Reinvention

Oh, Miley Cyrus. I only tuned into the MTV Music Awards to see if my darling *NSYNC boys would reunite. Texting back and forth, my friends and I eagerly anticipated the possibility of seeing our junior high heartthrobs once more.

One of my friends put her children to sleep and came over in her pajamas; we sat on my bed and ate candy until the wee hours (OK, confession: 11 p.m. is now the wee hours).

I think I could have a bar of soap for every person in that audience and I still wouldn't be able to scrub my eyeballs enough to obliterate your performance from my memory. That’s the funny thing about brains; I can’t remember any of my work passwords; but I will forever have those dancing bears etched into my subconscious.

When I realized that my beloved boy band would only dance for approximately 5.6 seconds (they’re getting older like us, I guess), I was even more furious that I had to endure “entertainment” from you and your peers to get my snippet of glory.

I think my beef with you—besides the obvious—is that you and your friends are trying to make reinvention synonymous with promiscuity; you are telling young girls that if they want to graduate from Hannah Montana, the natural next step is trading in their innocence.

And I’m here to tell ya, girls. It’s OK to change. It’s OK to switch up your likes and dislikes (“Your taste buds will change every few years,” says Mom). It’s OK to have an experience that rocks how you see the world. It’s even OK to reinvent yourself.

You can do this without shaving your hair off. I promise. You can do this without strutting around with nothing on in front of millions. I promise. You can do this without compromising who you are. Promise. Scout’s honor. You don’t even mysteriously gain the urge to leave your tongue spiraling out of your mouth like a lizard all the time.

I am not the Ashton from Paragould Junior High School (thank the good Lord); I am not the Ashton from college; I’m only a remnant of the Ashton who got married a year and a half ago. As time has gone on, I have seen a need for several reinvention interventions.

But they have made my life better; easier—not emptier and more humiliating.

• I used to be Judge Judy. Ok, not literally (otherwise I would be sitting at home counting my money, not writing this blog). This fun little reinvention formed after I got to be poor for a little while (Kudos, higher education). I sat in a low income health clinic and realized I couldn't even afford that. It hit me. No one wants to be poor. No one wants to fail as a parent. No one wants to have to ask for help. But there I was. If you replace your judgment with grace and your assumptions with compassion, I promise it will change your life.

• I used to have no worldview.  Travel the world if you get the chance. Or at least to some place that varies from your norm. When you meet kind and gracious people from a Muslim faith, you are less likely to stare at an airport. When it occurs to you that you are a tiny speck on a large map, your perspective of what's important will drastically alter.

• I used to be unhelpful. I didn't realize until I got married how little I did for my own mother growing up. I spent the first part of our marriage in a state of denial; I apparently lived in a world where my mom was going to show up and do all the stuff I didn't want to do. Now that I am pitching in and have laid to rest my pride, our partnership has gotten even stronger. And I've even made some semi-decent meals.

• I used to think everything was the end of the world. This is probably my latest work in progress. I once went to make a recipe and realized we didn't have eggs. You would have thought the small group was known for excommunicating members who had to make something else. I had someone say to me recently, "In every situation, ask yourself: 'What is the worst thing that can possibly happen here?" It's amazing the transformation that takes place when you realize you are ten times harder on yourself than anyone else could ever be.

• I used to have a list. Maybe it's just a youth group girl thing, but we all had blueprints of our perfect mate. I'm sure if you fed the paper into a machine that magically popped out a guy, it would respond with, "You're stupid." When I realized that God wasn't sending me on the hunt for this one guy from this one college with this one major with all these generic hobbies, guess what? I got married. And I found that qualities that were not even in my Top 10 made all the difference.

We'd be here all day if I listed every way that I have changed my heart; evolved my spirit; and donned a new look (farewell, red confetti glasses of '99).

But each stage was so needed in making me who I am today.

So please don't look to Hollywood to get your cues for transformation; look no further than yourself.

"Personal transformation can and does have global effects. As we go, so goes the world, for the world is us. The revolution that will save the world is ultimately a personal one."
Marianne Williamson

1938

So I found some “Tips for Single Women” from a 1938 article. Good thing the good Lord saw it fit to save my grand entrance into the world for later. Otherwise, I probably would have spent the roaring 20s and 30s sitting in a rocking chair in the attic collecting the bones of all of my animals while my sophisticated lady friends dated their way up in society. Let’s take a stab at some of them.

1. “Don’t use the car mirror to fix your make-up. Man needs it in driving, and it annoys him very much to have to turn around to see what’s behind him.” You want to talk annoying? Let’s talk annoying. I have to hurriedly plop globs of goop on my face (say that ten times fast) because society has almost made it an expectation. Sure, men have that awful chore of rotating their neck a fourth of an inch—but at least they don’t get asked if they’re sick a million times if they forego the eyeliner for a day. And have you TRIED to put on makeup in a car lately? It’s a wonder I haven’t had to have a mascara wand surgically removed from my eyeball.

2. “Don’t be familiar with the headwaiter talking about the fun you had with someone else another time. Men deserve, desire your entire attention.” Dang. I’m going to have to cool it in Olive Garden. Justin understands. More distracting small talk = more grated cheese on your salad. What Justin desires is more breadsticks, not attention. So schmooze your way to more carbs.

3. “If you need a brassiere, wear one. Don’t tug at your girdle and be careful your stockings are not wrinkled.” Ok, 1938, do you have some type of “brassiere test” we have to pass in order to justify needing one? Let’s go with 2013 here and flat out say: WEAR ONE. I don’t care who you are. I would rather you tug at your Spanx and not iron your pantyhose than have you cause me to gouge my own eyes out anytime it’s cold outside or unforeseen circumstances warrant you having to run.

