When it comes to working out, the adage is “No Pain No Gain”. While it might not be necessary to be howling in agony (in fact that’s probably a really bad idea), certainly we need to move to, at the very least, discomfort. We need to work past our comfort zone in order to move to the next level.

An adage I try to live by is Work Hard, Rest Hard, Play Hard. Those six little words help me remember to keep balance in my life. In fact, that is the theme of the book I am writing. Having spent my life focusing almost exclusively on the Work Hard part of the phrase, remembering to include the other two takes a conscious effort on my part. I suspect that each of us probably focuses predominantly on one of these to the exclusion of the other two. Sure, it’s comfortable focusing on our natural strengths and inclinations, but are we growing? Not so much.

Which section do you default to? For myself, upon waking, it doesn’t take long for my “To do” list to start rolling around in my head. Work first, Play second (sadly, until I figured out the balance thing, I rarely got to the Play part and never got to the Rest part). Maybe for you, upon waking you start to think that you need to take some time to think and plan before you can actually move forward. Maybe you have all kinds of goals and plans. But maybe you’re spending so much time planning your life, you’re not actually living it. Or maybe once your eyes open, you start to think about all the fun stuff you can do today, the people you’re going to see. We’re all a mix of the three, but often we tend to default to one more than the others.

No Pain No Gain applies to all three areas of our lives. It’s not just about working out. Yes, in order to progress physically, we have to push ourselves farther, faster (cue the Six Million Dollar Man music…), lift more, extend the stretch, hold the pose, one more push-up. But let’s look at this philosophy as it applies to Work Hard, Rest Hard, Play Hard.

Work, in a broad definition, means anything you must do: earn a living, parent your kids, care for an elderly or sick relative, things of this nature. Some of these things may bring you great joy and happiness, and they may not feel like “work”, but if it’s something that must be done, we’ll call it work. In order to progress at work, we must learn new skills, open ourselves up to ideas, hone our people and communication skills. We all know the kind of employee who progresses: he or she is pro-active, always learning, company-minded, people-oriented. It probaby took effort to learn these skills through classes, reading, mentorship. The point is, that employee had to push past the comfort of “just doing enough” to move to the next level. The same goes for any areas where we “work”.

Resting is a lot harder (at least for me) than it looks. I don’t mean a good night’s sleep or grabbing forty winks. I’m talking about taking a rest from your life to assess. Where have you been and what did you learn from it? Where are you now? Where are you going? Where do you want to go? How will you get there? What matters to you? Life can be so demanding and busy that we just keep doing, doing, doing, with no real idea that we should have switched lanes quite some time ago, that what we’re currently doing isn’t really getting us where we want to go. Actually stopping can be very painful. It can make you feel unproductive, lazy, spoiled, selfish, and any other number of negative labels. For me, it was my brother’s death that finally forced me to stop. That was two years ago. When I finally stopped “doing” long enough to hear my inner self, she had plenty to say, and she was none too happy with me. Two years later, my life is heading in the direction I want it to. For now. Because that’s the beauty of Resting Hard. You take regular breaks to assess and think and regroup and correct. This is hard work. Not all of us easily knows who we are, or what we want to be when we grow up. It takes time, and it takes effort. And it can be very uncomfortable.

It sounds silly to say that it can be painful when we Play Hard. I don’t mean the kind of pain that comes from too many cocktails. When I use the term Play Hard, I mean finding that which brings us deep joy and peace, not superficial fun. It can be very uncomfortable going through spiritual exercises to determine what our soul really wants, what we’re here to offer to the world, what (not who) we love. Determining this can take us far outside our comfort zone. Maybe you were exposed to the horrors of the Congo, and you feel compelled to contribute to the solution in some way. This is painful. This is coming to terms with some ugly truths, being able to live with them, knowing you are doing what you can to help because being a part of the solution brings you peace. Or maybe you are a musician but you stopped playing a long time ago when life and work and kids took priority. And maybe now you want to feel that deep down glow you used to feel when a piece literally flowed out of you. You could see the beauty in the music. However, now your fingers don’t work like they used to, and scales are physically painful. And it’s going to be a little while deep in discomfort before you can recapture that beauty. Maybe you’re a writer (comma Sharron) who took a break for twenty years while real life intervened, and now you feel vaguely guilty sitting long enough to write a piece (especially when there is so much work to be done!), and not only that, the words just don’t flow the way they used to. You recognize you’re going to have to spend some time in discomfort while you relearn to rework the words. Playing Hard is finding that which makes you unique, that which you love, and bringing it forth into the world. Very uncomfortable stuff indeed.

In fact, I would argue that life is an ebb and flow of growth and maintenance at all times. Sadly, some of us can even move to “de-conditioning” - where it’s been so long since we’ve pushed ourselves beyond our comfort level that we are atrophying, physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. Life, to me, is about pushing ourselves, sometimes a little, and sometimes a lot, then maintaining for a bit, and then pushing some more. I’m finally learning that applies to all areas of my life. My forced period of Resting Hard caused me to ask some hard questions, and now the joy I feel while Playing Hard is something I can’t imagine being without. It needn’t be a grand gesture. Simply taking the time to write this blog post brings me joy. The point is not for people to read it (although it’s lovely when you do). The point is for me to write it. The point is not to do something for joy because you receives accolades from others (although it’s nice when that happens). The point is to do the thing – fail, learn, try again, fail again, suck at it, learn a little more, stretch yourself. Be uncomfortable. The gain is worth the pain.

A few years back, some canny soul coined the term “TomKat”, and a fad was born. But no, it wasn’t a fad. Today, people are portmanteauing all over the place. Portmanteau is the very dignified term used to describe combining two words to form a new one. And so, it is in that spirit that I created the term fromance. Thinking myself quite clever to invent such a catchy new word, I set to work on this piece, only to discover that fromance has been in the urban dictionary for some time. Oh well, I did invent it. It’s just that a lot of people had thought of it already.

My curly hair has always been the bane of my existence. Its texture is such that my hair will respond to anything I do to it. Until there is one molecule of water vapour in the air, in which case, it first flips, bends, then coils into ringlets. Well, at least in the front. The sides and back, unfortunately, simply expand into a horror-inducing mess. Yes, small children shield their eyes as I pass, teenagers snicker, adults shoot pitiful glances my way. Sometimes, a kind soul will take pity on me and offer me a flat iron. Think Carrie’s Mom crossed with Ronald McDonald (I’m a redhead). It ain’t pretty.

