This Apartment Life

 You know when you are in your twenties and you are moving every year and it is exciting and fun because three friends and a pick-up truck will move everything you own for a pizza and some beer?  You are generally moving in with someone or moving out on your own, or moving to a better place and the move is part of the excitement. You are showing the world that you are succeeding, you are conquering, and you have the square footage to prove it!

Can I just say that moving in your late forties and at fifty is absolutely none of these things? I had a wonderful, beautiful, peaceful apartment I would have stayed in for years had the owner of it not wanted it back to let her mother live there.  Good luck on those death stairs, old woman, I thought bitterly as I crept down the death stairs for the last time.  It had windows on windows and the light streamed in and two patios: one if I wanted to have weird conversations with passing neighbors and one if I did not.  It was insulated, it was convenient, it was pretty, and I had to leave it. It made me almost physically sick thinking of taking all of my belongings, putting them in boxes, and carting them across town for the third time in four years. Running low on energy, time, and the will to keep looking, I jumped at the next apartment rental that looked decent.  I moved and not any of it was exciting and none of it made me feel like I had a lot to show the world, even with the increased square footage. 

Said death stairs

If you haven’t lived in an apartment for awhile and maybe are waxing nostalgic about it, you remember nothing about apartments.  Apartments are loud.  They are filled with people you can hear sneeze through the walls but won’t look you in the eye in the parking lot.  Apartments are mailrooms and a gym that looks promising but also holds magazines from 2017.  Apartments are not knowing why the power keeps going off or why the water is so hot one day and cold the next.  It is hearing people come home and leave and yell and live their lives on top of yours.  It is someone wearing cement shoes living above you and you being the person with cement shoes to the people below you.  It is communal living without the community.

I am not a fan of this new place. They really saved on insulation when they built this place because they just didn’t use any. I can hear everything, everything, EVERYTHING.  My next-door neighbor has terrible sleep apnea.  I know because I hear him snore through our shared bedroom wall.  My cement shoe neighbor upstairs has taken on an exercise regime that has him run back and forth, back and forth, open the sliding glass door, slam the sliding glass door, drop something heavy and repeat. I hate him almost violently and I am not 100% sure what he looks like.  I believe him to be the guy who looks like he played a lot of rugby and lost but am not entirely sure.

We have had a lot of boiler issues here and the hot water is touch and go.  This weekend it is entirely gone. As in, I have no hot water until maybe Monday when the part they ordered comes in.  When I called the office to ensure I really would not have hot water until Monday, the stressed and bored woman there told me they were going to open up some empty apartments for people to shower in.  I laughed and laughed!!  I don’t speak to these people in the parking lot; no way am I showering after them.  I am supposed to queue up behind cement shoes and sleep-apnea guy?  No thank you.  When I told her that I pay way too much to live like I am camping, she passed along the email to her manager so I could let him know how this boiler issue is ruining my life. He will be getting a lengthy email from me complete with how he should not charge me for water this month.  I might include such lies that as a teacher, I can really only use hot water to its fullest on the weekend and now he has ruined that for me and that after a week of serving others, I came home to a cold and cold-faucet only apartment.  

As a woman of inadequate means, apartment life is going to mine for a long, long time.  I will try to focus on the perks of apartment life.  I will list the things I like about this apartment.Nah, not today.  Today, I feel like looking up curses to immobilize cement shoes (just temporarily; I am not a monster) and use zillow to see where my next move will take me.  I hope that they have a “hot water” option to minimize my search.

Another Year Over

I have been trying for the past few days to come up with a good way to describe and wrap up the past year. I wanted to make it shiny and fun and poignant. I wanted to unveil to you a McMahon Unwrapped much like a Spotify Wrapped with Best of, Favorite, and hours spent living a life. And while I do have best of and favorites, hours spent living a life requires a calculator, so that is out. I keep coming up with a year that was kind of good, kind of bad, and, overall, just a year. 

