox, please set up an intervention and show me a tape of Christa Miller on Cougar Town. I’ll understand.

A new look and outlook

OK. I’m back.

And this time, I’m going to use this blog as an open journal to talk about the process and experience of aging.

Before you think it, I’m not “old” yet. But, I’m also not young.

The other day I was looking at grant applications for the arts and one of them was for “young adults” only. The age cut-off was 35. I am 37 and ticking upwards. Looking at the requirements, I suddenly realized that I’m no longer considered a “young” adult. I guess that means I’m just an “adult”.

At any rate, I don’t know many people around my age who are entirely comfortable with the fact that we are all getting older. Nostalgic is starting to creep into all of our conversations and I’m afraid that we’re only a few years away from entering into our anecdotage. To stave off my general anxiety about turning the big four-oh, I decided that I would focus my attention on exploring my feelings and thoughts, instead of running away from them and trying to pretend I’m still 29. (I know people who really do hold onto the number 29 or 30, long past the point where it isn’t ridiculous.)

We cannot avoid getting older, after all. We can learn to accept it, though, and maybe even begin to appreciate it. Though I have to admit I am a long, long way off from being able to say that I am looking forward to my forties and fifties.

So, in other words, this is my electronic record of my journey into my 40s. Along the way, I want to talk about cosmetics, fashion, marriage, divorce, sex, kids, creaking body parts and any other miscellaneous signs that middle age is fast approaching. My aging reports should – fingers crossed – be sometimes poignant, but mostly funny examinations at our American culture. A place where, the last time I checked, getting older was definitely not cool or acceptable. Especially in the youth-meccas of the cities.

Things I would most definitely say #1

Yes, I would tell you that your baby was ugly.

I’m not going to lie to you about an ugly baby. Really, I’m not.

Putting my t-shirts where my mouth is.

OK, so I’ve created a line of snarky, satirical t-shirts for sale at CafePress. Just click the link below or to the side of the site page below the search button.

For now, it’s just one design. But later, I’ll add more.

And, honestly, I’m not really an Obama hater. I’m just dismayed at how quickly people started to turn away from Obama after things got rough. Change takes a lot of actual work, no matter what type we’re talking about. 

Meaningful work isn’t supposed to be fun. Or easy.

http://www.cafepress.com/SunnyState

Awful Things People Have Said to Me This Week

I’m not sure if Facebook, blogging, and digital social networking in general are all making people less socially savvy than ever before, or if the generation just a bit younger than me (say 4-10 years) never learned social etiquette at all. Or maybe they just don’t give a damn. Either way, people have said some fairly suspect things to me this week, and I’d like to share them with the digital world for fun. It’s me getting them off my chest without having to blow up or get in someone’s face.

First, I should start with some background. This has been a personal “best week ever”. I passed my oral exam – the first one to do so in my class – and I advanced to ABD (all-but-dissertation) status. Then, I found out that I have been accepted into the Norman Mailer Writers Colony for the new journalism course. All scholarship and based on merit alone.

Here are the various responses – taken out of context in our conversations, but still as bad as they sound – to my good news:

“You should be so proud of yourself, since no one thought that you could ever do this!” (What kind of compliment is this?)

“Why would you want to go to a writing program anyway? What’s the point?”

“You’re not a journalist anymore, right? What does any of that have to do with anthropology?” (Um, good writing?? Readability? Ability to sell copies of your book?)

“That’s great. (short pause) I got a huge grant!”

“You have proved everyone who said you couldn’t do this wrong!” (Again, WHAT????)

“Did you write these field statements yourself?” (What is wrong with these people?)

That, trust me, is just a sample of the whole. I would bore you by repeating comments that were all-too similar to the ones above. If these were said in malice, then they would have made more sense. Instead, they were all said in a faux accent of “I’m so happy for you!” mixed with a smidgeon of “you bitch”. 

Honestly, it stresses me out. I don’t like fake people. I also don’t always love the level of competition that comes along with being in this program.

Graffiti in our shared graduate teaching room:

Cal Anthro: home of the smartest people in the world

That’s a bit much, don’t you think? (Especially when Livermore Labs is under a mile away from us. Or adding in U Chicago or Harvard. Those people aren’t exactly dummies, no?)

Youth, inexperience and insecurity – what a powerful combination.

 

 

I just advanced to candidacy.

Today was my oral exam. Four professors asked me questions based on three research papers on three different fields for about two hours. All that added up to one more PhD candidate at Berkeley. 

Bye-bye being a student, hello to being a professional. Or, at least a professional-in-training.

Here’s the kicker . . . I don’t really remember anything from my exam –  except for the criticism. 

I, like a vast number of people, have a serious hearing problem. . . . I only listen to the bad things that people say. Apparently, I am deaf only to compliments. I have been like this since birth (or at least as far back as I can remember).

Someday, I will drive myself insane trying to attain perfection.

Logically, I know that it’s impossible to be perfect. Emotionally, it’s a different story. Other people are addicted to alcohol or drugs; I am addicted to achievement. And just like a drug addiction, each high that I get from achieving is shorter in duration and requires more oomph for me to feel it. 

Cyril Connelly once wrote that: “Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first call promising.”

My so-called potential has always felt like more of a burden than a gift. In the Greek sense, I suppose that gifts themselves are always burdensome. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be worth having, right?

If I’m ever lucky enough to become a full-fledged professor, I know one thing for certain – I will always be honest about what it takes to become a scholar. Eating a large portion of humble pie is a prerequisite. So is self-doubt. But if everyone feels some sense of doubt about their abilities, then those who really acheive anything in this world all have one trait in common — perseverence.

It takes patience to become great at anything. I have to remind myself of this at least once a week. No one knows how to do anything intuitively; they learn a skill slowly, by degrees, until it appears like effortless skill.

How many layups does a professional basketball player have to do in order to make the NBA?

How many prototypes of the iPod did they throw out before they developed the right combination of function and design and programming?

How many failed experiments did Marie Curie have to perform to develop a working theory of radioactivity?

How many pages did Tolstoy write that he crumpled up in disgust?

No one was counting, but my guess is countless. 

The reason promise can be so damning is that it isn’t easy to fulfill. A very wise – and successful – person once told me that talent alone is not enough. It takes a mixture of ability and audacity to succeed. I think that he’s probably right. In order to be successful, we have to learn how to take our hits. Into the mix of ability and audacity, I think that I would add patience.

It will take time for me to learn the new language of my discipline. But, then, that is what being a novice is all about, right? Knowing what you don’t know, and seeking patches to fill in the gaps in your thinking.