There was even a point shortly after the Barbra Streisand movie Evergreen, where I actually permed my hair into tight coils. It was pretty – until it began to grow out and gave a terrifying new meaning to the word “flat top”. Back in the 80’s, creating a billowy cloud of curls meant mousse, and lots of it. I imagine when a man ran (or more likely, tried to run) his fingers through a moussed woman’s hair, it sounded like boots crunching on snow and there was probably screaming involved. You know when a frothy halo of curls moves as one entity, it’s helmut-hair hell.

Now why go to all this fuss to fight nature? Why not just embrace my curls/waves/frizz with abandon and be the real me? Why spend at least 30 mins each morning taming my unruly mess into some semblance of civility? Other than the fact that the real me resembles an Einstein who decided to go with Intense Copper, it’s because I love my hair. I love how it looks when I take the time to style it. I spend 30 mins with a blowdryer, three different round brushes, Velcro rollers, and a flat iron to achieve a “natural” look. I picture Picasso with one paintbrush in his mouth, another in his hand, as he studied his canvas, his muse, lost in his art. That’s me in my ensuite – I’m the Picasso of Porcelain. I appear to have six hands as I create my masterpiece, brushes flying, sweat beading on my brow from the heat of the dryer, Alice In Chains blasting on my iPod to pump me up, as I pump my hair up. It is a masterpiece. I can’t draw a straight line or sing a note, but damn it, I give good blow dryer. Good times.

But wait, did I not just say my hair was the bane of my existence? And now I am extolling its virtues? Isn’t that what legendary romances are made of? Passion, sometimes disguised as love, sometimes hate, but never apathy. Because here is the problem. After spending a hefty chunk of my morning coiffing up a headful of fabulous, I will see the beginnings of the dreaded curl forming moments after leaving the house. It’s like creating a turreted sandcastle only to have some brat come along and gleefully kick it to smithereens. Damn you, Mother Nature. Jealous  much?

Contrary to how I’m presenting myself, I’m no high-maintenance diva. More often than not, I will tuck my strands up under a ball cap to buzz around the neighbourhood. Long gone are the days when I applied a full face just to pick up the mail. I am very comfortable in my skin. I am content at this age and stage. My primary accessory these days is joy, and it goes with everything. But I’m just not ready to go hair-commando yet.

When I think of myself in the future, I believe there will come a time when I  chop off my shoulder-length locks and embrace my 50% grey. My morning routine will consist of finger combing my curls, and letting them dry where they may, in a curly, cute cap, framing the face of a woman who embraces where she has come from, and looks forward to where she is going. A time will come when I’ll want to do something else with those 30 minutes in the morning. Maybe I’ll be working with sea turtles in Costa Rica or whales on the St. Lawrence. A flat iron will not likely be part of the picture. I’m looking forward to that time, but it’s not here yet.

In a bar recently, I was participating in a trivia game – the kind where the questions are displayed on ceiling-mounted monitors and the players punch their answers into a console. I was winning, and I had $50 riding on the game. The last question flashed on the screen: Where is a woman’s hair the curliest? I grinned. Sadly, the answer is Fiji. I wasn’t even close.

And so my fromance continues. The effort, the love, the resentment, the disappointment, the unexpected storms, the joy. I’m embracing it all. For now.

You know, back in the day when I was working three jobs just to buy Kraft dinner, I didn’t really have time for joy. I didn’t really have the capacity or the head space to follow my bliss. (Whenever I use the expression “follow my bliss”, I feel I should have long, flowing hair, wear a long, flowing caftan, and spend my days making crafty shit out of pocket lint. I should be Aunt Meg from Twister – wasn’t she fabulous?) When you’re in survival mode, everything but what is absolutely necessary to survive takes a back seat.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy every moment with my children, Search and Destroy. They have always been a source of great love and joy, even during the really rough spots, and I don’t expect that will ever change. (Unless Destroy makes homemade chicken pot pie again without cleaning up after himself. Seriously, did you have to use every single pot in the house? And Search, if I have to go hunting for my black eyeliner one more time, you may find your bags on the porch.) The incredible joy a parent feels when your child tells you how much he or she loves you while trying to scam another $10 out of you, well, it just can’t be measured. But that’s not the kind of joy I’m talking about.

Last week, while off on vacation, I spent a couple of hours relaxing in the backyard with a novel and a glass of wine. I can honestly say the last time I did that was probably over 10 years ago. Ten years ago. How is it that something so simple could have been completely eliminated from my life? Interestingly, as I “find myself” again, I am remembering things I actually used to enjoy doing. Just managing a job, a home, and two kids on my own has kept me pretty darn busy, and my default program became one of putting others first, initially out of necessity but then, admittedly, out of habit. It takes head space to make effective changes, and when the rough times began to pass, I was happy to use that head space just to feel and experience relief. And then my brother died on my couch on August 6, 2008. His heart stopped in his sleep; no oxygen to the brain, and that was that.

Fast forward two years. I’d always heard that people say it takes two years to get over a significant loss. That always seemed long to me. Well, I can honestly say, that it’s been two years since Dale died, and I am finally – finally – starting to feel like myself. The survivor’s guilt is mostly gone (I don’t imagine it will ever disappear completely). The grief has mostly morphed into memories. I think deep down (subconsciously, because I don’t remember this as a cognitive thought), I have given myself permission to experience joy again. Or maybe it’s not a permission thing. Maybe my head and heart have healed enough that they can now work in tandem again.

Dale’s death was the catalyst to the personal journey I’ve been on the last two years. It’s the “something good” I take away from a dreadful experience. As I approach my 50th birthday, I feel as though I’ve turned a corner. I am happy. I am grateful to be alive (literally, because some people aren’t). I sincerely believe we are here on this planet to discover what brings us joy, that we should then bring that into the world to share with others, and that is our purpose and contribution. Sometimes joy is finding absolute pleasure and peace in the simple things (like reading  a novel outside on a beautiful summer day). Joy is not frivolous or unnecessary. Deep-down, feel-it-in-your-gut joy is what makes us human. I think it’s the best part of us.