I’m grateful for this year. I had small adventures and large ones .I got to see amazing new places in WY, CO, and SD. I got to see all of my siblings and parents at the same time. I had adventures that I wrote about and some I have kept to myself because, well, they are mine. I have had joy and laughter and a milestone birthday surrounded by friends. I have had wins in the sports I coach and any day I can get a teenager to put down their phone and listen to me talk about literature is also a win. I have had happiness and contentment settle over me and leave me feeling peaceful and smiling. I have wondered at the beauty of snow, ice, mountains, and rivers. I have climbed and walked and hiked and moved through this Earth to see and do things. I have had excitement and wonder and anticipation. I have laughed with my head thrown back and for the world to hear.

I have had losses. I have cried and hurt and healed. I have cried and hurt and remain hurting. I have heard bad diagnoses; I have seen what it can and will do to a person I love. I have heard words I would rather not hear. I have felt inefficient, confused, and lackluster. I have felt like the things I do are not enough. I have felt tired to my very bones and depth of my soul. I have seen terrible things and heard worse. I have missed my kids until it hurts and keeps hurting. I have simply sat and stared and sighed. There are times where I just existed. Times when I forgot I was important or what I was doing was important. I have felt my heart hollow out. I have been scared, afraid, and hesitant. And with all of these things, just like that, another year over.

this tired.

There are always things we hope for when one thing ends and a new one begins. We make a big deal of saying “this year I will…” or “I will never…”. I don’t seem to have any of those right now. I wish for the things I always wish for: healthy, happy kids, a Bills’ Super Bowl win, and someone to stumble across my blog and offer me silly amounts of money to write for them. I wish certain things wouldn't happen: a hot summer like the last one, Donald Trump on any kind of ballot, yet another move to yet another apartment. 

I make no claims on this upcoming year. I know it will be a year, like the last one, where the good and the bad both attend. I will love and be loved. I will hurt and be hurt. I will laugh and cry. I will grow and feel stagnant. I will be an adventurer and a homebody. I will make friends and lose friends. I will delight and offend. I will succeed and fail. I will know things and learn things and forget other things. I will be confident and nervous. I will have great fun and great anxiety. In all of this, I hope I am present and acknowledging both good and bad as it happens and making room for what comes next. And in experiencing all of these things, in being a mom and a partner and a teacher and a coach and a human, I know it will seem like no time at all before this year is over too.

Forever in Gym Jeans

 You know, not to brag, but I have been hitting the gym all summer. One place I can really tell the results is on the scale. I am down exactly one pound from where I started.  That's okay; I know these things take time. I know because my son is almost 20 and I am still carrying ten pounds of what I refer to as "William weight".  Any day now, I will step on that scale after a work out and see my high school weight staring right back at me.  Any day now. Any. Day. Now.

Losing weight isn't the main goal. It would be nice, but I try to remember that I am doing this mostly to age well.  Got to keep that bone mass up and maybe just firm up the fluffy five pounds I packed on over the school year.   It was a real shock to me when I went to put on last year's shorts and they did not want to button.  (trouble with wearing coach pants all year is that those elastic waistbands kind of just grow with you). 

I was happy to find a small, stinky gym to join because those are my favorite. I like them even better if they look like they are going to go out of business a month after I sign a year-long contract.  This one is part of a franchise so there is hope it will stay afloat. I like it because it isn't too crowded, it's close to home, and it has the basics of what I need as far as cardio and weights.  The very, very best part about this gym? Something I didn't discover until a week or two in?  The people!!  Not like people I am meeting and we are great friends and do workouts together. Please.  The people I am watching and judging and telling you about right now!!  This was a perk I never expected.

I am sure we have all seen "gym fail videos" and it shows people using gym equipment in every sort of wrong way.  If you haven't seen these, google them.  They are hilarious!  I am no expert on all things weights so I am not judging anyone by how they use equipment. I am judging them by what they are wearing to work out in and they sounds that they make.  I am a kind and benevolent judger of humanity.

