Fashionista to Passionista

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.

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.

It’s interesting how we see all experiences from our own perspective. Mine is predictably female. And so, without giving it much thought, I figured my experience – shared by many women of a certain age – was a distinctly female one. Not so, as it turns out. While discussing living passioniately with friends, both male and female, it seems that the search for meaning and joy is not restricted to the fairer sex. Just because they don’t talk about it as much, doesn’t mean that men of a certain age are not also searching for that which makes them feel passionate.

A biker friend of mine is involved with a charitable organization which helps children with cancer. He himself cut off many inches of hair and donated it for the benefit of others. He’s making a difference. A neighbour, past his 50th birthday, recently took up mountain biking, a sport usually reserved for men half his age. Fresh from an outing to the escarpment, sporting angry bruises to prove it, he couldn’t be happier. He’s raised his kids, and he is now focusing on what brings him joy. Another male neighbour is exploring his love of photography and running (separately – I don’t think he takes pictures while he runs; that would be dangerous.) It was actually a male colleague who brought Roz Savage to my attention. Roz is an eco-warrior who changed her life radically by leaving her former spouse and home behind, and began rowing around the world to bring attention to environmental issues. Not too far past his 40th birthday, decided he was not satisfied with the status quo and so, in a life-altering decision, is going back to school for his Ph.D. Yes, it affects his family. Yes, it means significant changes. But, as he points out, it’s his life, and it’s half over. One of my readers even commented that my blog – obviously geared towards gatherers – had attracted a hunter.

The common denominator here is that middle-age seems to bring about a time of reflection for some of us, hunters and gatherers alike. We feel compelled to find meaning in what we are doing, and doing what is meaningful. We have very little patience for that which doesn’t conribute to our own growth or to the benefit of the community. I think that’s a good thing. Agricultural revolution – industrial revolution – technological revolution – evolution revolution. We boomers make up a good portion of the population. We can make a difference.

As for the picture of Hugh Jackman, well, I have no idea if Hugh is a self-aware man. But he sure is pretty.