Well, my vacation is done and it’s back to the office tomorrow. Today was spent putting it all together, except for a few hours in the late afternoon when my son and I went to see The Expandables and then grabbed some dinner. Other than that, I’ve been going over what I’ve learned about my challenges and my priorities. I have created a workable schedule with enough flexibility built in to account for real life. Murphy often resides in my life, as he does in everyone’s, and his law can bugger up my best laid plans. But no more! Here are a few things I learned from this week of research:

1. Life isn’t a smooth ride from point A to point B. I think at least one of the secrets to contentment is recognizing that shit happens, and it’s what we do with it that counts. Time and flexibility, and the ability to laugh at the ridiculousness of life, is important to keep frustration and despair at bay.

2. Routine is our friend. Yes, I know some of us really don’t like adhering to a schedule because we prefer to live in the moment. I can tell you for certain that sticking to a routine will increase productivity. I schedule in spontaneous time (really), and then I do what I like during that time. A schedule with adequate time for each task is necessary for effectiveness and efficiency.

3. I am tired of operating on adrenalin. My previous motto was “Don’t just do it, overdo it.” I have run on adrenalin most of my life. I don’t mean I procrastinated; I mean I was always pushing myself to do more, more, more in less, less, less time, creating a manufactured sense of urgency. This is probably how I ended up with high blood pressure when I have no lifestyle markers for it. Now, I feel most productive and in control when I have a reasonable number of things to do within a reasonable amount of time, with a little buffer time thrown in to handle Murphy’s visits. I am not super human, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.  No more rushing for me.

4. I will work hard, rest hard, play hard. In a nutshell, it means I will create and maintain balance in my life. I will continue to work towards progressing my corporate work and my creative work. I will continue to take solo time to reflect and restore. And I will make sure I continue to seek and experience joy in my life.

5. I will never be as young as I am right now. Deferring creativity or industry, putting off taking time for ourselves, or ignoring the importance of joy in our lives isn’t optimal. I went a lot of years without resting (taking time to myself simply to think and regroup) or playing (doing anything that delighted me). I can attest to the fact that adding these things has made a huge difference in my life. If you’re already living with this kind of balance, I applaud you, and I want to be just like you when I grow up.

Two years ago, I wasn’t writing, I didn’t have a social circle, and I had no real eye on the future. I was living day to day, and firmly entrenched in work mode. Change can happen overnight. Results can’t be achieved overnight, but we can start changing on the inside this very second.  I am looking forward to getting back to my life tomorrow morning with purpose and focus. A week very well spent.

And now to end the weekend in one of my favourite ways: watching Mad Men.

I purposely left this category until the end. The reason for this is that I needed to focus on me first, and then focus on others. That is a key component to any balanced life, and one I’ve managed to ignore for most of my 49 years.

Two years ago, after my brother died at 46 years of age (which was the event which set me on this path to self-discovery and the search for meaning and joy), I realized one thing that was missing was a sense of community. I realized one Friday when I decided – damn it! -  I was going to have some fun, that I didn’t have one person to call to join me for a movie. Let me be clear that I have a dear friend who lives an hour away, another dear work-friend whom I don’t typically socialize with outside the office, and three partners-in-crime from my highschool years who have their own lives, their own children, and their own friends. They’d help me move a body, but most likely wouldn’t help me move house, because we just aren’t in each others’ lives day to day. My boyfriend is a single parent like me, so, like me, his priority is always his children, and as such, we don’t get a lot of couple time. And besides, he’s a guy. I was looking for a woman-friend to go out with. Focusing solely on work and raising kids, especially as a single parent, doesn’t really lend itself to creating and maintaining much of a social life. At least it didn’t for me. And so, on that fateful Friday night, I gave some thought to creating a community in my life and so, I did what every other self-respecting person does when they’re lonely. I went online. I remembered I liked to play euchre as a teen, and so went online to find a local euchre group. That took me to an application called meetup.com, which opened my world to all kinds of groups. No matter what your interest, you can likely find a group there. Well, I started searching for a woman’s social group but couldn’t find one in my age group (40+) which didn’t further subcategorize into married, single, no kids, with kids, etc. So, not finding anything that spoke directly to me, I decided to take the proverbial bull by the horns, and create my own. I started the Fabulous 40+ West End Women, and stated that if you were over 40, regardless of relationship status, regardless of whether you were a kids/no kids person, you could join. The only criteria was 40+. 40+ women have a common perspective. It seems it’s quite universal – at least in North America, that by the time women hit 40+, they have had quite enough of looking after everyone else, and are ready to have themselves a little fun. (I have since found that is true for men too, but I didn’t create a group for them.) Anyway, my first event, a Little Black Dress dinner, was scheduled for March 6, 2009. We had about 20 ladies show up and we had a blast. Within 3 months, there were 90 members. Within a year, there were over 140. We have a blast, and I have met some genuinely amazing women who I am proud to call friends. 

Sometimes we can feel that something is missing but we have no idea what. That single thought – I have no one to call to go to a movie – has led me, a year later, to belong to a wonderful community of fabulous ladies. Two or three events are scheduled per month, and we have a blast. As it turns out, yesterday’s event was to attend the movie Eat, Pray, Love, and then have dinner to discuss afterwards. I read Eat, Pray, Love when it came out, and my initial reaction was ”geez, drama queen much?”. She’s a little over the top, and a little too dramatic for me, however the message was clear. She had spent her time losing herself within relationships, and was now basically just a reflection of her partner. And that was one of the things that became very clear to me when I started on this personal journey. I had done exactly the same thing, as had many women my age. We had defined ourselves by our relationships, and now were ready to redefine who we are. Being an edgy kind of girl, I kind of enjoy the title “Fuck You Fifties”. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but it pretty much sums up the way I feel, even though I mean it a little more politely than that. But the sentiment is there: time for me, back off and get your own sandwich.