You cannot believe the number of people working out in jeans!  Jeans!  Pure, long-legged denim.  Do they not have thighs under those jeans? Is there no chafing? I have seen one guy come in, wearing his jeans, and get right on the treadmill set to the highest incline.  He then holds on for dear life for twenty minutes and walks quickly. In his jeans! When he is done, he wipes the treadmill down (good points there) and leaves.  In the same jeans.  Again, is there not chafing? Sweating? Swamp ass and legs?  Friends, you can work out in a pair of shorts that are also really pajama pants, but not jeans!  People also wear button-down shirts and I have seen them with khakis on too.  Maybe they only have so much time to run in and get a quick workout in, but you know what?  You have three minutes to change clothes too.  That stink doesn't leave just because you left the gym.

I have been known to let out an "oof" or "hunghhhh" when lifting up or setting down a heavy weight. I think that is normal and part of exertion.  You know what is not?  Guttural yelling like you are standing on a hillside of Scotland in a kilt with a sword in your hand and your town behind you and it is up to you and the people next to you to stop the English, right here, right now.  Not when you are doing lat pulldowns.  That is not okay. Also not okay is groaning louder and with more bearing down than I did while birthing children.  It is very upsetting when people think they are going to turn around and see either a newborn baby or a giant poop with the groans coming out of a man doing tricep pulldowns.  Triceps. Not even squats or deadlifts.  Yes, please, lift heavy.  Go ahead and grunt a little; it probably burns four extra calories, but yelling like William Wallace and recreating sounds from the labor and delivery wing are not necessary.

Two other people who need to be mentioned but don't fit into the jeans or grunts category are Jesus and camera guy.  There I was, doing tricep pulldowns and not grunting like an animal, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a man hanging with a wide grip from a bar.  Not pulling up, not stretching, just hanging.  That in itself would be weird but the man had longish brown hair and a beard and looked just like our white-based version of Jesus.  Jesus just stayed hanging from the bar for a long time.  The old Catholic in me wondered if I needed to say a rosary before he could get down.  Eventually, he did stop hanging, which I have to say was just very disconcerting, and it appeared he was there with an older man, maybe his dad, so God.  God spent a lot of time alternating between doing bicep curls and punching his chest and stomach like an angry gorilla.  Also.  Guess what God was wearing?  Jeans!  The other person of note happened to be there when the tricep pulldown guy was groaning and giving birth and he caught my eye and saw me laughing to myself and that man didn't laugh with me.  Or even smile! He is by far the rudest person ever.  How do you not laugh and smile with a stranger when you hear ridiculous noises?  He was filming himself lifting so I made sure to refill my water bottle three times and walk through his shot again and again.

It is easy to work out in the summer and I really do need to keep it up over the school year.  For one, I am paying every month.  Two, I need to be able to look my doctor in the eye in a few months and say "I am" when she asks if I am doing ay weight-bearing activities and not being the smart ass I was last year when I replied that "I bear my weight every day".  Three, I am a coach and should be a good example to my athletes.  Four, I might lose one more pound by Halloween or something. And a really strong reason is that I love coming home with another "weird gym person" story!  I can only hope that I am someone else's weird gym person story. Like woman with the angriest face, or why would someone do just one deadlift, or "thinks she is so great with kettlebells." I really hope it is the last one but we all know it is probably know it is "woman who never wears jeans to the gym." 

No jeans, just judgement.

Sigh, Colorado.

After a recent post, a reader asked me to ask "what makes you travel?". (ha! a reader! Like I am a celebrated author). What is it for you? Family, friends, adventure, to see new things, to have an experience, to eat different food?  I think for me it can be all of those things but also that a state like Colorado exists. I am not sure what the nickname for Colorado is and while I could look it up, I like to think it is Colorado: The-wait-ten-minutes-and-it-gets-even-prettier-state. I am not being hyperbolic when I say that the scenery constantly changes and gets more breath-taking around every corner.