4. “Don’t be sentimental or try to get him to say something he doesn’t want to by working on his emotions. Men don’t like tears, especially in public places.” You know. Because we women just live in excited anticipation for our next meltdown. We plan them actually. Personally, I keep tally of how many times I can cry in front of a crowd in a week’s time. We love being overtaken by a hormonal surge that makes us want to kill the ones we love the most.


5. “Don’t talk about clothes or try to describe your new gown to a man. Please and flatter your date by talking about the things he wants to talk about.” Cotton. Target Pajama Section. $10.99. That’s the end of my gown descriptions. (Not many fancy parties in my circle). And may I say you are looking dashing, fine sir, in your boxers with an unraveling waistband. How’s that for elegant evening flattery?

6. “Don’t sit in awkward positions—and never look bored, even if you are. Be alert, and if you must chew gum (not advised), do it silently, mouth closed.” I spend 8+ hours a day at work avoiding sitting in awkward positions. My reward for somehow maintaining an upright stature for 8 hours? Being as stinkin’ awkward as I want when I get home. I will lay my legs across your face if they want to be there. I will contort my body like a circus act to reach the remote before I will retrieve it like a normal person.

So when one of those “It’s tough to be a woman” days hits, just be thankful that we’ve reached a time when females can be transparent; they can be a little crazy and that’s OK; they can quit walking on eggshells; and an article making them feel better about themselves as wives, mothers, and women is just a Google search away rather than a newspaper article slap to the face. So, in honor of those who came before us, go sit awkwardly somewhere and smack your gum as loud as you can.

Anti-Bucket List

There is no easy way to transition from yesterday’s blog post to today’s more light-hearted banter. Whenever I am following up to an excruciatingly transparent entry, I always feel like that emotional teenager who has to come back into the family room after erupting in front of everyone: “So, yeah, I don’t hate any of you. I’m sorry.”

I read a column today where the author decided to make out an “Anti-Bucket List.”

It caught my attention because normally I have to sift through compilations of things people with a lot more drive than me are going to do before they turn 30 or whatever.

I have to know about the arch nemesis of this, I thought.

It made me want to do the same. So here we go:

· I will never eat yogurt for breakfast. I somehow get disillusioned sometimes in the grocery store and buy like a 6-pack of Yoplait. I will open the first one, eat a spoonful, gag, goodbye entire pack. No more.

· I will never run with a number on my back. If you receive word that I have paid a large lump sum of money to run, swim, bike, or anything else equally horrible, alert the authorities. My evil twin that no one knew I had has assumed my life and left me on a couch somewhere.

· I will never share one of those “If you love your husband, son, daughter, brother, sister” things on Facebook. I love you. You know I love you. And if you need an illustrated teddy bear to realize this, I might take it back.

· I will never look up the calorie count for a Zaxby’s chicken salad. I will live in my own little world where all salads are good for you.

· I will not stop using writing as an avenue to document my life. Pity the children whose every tantrum is a chapter in a book somewhere.

· I will never stop smiling when Justin affectionately refers to me as “Goopert.” I will never, however, allow this to become my full-time name when I’m 90 years old. “Great Aunt Goopert” is not happening.

· I will not fill my brain up with useless music trivia. Justin can ask, “Who sang this?” in every restaurant until we’re in nursing homes but I am not going to fill up my precious brain space with the 80s greatest hits.

· I will never purposely do any activity that puts me in imminent danger. If I get some incurable disease, don’t expect me to jump out of a plane. It’s just not going to happen.

We all get so caught up in what we haven’t done. Why not occasionally enjoy listing the things you’re just flat out not going to do? It’s kind of refreshing.

So start listing.

The Question

My absence from writing can be attributed to many things; new job stresses (in the form of me being given new responsibilities that involve math); career uncertainty (in the form of my bank being sold to another bank); change (in the form of Justin starting a new job tomorrow), household items breaking down (in the form of a $3500 AC condenser and Justin's truck being in the shop).

While all of these things are frustrating, inconvenient and a tad on the expensive side, they all pale in comparison to being witness to immense grief; to hearing other people say all the right things, the Christian things while you drive down the road letting God have it.

Instead of "holding your own loved ones closer tonight" like everyone is telling you to do on Facebook, you try not to distance yourself, the natural inclination that arises when you realize you may not get to keep them forever.

This is the phase of marriage that is hard to write about; it's hard to face; it's ugly.

It's not a funny list of your husband's worst habits. It's not a collection of anecdotes bemoaning the differences between men and women. It's not even about my love of junk food and my loathing of the gym.

It's the reason I have sat in front of a blinking cursor for the past several weeks.

Because sometimes, sometimes you have to come face-to-face with something terrifying; something that trumps blogged about burnt dinners and the mystery of the missing sock in the laundry.

And that scary question is this: If we were handed similar circumstances, would we still be faithful to the Lord? Would we become unified or would we push each other out? If one of us left this Earth, would the other one live out our legacy or become debilitated with anger?

It may be one month in, two months in, a year in. But one day you will look at your marriage in a whole new way; through the lens of that less popular part of your vows that includes that sad stuff that kind of ruins the bubbly Jack Johnson song you have playing in the background.

You wonder about the results of the test, while praying fervently that you are spared the lesson.

This isn't to say that I won't go back to affectionately recounting love's goofy happenings; or will no longer use this as a forum to make people laugh.

I am simply encouraging all couples--young and old-- to recommit to the promises you made to your spouse when your biggest worry was running out of wedding punch;

To recommit to the Lord the decision you made when your biggest worry was not passing out in front of the whole congregation.

Love one another; let the little things slide, realize that pet peeves are nothing more than that; and ask each other tough questions that may require a next-day answer.

It's not always pretty; sometimes the other person may even wonder who they married; but I promise you that growth will result.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.
C. S. Lewis