And so my group and I enjoyed a movie, and then a dinner full of robust and lusty conversation (a moment of reverence for the man that is Javier Bardem - sigh). This is what having girlfriends is all about. This is what having a community is all about: companionship, support, laughter, fun, goofiness, a sense of belonging and safety. These are all good things. Studies have been done that show those of us who live in isolation are less healthy and less happy. I completely agree. We don’t necessarily need a mate, but we do need to feel as though we belong somewhere. I think when it comes right down to it, we’re pack animals. I need a lot of time alone for a number of reasons, but it’s good to know I have people I can lean on, laugh with, and be silly with.

I absolutely do not believe someone needs a significant other to be happy. Happiness, I have discovered, comes from within, not from without. No relationship, no matter how good, can fill you with the joy you feel when you have delighted yourself. I know this from experience. My boyfriend of 8 years makes me very happy. He’s gorgeous, intelligent, funny, playful, and mischievious. But, unlike my previous relationships, I don’t expect him to make me happy. I expect me to find my own happiness, undiluted by others, and then bring that to any relationship table I choose to sit at.

Interestingly, I have discovered that the more I work on myself, the better all of my relationships are. Go figure. No man or woman is an island. I believe a sense of community is an integral part of what makes us human.

Road trip: n. a journey via automobile which is sometimes unplanned or impromptu. Journey: a travelling from one place to another, usually taking a long time.

If we assume this is an acceptable definition of a road trip, then that is exactly what I took yesterday. I did indeed travel by automobile, with no particular destination in mind. And it did indeed take a long time. Even though I only went about 15 kilometres.

It started out successfully enough. I packed up my essentials: water bottle, money, ID, reading glasses, and distance glasses. I had to bring both because I was wearing my aviators. Which means I had to wear my contact lenses. Which means I wouldn’t be able to read a map so needed the reading glasses. And if my contacts got messed up somehow, I’d need the distance glasses to safetly navigate the trip home. Ah, the joy of trying to see anything without at least two vision aids. I gassed up the car, slid my driving CD into the slot, and headed out on the open road. First stop, Blockbuster. I returned From Paris With Love. When I’d rented it two nights before, Mike – the guy who knows everything about every movie – gave me kind of an apologetic look. I didn’t have high hopes. Actually, it was fun to watch Travolta having such a good time. And it’s getting a 6.4/10 on imdb.com so it can’t be all bad. That done, off to the drycleaners to drop off my white pants. I love them, and they fit perfectly, but they’re white – probably the least practical item of clothing I have, and yes, that’s including the platform Michael Kors sandals I keep falling off of. Getting back in the car, I was glad I had brought water. Phew, it was getting intense, the traffic. I checked my watch. 3:30pm. The beginning of rush hour in the GTA. Sucking in a deep breath, I headed out with great purpose to my next destination, the Vacuum Factory.

Bob is a nice man. I’ve only seen him the last couple of times I stopped in so I’m not sure whether it’s new management or whether just Bob is new. He’s succinct and helpful – you can’t really ask for more. I had been vacuuming the newly cleaned out rec room the night before when my machine gave up the ghost. Recognizing that it had overheated, I cleaned it out, and left it to cool until the following morning. But no, it had had enough. I know how it feels – sometimes I’ve had enough too. Figuring it needed some TLC, I added it to my list of road trip destinations.

With my responsibilities out of the way, it was time to head for the open road. My mama didn’t raise any idiots (that I know of) so I decided to avoid the main highway and stick to the side roads. In Southern Ontario, there are two seasons: winter and construction. We are not currently experiencing winter so that left only one option. Almost 45 minutes later, I managed to get to a location that would have taken me 15 on the highway. Smug in my foresight to avoid the highway, I approached the overhead bridge spanning the 6 lanes. And saw the traffic below just humming along at a zippy clip with nary a bottleneck in sight. Undaunted, I carried on, and finally made it out of the burbs.

If you like to drive, and I do, once you’re on the open road it’s exhilarating and relaxing at the same time. I was exhilarated and relaxed for about 400 meters until I encountered construction. The next few kilometres on the 2-lane country road were filled with the sights and smells of our second season: jackhammers, diesel fuel, narrowed lanes with drivers flipping each other off. Ah, summer….  In the distance, I could see my destination – the Niagara escarpment, so tantalizingly close and yet so far. Once through the congestion the construction had created, the road really did open up, and I flew with abandon for about 2 km until I reached the point where I had to turn.

This really was a lovely part of the trip, a narrow 2-lane road with magnificent homes banking either side, beautiful, lush foliage almost creating a tunnel. I noted a swan statue gracing one of the yards, until it moved. Wow. Who has a swan in their front yard? The road becomes steep here, as you climb the escarpment. Soaring 510 metres (1675 feet), and stretching from New York, through Ontario, and back into Wisconsin and Illinios, it is a massive ridge formed from fossil-rich sedimentary rock. The weathered edge of a very ancient sea bottom, it continues to erode in a southerly direction. 23,000 – 12,000 years ago, it was covered in the Winsconsin Glacier which receded and created the Great Lakes. It is packed with biodiversity, and at just a few klicks outside of the city, an easy retreat when you are feeling the need for some nature. Driving up and down the escarpment is fun and I was pumped with adrenalin that I’d done something more than run errands at the strip mall. Then I passed a cyclist who was gliding up the same incline, and I realized how narrow my view of excitment had become. But that’s okay – we all have to start somewhere. I drove quietly through Rattlesnake Point, a beautiful spot where, sadly, hapless climbers have met their untimely end. The drive back down is even more fun, with the road whipping into a hairpin turn, with barely enough road for one car, let alone two. I had so much fun, I drove the loop a second time, filming my descent.

Well, by now I’d been on the open road for about two hours (most of it stuck behind dump trucks), and it was time for the long journey home. I screwed my courage to the sticking-place, put my pedal to the metal, and promptly followed another convoy of construction vehicles all the way home. I was content in the fact that even though my trip hadn’t consisted of many miles, I had some harrowing driving-down-the-escarpment-with-one-hand-while-filming footage to share. (I think that constitutes distracted driving but we’ll just keep that to ourselves.) I arrived home dusty but no worse for wear. I powered up my laptop and connected my camera. And realized I hadn’t hit the “record” button hard enough. The only footage I had from my road trip was a two-second bit I’d taken of my leg when practicing.