When you land in Denver, the airport and its mass of humanity are not beautiful, but when you step outside, there are mountains in the distance!  Beautiful!  As you drive and mountains get closer and you can see the different levels in them and snow on the top that helps you think maybe the earth isn't just a hot pit of hell in a Texas summer, and you can't help but sigh.  It is non-stop beauty from left to right and top to bottom. White-barked Aspens along the road with dancing leaves. Pines and cottonwoods (ah-choo) soaring upwards.  Grasses swaying.  Wildflowers abounding.  Sigh. This is just around the Denver area too.

Seriously. This is just the view from the trail by my cousin's house

On this trip with my cousin Jim and his wife Amy, we took their RV and drove to Ouray.  It was a five hour drive and seriously, every ten minutes, it only got better. Oh, there are mountains ahead.  Oh, we are in the foothills of the mountains. Oh, we are over that mountain and there are more.  Oh, there is an idyllic river bubbling and racing along the roadside.  It was so green and vibrant and alive! Pulling into Ouray is like stepping into one of those postcard-pictures of a small town surrounded by mountains.  Ouray is in a box canyon (this is a name I learned, not a soup bowl like I was calling it) with trees and cliffs and mountains all around.  The town itself is small and nestled among the mountains and it just quaint and you can walk all around town to get to wherever you want to go. I imagine the first people to settle there took one look at the mountains ahead of them, ran out of brave, and said "This will do."  And boy does it! I loved Ouray!  I loved our RV park with the bubbling, busy river behind it.  I loved the short walk into town and the variety of restaurants and shops in town.  You can see two different sets of waterfalls from town. I would say that the only thing I did not love about Ouray was our very rude waitress, Heidi, who informed my cousin and I after three beers that we couldn't just sit there and drink all day. Heidi was very wrong as our stop to three other bars proved and really when I think Heidi, I think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman and "Big mistake.  Huge."

Ouray Perimeter Trail

We hiked the Ouray Perimeter Trail and we all said it was one of the best trails we have ever hiked.  My Fitbit claimed 9.5 miles, my cousin's 6; I choose to believe mine was correct.  And I know it has to be closer to 9 because Amy likes to go past every sign that says "Keep Out" or "Closed" so there was some serious meandering happening.  Like the drive to Ouray, the trail changed every ten minutes or so.  Switchbacks, up and down and technical, here we are at a waterfall, the edge of this cliff, an open meadow, a bridge, I can see forever, I can see only these trees ahead of me.  It was technical and a challenge and amazing. I stood very close to a waterfall but not behind because it was cold and slippery and pretended to have my Last of the Mohicans moment.  I crossed a suspension bridge that led into a cave before it popped out on the other side of the trail.  I was not excited about that cave but it wasn't bad.  I felt exhilarated and exhausted. I love that feeling.  If you get a chance to hike this trail, hike this trail!

Just one of a million amazing views.

Picture me almost, but not really close, to the waterfall.

I would have to say that the only other thing about Ouray that was not amazing was the hot springs and that was more on me than the actual hot springs.  When I looked on the internet and the pictures of the hot springs showed me what looked like a community pool, my brain refused to believe and thought "Oh, that is the community pool and the hot springs must be behind that building with the sign that says "Lettuce".  Let it be know that those were indeed the hot springs and the sign said "Entrance" and I should always wear my glasses.  I guess I pictured that hot springs would just bubble up in a quiet pool away from people and it would be me in my own pool and other amazingly good-looking people in their own pools.  It was more like me and all the people you pass by in the airport enjoying the warmth of the hot springs as one.  The water still felt amazing and I really appreciated that they had two pools where no kids were allowed.  