In the middle of this adventure, my phone rang. This is relevant to mention for two reasons: 1. My Mustang has the Synch package which means when my phone rings, it does so through the car speakers and I can just press a button to speak through a microphone. 2. Because it was Bob, who had information about my vacuum cleaner. As though speaking to a naughty child, he informed me the vacuum cleaner was very dirty, and needed a good cleaning out. It should be noted that I had taken care to clean it out before taking it, much like a person will clean their house before the housekeeper arrives. But no, the filter was still quite dirty according to Bob, and needed to be cleaned. Feeling slightly guilty that I’d managed to get my vacuum cleaner dirty (?!), I gave Bob the okay to get ‘er done.

So what did all of this teach me? Well, a few things. First, never head out for a road trip on Friday afternoon. Or in the summer. Or in Southern Ontario.  What I really learned was that things don’t always go according to plan, and the best thing we can do is roll with them, take notice of what the new course has to offer, and simply enjoy the experience. In the road trip of life, I plan to continue venturing beyond the strip mall.

Ah, fashion and beauty. Now that I’ve dealt with fitness and finances (my two Achilles’ heels), I’m can now comfortably sit back on my Parasuco-clad ass, and wax philosophical about our outward appearance. Let me state three things right off the bat: 1. Never dress for anyone else, only for yourself. 2. Your style is whatever makes you feel good about yourself.  3. You are perfect exactly the way you are. These will be adDRESSed later on (see what I did there, given this is a post about fashion?)

First, a few words about fashion, beauty, and aging. The title of this post is meant to be a joke. I would classify myself as a butterface (as in, everything about her is good, but-her-face…). I don’t have good bone structure, my teeth are way too big for my mouth, my nose is crooked and I have a weak chin. On top of all that, I’ve noticed that recently, the skin on my face seems to want to slide south, creating frown lines and the beginnings of jowls. However, I am happy with the way I look. A few years back, I had the opportunity to model in an ad for a spa. I was supposed to be a “mature” woman who looked rapturous while having a procedure done. While prepping for the shoot, the spa owner remarked that I could do something about the wrinkles around my eyes. I told her I had earned every one of them.

The statements I’ve made above are subjective. I make these comments only when comparing myself to what society deems beautiful: young, thin, symetrical, veneered. Millions and millions of dollars are spent on ad campaigns drumming into our heads the message that unless you fit that very narrowly defined description, you are undesirable. Let’s dissect that notion.

First, young people are designed to be appealing. It’s how we’ve managed to keep our species going. If young men were only jumping the bones of MILFs, our species would die out. Nature designed it this way and that’s good. When, however, did we adopt the notion that being sexually attractive is the optimal state of being? My belief, and I think it’s an unpopular one, is that it is perfectly fine, in fact preferable, to no longer be primarily sexually appealing. I want to maintain a healthy, fit body because I want to live a long and productive life. As a result of exercise and eating right, I will maintain a decent figure. But the goal is longevity. And no matter how much I work out, or how much night cream I slather on, gravity is still going about it’s relentless business, oblivious to the fact that it’s dragging my body parts to the ground. I am no longer responsible for populating the world (been there, done that), and I can now move on to other things. Like writing a blog. Or creating a community for 40+ women. Or whatever other passion I wish to focus on. When did it become unacceptable to accept aging? It seems that if you’re not primarily classified as sexually attractive, you have no value. Well, I couldn’t disagree more. (This is not to say I wouldn’t have my eyes lifted or some work done, it’s all about why you’re doing it. And I absolutely wouldn”t be having anything done to try and resenble a 30-year-old. )

We are not our bodies. We are not our thoughts. We are not our emotions. We are the entity who inhabits our body, generates thoughts, and feels emotions. However, while we may not be our bodies, we each have one, so we might as well dress it properly. When I say “properly”, I mean in clothing that fits, is clean and mended, and reflects your personal style. I believe we feel better when we present our best self to the world. We close doors we weren’t even aware of when we don’t. Effort is valued, and a clean, groomed, person in well-fitting clothes appears to make an effort. So, if you’ve ignored this part of your life for a bit, here are some basic steps to get you back on a fashionable track:

1. Go through your closet twice a year and purge anything you haven’t worn in 2 years (unless it has sentimental value or you love it). Also purge anything that was trendy more than 2 years ago – it won’t be anymore. Also purge anything that only a 30-year-old should be wearing. If it doesn’t reflect who you are now, it should go. If the items are unstained and repaired, give them to Goodwill. If they aren’t, then recycle. At the end of this exercise, you should have only well-maintained clothes that fit your current body, and that you feel good wearing.
2. Remember that cellulite clearly shows through lightweight fabric like linen. This discovery led me to my first purchase of Spanx. Always make sure you look at yourself from all angles when assessing a garment.
3. Don’t get into the “only sweats are comfy” mindset. A well-fitting pair of jeans or khakis are just as comfortable, and reflect a more elegant you.

If you get to the point where you feel you’re starting over with your wardrobe, here is my list of the basics all women should have. If you own these, you’re pretty much ready for anything:
1. Well-fitting, darker wash pair of jeans. If you haven’t bought a new pair in 10 years, rectify that immediately. Classic: Medium-rise boot cut. Boho: low rise flares. Sporty: good ol’ classic Levis. Edgy: Skinny jeans.

2. A white shirt. You have tons of options, depending on your style. For example, Classic: man’s style button front. Boho: smock or tunic style with some frills or embellishment. Sporty: a simple white T-shirt. Edgy: draped blouse.

3. A jacket. Classic: a tweed blazer. Boho: a band jacket (think Sargeant Pepper). Sporty: jean jacket (BIG rule: never wear the same wash denim on top and bottom – you”ll look like you’re wearing a jean suit). I have “jean” jacket in beige suede and it’s perfect with jeans and a t-shirt. Edgy: black leather.

This is outfit number one. For boomers, who have earned the right to be elegant (we own it; our younger sisters can rarely pull it off), I would take most pieces from the classic list, and then throw in the third piece in the category that you’re drawn to. For me, it’s edgy. You can’t go wrong with jeans, a white shirt, and a jacket. Moving on…

4. A day dress or suit (jacket and skirt or pants) in a neutral colour. Neutrals are black, brown, khaki, and grey. I know some fashionistas will say navy is a neutral but frankly to me, it’s blue. And the only “blue” that’s a neutral are blue jeans. If you’re starting from scratch, stick with one anchoring neutral for belts, shoes and boots: either black or brown, depending on the neutral of your dress or suit. This item will take you to anything where the dress code is business or business casual.