After Ouray, we went on to Telluride.  There we hiked the Bridal Falls Trail which was crowded and my knees were sore.  There is just no good way for a flatlander to condition their knees or lungs for real hiking.  My cousin, jerk that he is, commented to two people who had stepped aside for me that "Wasn't it nice to see senior women on the trail?"  Be it known this man is nine years older than me and I cursed him out appropriately just as four of the blondest, most angelic, cherubic children popped out of nowhere and heard all of the bad words I called him.  I hope they prayed for me at dinner that night.  This trail was also gorgeous and the weather at the top of the trail by the falls was like winter! Telluride itself was crowded but we ate an excellent cheesesteak from a food truck and took the gondola up and over the mountains.  That was a great view!  We watched people preparing for some race up the mountain and all I could wonder if why they hated themselves?

not bad at all.

Next we drove a highway that is either called Last Dance Highway, Million Dollar Highway, Million Dollar Baby, something like that. (I don't pay very good attention when I am not driving) Winding, winding, winding until you come out on the top and wonder if you are indeed at the top of the world. It sure felt like it!  There wasn't room to stay for the night so we just pulled over and had a snack of leftover ribeye and feta; roughing it, I believe this is called.  Every person stopped to say hello and ask where we were from and talk about how frigging gorgeous it was up here.  They were not wrong.

Even in pictures it's breathtaking.

After Telluride, we went to Silverton and then Palisades.  I like the little town of Silverton because it was small and not crowded and really got my fear of bears.

IYKYK

In Palisades, we stopped at a winery and enjoyed a different view. It is a high desert but has enough water to be famous for its grapes and peaches.  It felt much dryer and browner and the terrain seemed more full of mesas than mountains but it was still beautiful.  After, um, three glasses of very nice wine, I ate the best peach of my life.  Was it the best peach of my life or was it the best peach after three glasses of wine?  I can't say, but the cherries were good too.  You'll just have to go and try some yourself to be sure.

This trip was amazing because of the the things I was able to see and experience.  It was amazing because it was time spent with family I love even when they are incredibly rude to me on a mountainside or make me go into places that say "Danger".  The weather was perfect and neither too hot nor too cold.  Also, I think I am not exaggerating when I say that every single person in Colorado owns the happiest and healthiest dog I have ever seen.  These silky-haired dogs were everywhere we went and smiling and living their very best dog life.  I imagine that if you move to Colorado, you are stopped at the state line to go in and pick out your own gorgeous dog.  (even shelter dogs are gorgeous in Colorado).  

So, if you are wondering why it is that you travel, go see Colorado. You won't wonder another minute; you will just know.

Go West, Middle-Aged Woman, Go West

 I believe it was Horace Greeley in the mid 1800's who first stated "Go west, young man" while listing the opportunities for an adventurous young man.  Toby Keith then added to that "Haven't you been told?" in the early 1990's before excusing Marshall Dillon's commitment issues, and really, poor Miss Kitty.  But it was in 2023 that Rebecca McMahon heard and followed the words "Go west, middle-aged woman, go west."  And really, who would you rather read more about?  (also please know that it makes me almost physically sick to use middled-aged while describing myself, but numbers don't lie).

While this adventure truly began in Colorado, I feel like I have to start the story with Wyoming and South Dakota and flash back to Colorado in the next piece.  WY and SD was where I solo adventured: drove 912 miles in two days, saw three national monuments, the entirety of Deadwood, SD and didn't cry once! Well, I did curse a roundabout towards the end of my trip in a high-pitched tone but I was hungry and tired and that roundabout was stupid.

First up, Wyoming.  My prior knowledge of Wyoming came from watching Longmire, and really, I was not disappointed.  Wyoming is vast and green and endless.  I learned very quickly that if you think you need to pee, you stop at that gas station because there is nothing, absolutely nothing, for the next 70 miles.  It was me and my cousin's very nice car and two-lane highways and a speed limit of 80.  And people in Wyoming are considerate drivers and move into the slow lane and let you pass!  Oh, and windy!  Everywhere I stopped, the wind was whipping, just whipping around.

Long, lonesome highway.

Cheyenne was my first stop and I stopped solely for The Cowgirls Museum of the West.  Cheyenne was lovely! Every single person that I passed looked me in the eye and said good morning.  They also had downtown, street parking for free. I am still not over that.  The old man at the museum was so excited when I walked in.  He told me all about WY, its equality, and how the museum came to be.  It was nice to be in a museum all about women.  It was small and well cared for and definitely someone's labor of love.  The three old people sitting around asked where I was from, what I was doing.  They loved that I taught a Women's class and when I listed what I was off to do, the woman commented, "Well, aren't you an adventurer!" and in that moment, I remembered that like all of these women on the walls here, yes, I was an adventurer!

When in Cheyenne, stop here!

This served me well the next four hours of  driving to Devil's Tower.  There was a great deal of time that I was the only person on the road and I wavered between singing "Wide Open Spaces" and feeling for sure I would die and no one would know for days.  It's a real treat inside my brain, let me tell you. Case in point: there were a lot of gently rounded hills that came in twos and I laughed and then was a little sad no one was there to call them boob hills with me.  

Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse Memorial.  All three come popping out of the hills when you least expect it and sort of just take your breath away.  Devil's Tower had a more remote feel to it, but a hike around quickly showed me that I was nowhere near alone.  These monuments were crowded and I quickly hated the rest of America there with me.  One, I have been to beautiful, pristine places and I guess that I don't like to share.  Two, these people sucked.  They were climbing rocks that said "No Climbing" to get their best Insta photo.  They were scraping parts of rock off to take with them.  They were not yelling at their children acting like lunatics and scraping off pieces of rock.  I am so glad I went to these places, but if I was to do it again, I would go at 6 in the morning and revel in what I was seeing alone.

Crazy Horse. The most poignant.

Dead white men.

Devil's Tower

After Devil's Tower, I made my way to Deadwood, SD.  I had a hotel booked based on beautiful internet photos and I was tired.  Oh, did those photos lie!  When I pulled in to what Google Maps assured me was my location, I saw a motel.  Doors to the outside motel with more than 30 motorcycles parked.  I was wrong; it wasn't the isolated road I was to die on, it was here.  I was even more surprised when I went to check in and saw not only was this a motel, but a casino!  With slots.  Only slots.  My room was on the second floor and didn't open to the outside and that was fine with me.  I laughed and laughed when I opened the doorway to the second floor and found this carpet and the smell of 1983 in the air. You know, cigarettes, Tab, Smurfs on TV, a newly microwaved meal, and despair.

No words.

I walked to the adjoining restaurant and noticed that the biker gang was comprised of people older than me and all speaking German.  I ate at the bar alone with a giant beer and french fries and a fried chicken something and felt much better.  Sometimes you just need fried food and a giant beer to wash the road away.

The next morning I got up early and did Deadwood top to bottom. Like 80 flights of stairs, per my Fitbit, top to bottom.  I loved Deadwood! I loved that it was 55 degrees when I woke up. I loved that the nice man at the visitor booth at the Mt. Moriah Cemetery asked me if I was a student.  Bless him; he must have left his glasses at home.  I hiked that whole cemetery and saw the graves of all the famous dead people of Deadwood.  Hike? Check.  History? Check?  Kind words? Check!  Deadwood was speaking 3 of my 4 love languages and I loved it!  All that was missing was someone handing me chocolate along the trail. I would definitely go to Deadwood again.

top of Deadwood

If you get a chance to just drive anywhere in this country, drive the Black Hills.  They are too gorgeous to even describe.  I know why the Native Americans fought so hard to keep them.  At one turn, I came across a lake that was so beautiful amongst the surrounding hills that I decided then and there that a bear could eat me there and it would be okay.  This drive took me to Mt. Rushmore and then Crazy Horse.  I liked Rushmore more than I thought. It pops out at you from the hills and even if you are tired of the history of dead, white men, it's still kind of amazing. Crazy Horse was poignant with so very much work still ahead of them.  The museum was great and I enjoyed it a learned a lot of things.