5. A little black dress. Something with just a little more flare than your day dress/suit, for evening dinners, cocktails, the theatre – any time you need to punch it up a little.

6. Footwear: Classic: loafers, pumps, slingbacks. Boho: moccasins, Uggs. Sporty: sneakers, Keds, Converse. Edgy: heels, metal embellishment. Start with one classic, and then add one from the category you’re drawn to.

7. Bag: Classic: satchel. Boho: hobo bag. Sporty: cross-body bag. Edgy: embellishment. If you’re starting your bags from scratch, I think a classic satchel and either a hobo or cross-body bag will get you through everything. You do not need to match your shoes, in fact it’s better if you don’t. So here you can have a little fun and throw in some colour. You can use the satchel for evening as well, provided the event isn’t formal. If so, you’ll need a small wristlet or evening bag.

8. Coats: You cannot go wrong with a neutral, all-weather trenchcoat. And, if you’re like me and live in a cold clinate, you’ll need a winter ski jacket for casual days, and a heavier overcoat for anything more formal.

9. Jewellery: Start with one metal (gold, silver). You can always build and mix and match later.

I didn’t include anything about sweats here but we all need comfy clothes and a pair of runners or Uggs for mucking about. With the above, you’re off to a good start.

A few words about beauty to finish off. Do the same with your make-up as you did with your clothes. Go through and discard whatever colours don’t work for you any longer. I loved Twig by Mac 15 years ago, but if I wear it now, I look like Edward Cullen. By all means, treat yourself to a make-up application at a high end store. You don’t need to buy any of the products they suggest, but it never hurts to get the opinion of a cometician when you haven’t changed up your make-up in a bit. A rule of thumb: olive-toned skin looks best in warm colours; fair/pink-toned skin looks best in cool colours.

A few words about hair. Get a good haircut that works with how you prefer to wear your hair. The prettiest hair is hair that moves – helmut-head is a big no-no. As far as colour goes, wear a colour you feel good in and that flatters you. I was auburn for some time, but now that my roots are more than 50% grey, I simply look more groomed if I wear it in a strawberry blonde. And I can go longer between colourings so it’s more eceonomical too.

As you can see, I’m passionate about fashion. I think dressing ourselves is not only a form of personal expression, but an art form as well. Believe it or not, I made this post as short as I could. I could go on and on about this…. But, it’s Day 7 of my revamping plan, and I have things to do. Which I’ll tell you about tomorrow.

Sigh. Here’s an area of my life where I’m pretty much screwed. I realize this post didn’t start out with my usual hilarity, but there is nothing funny about my finances. Well, unless you think it’s funny that I’m screwed, in which case you’re a mean person and I have no desire to entertain you.

Let’s back up and do a text message version of The History of Sharon’s Finances: 2000: Divorced, kids live with her f/t. 2002: Wrks 3 jobs to pay bills; keeps house she can’t afford. Uses home equity and credit cards to buy food. 2005: Has been working at corp. manager job for 3 years; making $$$. Makes up for lean years: buys too many things for kids and self. Maintains abundance mentality.  Spring 2010: Wants to make changes; live within means, improve situation. Summer 2010: Realizes there is no quick fix. Damn it.

I am entirely responsible for everything in my life, good and bad. In fact, it can be argued that there really isn’t even a good and a bad, there just is what there is, and what matters is what we do about it. While I would just like to sit down and cry about it, that’s not going to get me very far, and frankly I’m not a pretty crier, so no one is going to feel sorry for me. Sure, some women can just quietly sob, and dab daintily at the corner of their eyes. When I cry, my face swells to twice its size, and there are bodily fluids flying everywhere – kind of like after a hound takes a drink – it’s not good. Fortunately for those around me, I’ve only cried about three times in my life. And yes, once was when George Clooney starting seeing what’s-her-face.

So, what’s a middle-aged girl to do when she realizes she has all sorts of stuff she wants to do, and no means to do it? She takes stock. She gives herself an attitude adjustment. She creates a Profit and Loss Statement (known in financial jargon as a P & L) which calculates  net worth. (I think I can summarize my net worth by quoting a sentence my boyfriend (a Bay Street actuary) recently stated: “Your finances scare the hell out of me.”  And this is a man who is currently raising two teens on his own, and can deal with me, so nothing scares him.) Create a budget. Stick to it.

My boyfriend’s gentle, encouraging words aside, I really am screwed. Or, am I? Let’s take a look at my action plan.

Take stock: In order to make progress on anything, you need to know exactly where you stand. Con: My mortgage is roughly three times my annual salary. And my consumer debt is roughly just over half my annual salary. Not ideal.  Pro: I am healthy, gainfully employed, and make good money. I have marketable skills and a sunny disposition.

Attitude adjustment: Being in survival mode means your vision becomes focused on just getting through the next day, the next hour, the next minute. I was in survival mode for several years, and it became a habit. It is time now to look long-term, and make decisions accordingly. Fortunately, this coincides with a time when I am paring down my life; I have no desire for anything but the necessities (yes, the Michael Kors snakeskin cross-body bag was a necessity). The time has come to start saving for a rainy day, before it starts pouring. Unfortunately, it’s going to take some time to get to a point where I can start saving. But which is better? Just ignore it and carry on? Or accept it, and start to make a dent, no matter how small? I’m going with the latter.

P&L: When everything is calculated, it doesn’t look too bad. Having the house weighs that P&L in a slightly favourable direction, so I will focus on that bit of positive news.

Create a budget: I’m very good at creating budgets. I’m just not very good at sticking to them. And not because I’m irresponsible, but because I don’t account for everything, and because I have – up until now – had difficulty saying no to my kids. There are only two ways to affect your bottom line: decrease expenses and/or increase revenue. I am working on both, with positive results. I have reduced all unnecessary expenses. I have determined what matters enough to me that I will spend money on it. I still treat myself now and then but I’m very discerning when I open my wallet. And I’m focusing on my writing, and maybe I’ll even make a few bucks at it.