Hmm. All that driving and not one woman carved into those hills.  Just saying.

My plan after Crazy Horse was to go to Custer State Park and hike.  I sat down outside and looked up at that memorial and suddenly realized that I was kind of tired.  And I thought about hiking on my own and well, I just ran out of brave.  I couldn't picture fending off a bear or creepy serial killer and knew it was probably just time to head back.  I still had an almost five hour drive along lonesome highways back to Denver vacillating between the exhilaration of being all alone on a highway and the moments of terror about being all alone on a highway.  

If I was to do it again, I would plan out one more night in SD. Hike Custer State Parkway full of energy and bravery and bear spray.  I don't regret not pushing on with that. I had an amazing adventure, saw things I have never seen before, experienced two new states, and met some nice people and some really annoying people along the way.  And as that nice woman told me, I am an adventurer!  And sometimes, adventurers get tired and play it safe so they can have more adventures next summer!

To Teach or Not to Teach

 This was not my best year teaching.  My heart was not in the job a lot of the year.  I was present and accounted for and did all the things I am supposed to do all while not enjoying much of it.  When I admitted and apologized to most of my classes towards the end of the year that I wasn't at my best,  I was surprised that they didn't readily agree with me. I said I was a B, B- teacher at best and one Senior responded that he would hate to see me on my A game.  

In January, I actually applied for another job outside of education because I felt like I just couldn't do this anymore. Coaching plus teaching is exhausting and I constantly felt as though I was running in butter and getting nowhere.   And the hours!  Soccer games mean the day starts at 8:30am and ends somewhere about 10pm.  Y'all. I am old and this is hard on the body.  I also spent much of September to January in this weird malaise where I just didn't feel like me.  Symptom of COVID or menopause or this career or all of these things?  Add to it both kids living away from home for the first time and moving.  It was a lot and it showed up where I work because I am human.

This meant that I really phoned in some lessons.  It meant that I couldn't keep my disdain for Steinbeck from leaking through as we read Steinbeck and made me avow to never read Steinbeck as a class again.  I didn't write comments on a lot of work that was turned in. Just checked and graded and entered and compiled.  I didn't always reach out to the kids I could see who were hurting because I had no emotional bandwidth to give them.  (I am not sure if I am allowed to admit this?). It meant that my coaching was sloppy.  It meant that I was half-heartedly going through all the motions and thinking it would be better and I would be better somewhere else.  And the pay would certainly be better.

I am not sure if it happened all at once like the Grinch and his growing heart or was more like a slow thaw, but somewhere in late February, I started to no longer hate my job.  I was still tired and annoyed with many things, but I didn't hate being here.  Even for ten hours a day.  There was joy and I was seeing it.  It was winning a hard soccer game and doing a stupid TikTok dance because I promised I would if we won.  It was watching the quiet kid laugh at something I said and then write with all of his heart.  It was listening to two baseball boys call each other terrible things while arguing over how to analyze poetry.  (This actually might be one of my favorite teaching moments ever.)  It was writing all of my seniors a note on their last day and watching them become quiet and thoughtful as they read them.  There is happiness most days and I was finally seeing it.  And even better, I could feel it.

I think teaching is a career where I will periodically wonder if I should teach or not teach.  If I am doing the right thing for me, for my future, or hahahaha, retirement.  There are a few things I know for sure though: anything with an acronym will serve to make my life a mess for one year and then be replaced with another acronym, I will always be exhausted, I could get a 20% pay raise and still be underpaid, and that I am total sucker for nice words written on the back of an exam or assignment.  And maybe I am a total sucker in general for not jumping out of education and into something more lucrative or less taxing on the soul. But then I would miss that quiet kid in the corner, or the way that the air is electric in a huddle before a game, or the next section of Women, Words, and Wisdom, and well, I am just not ready to give that up.

And, I do get to see some amazing sunsets.

Shhh. Don't Anyone Talk About This

 This morning, prior to 8am, I found a grey eyebrow hair, a pimple, sweated through my shirt, and told my person I am thinking of not coloring my hair anymore.  But I might still color my hair because what if I end up looking like the Cryptkeeper and made him promise me he would tell me if I did start resembling the Cryptkeeper.  

Self-portrait

This is, unfortunately, a rather normal morning for me lately.  I am, sigh, at this stage in my life no one talks about because we have been conditioned to think that it is an unattractive place and we should deny, deny, deny.  Perimenopause or menopause?  Ten dusty eggs left rattling around in there or none?  No one knows.  And no one talks about it. Maybe in hushed whispers, but no one is talking loudly about it.

Once upon a time and a million years ago or until the 1960's, women were only valued for their child-bearing potential.  Once that shipped passed, so did they.  Relegated to the outside, seen as unattractive and a burden, they were ignored or labeled with amazing monikers like "hag", "crone", "witch".  We were conditioned to accept that we are important, productive, and valued members of society (well, sort-of) until we could not longer have a baby.  So of course no one stood up and said "It's me!  I am waking up with night sweats and haven't had a period in two months!"  They just quietly withered away in a corner and took pleasure from those aging faster than they did.

I am all for feeling better about myself at someone else's expense, sure. But I think we start talking about this weird, weird time in our lives. I feel like a teenager in reverse.  My body is changing, my skin is a mess, and my hair doesn't work anymore.  I am intensely happy and furious and sad.  I am sweaty half the day and night. But producing some sort of dry eggs (I truly imagine them going "pooooof" in a cloud of dust as they release) and still getting wicked PMS and a sort-of period.  Yeah me!  What is happening with other people my age?  I am unsure because NO ONE TALKS ABOUT IT.  And if they do talk about it, we think silently "hag", "crone", "witch" and move away because it could be catching.

I continually feel a juxtaposition of all things. I feel older than the earth, but a good belly laugh makes me feel young again.  I feel unattractive and hideous some days (turn away! turn away!) but am more comfortable in my body than maybe ever.  And that includes its many imperfections. I feel anxious and worried and insecure but I also don't care a lot about what people think.  I am going to stay at this job forever, I am going to find a new one tomorrow.  I have been sensitive about my face in pictures since the Bell's and that is raging at a whole new level.  But then today, I took a decent picture and did not think cryptkeeper. I thought, "okay".

Maybe what we need to all think is "okay".  It's okay that my body is doing weird things.  It's okay that I get pimples and grey hair.  It's okay that I am getting older because my age and my child-bearing abilities do not determine my place in the world. It's okay that I feel like crying and have no idea why.  It's okay that I feel so angry that I could punch a stranger in the face and smile.  And you know? I teach high school so I know that I am called worse things than hag or crone.  So, it's okay.  

We don't need to go around and say "Menopause?" and high-five anyone who nods.  I mean, you can if you want, sure.  I think we need to just find a way to talk about it and be comfortable if other people want to talk about it.  Where is Judy Blume and why hasn't she written about this??  Where is the sequel to Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret where Margaret is 50 plus and she and her girlfriends are welcoming in menopause with wine and rituals like they did their period.  I picture them circled up and saying things like "My ovaries do not determine my worth" while doing pelvic floor exercises.

So, I guess until Judy Blume writes this book and lets the world know it is okay for women to age, we just need to be okay with talking about it.  And that it is happening.  And talking to other people about what is happening.  Because, just like getting periods, it is weird and it is scary, and sometimes, nothing feels okay.  And it feels even worse when no one is talking about it.