Stick to the budget: Along with being almost-50 has come the strength and awareness to say no (and hold others accountable for their own lives). In fact, now when people ask for my money, I have no problem declining, explaining succinctly that I have other plans for my money. I’m allowed to say that. It’s nobody’s business what those plans are, and it feels good to now own my money rather than feel it belongs to everyone. (Case in point: I was contributing to a local museum because I think what they do is important. However, I am also important and until I have extra to contribute, the museum will have to look elsewhere. Yes, it feels good to help others, especially those less fortunate or those doing good, but it shouldn’t be done until our own finances can manage it.)

I find we boomers are all over the financial map. Some of us have remained on track and have paid off homes and healthy investments portfolios. Some of us have lost our jobs during what should be our peak earning years, and are struggling to find a comparable salary while up against youngsters willing to work for less. Some of us have claimed bankruptcy. Some of us are eating into our carefully constructed savings plan far earlier than anticipated due to down-sizing or illness. Some of us are just getting by day to day. I sincerely believe that progress can be made no matter what situation we’re in. Accepting what is, and making the necessary (and sometimes diffcult) changes, will get us on the right track. It may be a slow track at first – my current situation could be compared to a brand-spanking new train which is just being introduced to the track – but something in motion tends to stay in motion, so we need to start somewhere. Freedom 55 may not be my reality, but Freedom 75 sounds pretty good to me.

So you’ve taken a little time out and given some thought to your bucket list. You’ve determined there are a few things you’d like to experience while you still have the balance to kick at the can without falling on yours. Good for you! Here was my recent, illuminating experience with that process. I determined that my biggest bucket list item was to swim with whale sharks at the Georgia Aquarium. Delighted with my new goal, I began to reverse-engineer this dream: Swim with sharks. Obtain scuba certification. Be able to swim 200 meters/yards. Try on one-piece bathing suit that’s been in my drawer for years. Get bikini wax. Try on one-piece bathing suit that’s been in my drawer for years.

Despite much whining and moaning from my inner workaholic who has no time for such frivolities as joy, off I went to the pool. At 50, this is not as simple as it was when I was 30, which is probably the last time I was in a pool. I used to take the kids for family swim time, however, what I was doing couldn’t be called swimming. I was just there to make sure the kids didn’t drown. As a child I could swim like a fish, but that was a distant memory. So, standing firm in my desire to actually DO SOMETHING other than work, off I went. What fun I had. I did a short workout first to warm myself up. I wore my bathing suit and a pair of sweat pants because I am nothing if not efficient. I figured after my workout, I could just remove the sweat pants, and voila! I’d be ready for the pool. However, I wear a panty liner when I work out (no need to go into detail, but any woman with children or over 40 knows why), and I forgot to remove it when I stowed my sweats in my locker. I tucked my hair under my swim cap, donned a pair of goggles, and entered the pool area. I should point out here that I am near-sighted. I thought it a good idea to wear my contact lenses and then my goggles so I would be able to see the end of the pool before I crashed headlong into it. The pool was empty save a lone woman doing laps at the far end. I climbed down the ladder, and pushed off from the shallow end in a surprisingly fluid front crawl (it seems it’s like riding a bike).

Very quickly the following things happened. 1. I realized I’d forgotten to remove the pantyliner from my suit when it suddenly felt as though there was a wet sponge between my legs (and not in a good way), and 2. I hadn’t affixed my goggles properly. They promptly half filled up with water which in turn slid the contacts off my eyeballs so I could see nothing but mini aquariums with pale blue discs floating around in them in front of me. I also ran out of air and energy before I made it the length of the pool, which was 25 ft long. Super. 

It is a sobering moment when you experience an ephiphany – I want to do THIS! – and you realize you are nowhere near qualified/able/capable to do so. Talk about a smack in the face with a hard dose of reality. I may have the money to go to Georgia, but I don’t have the ability to get my certification. A hard fact had to be accepted: I am in terrible physical shape. I had the fitness level to work an office job and manage a home, which is all I’d really done in the past two decades. I realized the fittest I’d been was when both kids were small and I could haul them and their equipment around without blinking an eye. But no more. It was time to take my physical self seriously. Damn it.

A dear friend of mine says that whenever the urge to exercise strikes, she sits down until it goes away. While this is appealing to me on many levels, it’s not going to get me a space beside a whale shark. And so I began to focus on wellness, both with regards to diet and exercise. Again, it boils down to choices and options. I am annoyed at myself for closing doors that I now have to make a real effort to pry open. A naturally thin person, I never had to exercise to maintain my figure. Unfortunately, while my outsides fit nicely into my clothes, my insides have taken a shit-kicking. I have very little strength, stamina, or flexibility. I have high blood pressure (workaholic anyone?) and osteopenia (that sounds vaguely sexual but it means the stage before osteoporosis – I’ve broken my wrist twice in the last 7 years). This done not bode well for some of the activities I want to include on my bucket list. Sure Bob, I’ll happily participate in this ziplining thing you’ve got going. Just let me surround myself in ten layers of bubble wrap and I’m good to go!. I travel a few times a year for business and sometimes I’m hauling around luggage that weighs more than 50 pounds. Depending on the size of the airport, I can end up winded by the time I get to my gate. This has become entirely unacceptable to me.

Here’s my definition of fitness: The ability to haul my body weight around, have enough stamina to run somewhere if I need  to, and be flexible enough to, say, get into my Mustang without putting out my back. As it turns out, this is also basically the fitness description of the Crossfit plan. My ex-husband mentioned this philosophy to  me and it made sense so that is the fitness plan I have decided to follow. (I was making progress a few months back after the swimming debacle but then I bought my ’stang and starting focusing on my writing and, well, the fitness part took a back seat.) My point is, I’ve given it a try,and it actually works. Regardless of whether you follow the Crossfit Plan or not, my advice to you is to do something. Here is my diet and exercise plan in a nutshell.

 The Crossfit plan is basically the Zone diet. Every meal consists of 40% carbs, 30% protein, and 30% fat. Portion control is very important and it’s based on portions called “blocks”. They have a handy-dandy PDF document I downloaded which is posted on my fridge. There is a sheet that outlines the block portions for all desirable foods, and one for undesirable carbs. (Sadly, red wine is on the undesirable carb list but it’s still there – 4 oz is one block!) Based on your  body type, you determine your portions (how many blocks you should eat). I can follow this plan easily. I find that by sticking to this menu plan, I have better digestion, assimilation, and elimination. All good things. This may not be for you, but my point is that you need to find what menu plan works best for you. Everyone’s body is different, and what works for me may not work for you.

The Crossfit philosophy focuses on whole fitness which includes strength, stamina, and flexibility. They have a great article defining fitness and you can download it here. This simply made sense to me. As a result, I have created a workout schedule which includes weight training, aerobic conditioning, and flexibilty training. Here’s the downside: It takes a lot of time and effort. Sadly, I won’t get fit watching people do what I want to do on Discovery Channel. I actually have to get my ass up and moving. There’s no way around it. I could simply give up and say I’ll be happy to walk my dog, enjoy the culture of my city, and indulge in cerebral pursuits. But that’s just not enough for me. And so, I am going to have to put in some serious effort. And not just for now. For good. It needs to become part of my lifestyle. The good news is – it works! I saw measurable results within a couple of weeks of swimming. Same for weights and interval running. Unfortunately, I lost all the progress I’d made over the last few months while I focused on other things. That’s the catch – you gotta keep it up. Always.

So, here’s my workout schedule. May not work for you, and yes, it takes a lot of time. But be honest, what else would you be doing? Are you engaging in activities which will ensure a longer, healthier, more productive life? Or are you indulging in your guilty pleasures and watching Jersey Shore? (God Almighty, what a train wreck. If I could say anything positive, it would be that “The Situation” has the discipline to adhere to a strict fitness routine – and he has the abs to prove it.) Here goes:

Monday: strength training, swimming

Tuesday: off

Wednesday: Pilates, running

Thursday: strength straining, swimming

Friday: off

Saturday: Pilates; running

Sunday: Yoga

In addition to this, I do my version of a yoga sun salutation every morning, walk the dog for 30 mins every morning and evening, and do sit ups (not crunches, actual sit ups) and push ups (on the third stair) when I return from the walks.

Yes, it’s a lot of work. But give it some serious thought. I can’t speak for you but I want to be here for a lot longer. I have a lot to do, a lot I’ve put off, a lot to experience. I need my health, and a decent level of fitness, to manage that. And I can no longer fool myself into thinking that walking the dog twice a day or vigorously folding the laundry is doing the trick. I found that out when I couldn’t make it to the other side of a 25 ft pool. Make sure fitness, in whatever form you can manage, but that challenges you, is part of your regular routine. Make sure you are fueling your body with whole foods, and not preservatives and things you can’t pronounce.

For my 50th birthday in October, I have scheduled a photo shoot to document this milestone. I’ll post the pics here, and you can see the results of my efforts. I was diligent for May and June, and have done nothing the last 6 weeks. Time to get back on track. Why don’t you join me?

No, not yoga flexible (well, yes yoga flexible but that’s a different post coming later this week). I mean be able to extricate yourself from the elaborate and detailed schedule you have created for yourself in order to adjust to whatever comes your way. An unofficial mantra of the Marine Corps – Improvise, Adapt, and Overcome – is one we should all apply to our own lives (comma Sharron).

Wouldn’t it be super, we sometimes think, if the world could just stop long enough so I could catch up? So I could find the time to fix the doorbell, scan the photos of my great-grandparents before they’re nothing more than sepia-toned, scallop-edged squares? Finish staining the fence? Replace the cracked patio stone which I keep fitting back together? Visit my out of town friend? Now, I’m not stupid enough to say something like “Would everyone just leave me alone? Would my family and job and friends just all go away so I can get something DONE?”. The reason I don’t say things like that (even in my mind) is because the Universe has just enough of a wicked sense of humour to give me just that in order to teach me a lesson. And I don’t want to find myself holed up in some hospital bed, having suffered some kind of medical incident which has now given me all the time in the world to lie there and ruminate on what got me there in the first place. Yes, using positive affirmations to direct  energy towards what you want is a viable way to alert the Universe to what you seek. Negative thoughts about our lives will only bring about negative results. Sometimes, when I’m at my wits end, I will find myself thinking If the world would just stop long enough for me to…. and then I stop and look furtively around the room, and mentally start whistling innocently, hoping the Universe didn’t know how I was going to finish that sentence…

I bring this up now because I set myself a rather lofty goal for these 9 days off of my corporate life:  Revamp my life. Hmmm, no small feat. I won’t be taking any more significant time off for the rest of the year, and my non-vacation life is pretty darn busy, so I figured I would not waste a second of these 9 days. And then yesterday came along.

I had, up until then, been right on track. Day 1: figure out what needs my attention. Day 2: start working on it. Day 3 was supposed to be either a) working on my book or b) cleaning out the basement rec room, easily a 3-hour job. However, a corporate appointment at noon was followed by a visit to see my 90-year-old ex-mother-in-law, and before you know it, the day was gone. Life is like that sometimes. Settling in to continue working on my book for the evening, I checked my email first. That prompted me to communicate with someone, Frank Moffatt, on a website where I frequently republish these blog posts, zoomers.ca. Turns out he’s the CEO of YourSecondFifty.com , and he invited me to provide content for his online magazine. Well, that was the first time someone had actually invited me to create original content, and given that being a published writer is one of my goals, I was delighted. Even though my schedule for revamping my life called for at least 4 hours of working on my book content, I recognized that this was an opportunity to expand my community and readership, and make a valuable connection with a person who had accomplished what I was setting out to do. All good things. My contribution, Women’s Style Rules for Your Second Fifty, can be read here http://yoursecondfifty.com/passionista-by-sharron-richardson

At the start of each day, we may have very definite ideas about what we need to accomplish. For me, I can get stuck on one track, determined to cross off the items on my list, come hell or high water. My perspective becomes one of tunnel vision, and I imagine I have missed opportunities the Universe tossed my way in favour of staying on track. Yesterday was an example of remaining flexible, being open to changing direction. Even though I didn’t finish my to-do list, I consider Day 3 a resounding success. Being flexible on Day 3 brought me closer to my goals than had I stuck to my list.

Bring on Day 4…