Promise of a New Year

2019!

This year I will wrap up another decade of my life. Fifty certainly seems old on paper. But my middle-aged dreams and goals feel as fresh as the dreams of my twenty-year-old self. I traveled back to my junior year in college to compare my thoughts. The similarities are uncanny.

1990 Stef: Celebrate 21 with a bang. In Iowa City! A party! Bar crawl! College pals! 21 42 pitchers of beer. (Laura turning 21 too. Yay!).
2019 Stef: Celebrate 50. Maybe.

1990 Stef: Figure out a summer job.
2019 Stef: Figure out a summer job... for Cole.

1990 Stef: Find a cute bikini AND wear as much as possible at the beach.
2019 Stef: Find a swimsuit that doesn't look ridiculous. Wear only on vacation in a location far, far away from here.

1990: Find true love.
2019: Celebrate 25 years of true love.

1990 Stef: Get tan as quickly as possible. Begin in May no matter how chilly.
2019 Stef: Avoid skin cancer. Wear pants.

1990 Stef: Lose five pounds.
2019 Stef: Lose five pounds.

1990 Stef: Scrounge up some money for beer and cookies.
2019 Stef: Limit beer. Limit cookies. Scrounge up some money for Spanx.

1990 Stef: Keep the rock star dream alive.
2019 Stef: Sing loud in car.

1990 Stef: Figure out a prestigious career! Add a major? 
2019 Stef: Get out of my basement office once in a while.

1990 Stef: Be the best person you can be! Study! Exercise! Eat healthy!
2019 Stef: Be a good person. Make a difference in others' lives.

I have always loved the hope that comes with a New Year. While my observations are somewhat facetious and somewhat sincere, there's one thing that never has changed – my desire to become a better person.

My 2019 resolutions are simple, but great: to love with all of my heart and find joy every day. I'm sure I would not have professed anything like that as a twenty-year-old. My 1990 New Year's Resolution was probably something like "Get a new hairstyle! Bigger bangs!" And that's okay. My compass has changed. Thank God. But there's a big part of me that hasn't changed: my hopeful spirit, still burning bright as ever. 

Wishing you all have a wonderful and peaceful 2019!

1990: Fun and Friends.

2019: Fun and Family.

Remember Yesterday!

For the past couple of months now, I've been a bit obsessed with my seemingly accelerating passage of time toward "40". In a few weeks, I'll be 39. According to my six-year old son, I'm still two years away from 40, since I'm only 38. I like his math.

It's not the first time I've fussed over my age. "30" seemed like a big cross-over. Oh, to be "30" again. My skin was still fairly tight. The cottage cheese blemishes on my belly were barely visible -- of course only one child had been born by then. Those were the days when it was still fun to try on swimsuits. Now I resort to catalog purchases, only from Eddie Bauer who has this amazing technology of fitting not-completely-dumpy swimsuits anyone over the age of 35.

Mom told me a few months ago that "age is just a frame of mind". Easy for her to say -- she looks amazing at the age of 61. "Your mom is so cool." "She looks so young." "I love your Mom's hair!" "Grandma seems younger than you." And the kicker, "Are you Sandy's sister?" Oh sure, age is a frame of mind when you look fifteen years younger than your real age.

Needless to say, I've been practicing "The Secret" (Rhonda Byrnes) by telling myself that I do look young. It's tough when your children say things like, "What's that big line on your face?" "Well, Cole, it's my laugh lines!" "It doesn't look funny." Or when you can't shove that muffin top in those dang low-rider pants anymore. But I continue my quest. "I still look young. I still look young. I still look young. 38 IS young. Right?"

The other day I had lunch with a friend who is also getting close to the age of 40. She is very pretty and youthful. A few topics came up in our conversation that are defining to Generation X -- South Africa (anti-apartheid, Nelson Mandela, etc.), E.T. (yes, the movie), The Gap (yes, the store), etc. And guess what? After our lunch, I felt revived and, well, young! Maybe it was because my friend just plain looks young. Maybe it was because she's full of enthusiasm. Or, maybe it was because we connected! While we have different backgrounds, we lived through the same defining, historic events.

I have other good friends who are also classified as "Gen-X", and of course my husband and I are the same age. Too often we're busy chasing the Boomers' career pace or plugging into Gen Y's communication devices. And of course we're all running our kids to various activities to ensure they'll grow up to be well-rounded. All of those factors simply do not make me feel youthful -- it exhausts me.

So, perhaps the secret to feeling young is taking time to connect with those whom we share similar, generational viewpoints. Of course, my mother has a bazillion Boomers to connect with. We Gen X'ers must learn to seek each other out and "share" in order to keep a youthful frame of mind.

So, let me end another babbling blog with this thought. I took a picture of my ornamental lilac tree a couple of weeks ago. It only blooms for about a week, so during that week, I make sure to relish in the aroma and beauty while it lasts. Then, overnight, the blooms shrivel and dry up. It becomes merely an ornamental tree with dark green leaves.

And it is still lovely.

Genre-Switching!

I divert from my usual format to discuss another topic near and dear to me -- music. There are few genres I don't like or at least have some level of appreciation. But I have noticed a major shift in my music preferences as I edge nearer to the big 4-0.

An old college friend and I were having an email discussion today about the current whereabouts of Def Leppard. Now, Def Leppard was HUGE when we were in college. (Some of you have probably guessed my fascination based on the title of my book. A young colleague of mine emailed me the link to sign up for their fan club just today!) Now, I will always love Def Leppard. When I hear them on the radio, my heart smiles as I remember the fun days of my youth. And, of course, my kids must pass the "Okay, what artist is this?" test if they hear any lines of "Pour Some Sugar On Me." (I'm positive the sexual innuendo escapes them. I hope.) But I think my fan club days are over. As a matter of fact, not one Def Leppard song made my playlist. They're not even an artist on my IPod.

My college friends may be shocked to find Coldplay, Rhianna, Fergie, Pink, Fall-Out Boy, Linkin Park, Christina Aguilera and even Kelly Clarkson on my playlist. Oh, sure, there's still U2, Smashing Pumpkins and even Ozzie. But there's no Def Leppard, Aerosmith, or even Van Halen.

Often, (almost with guilt)I attempt to switch the radio channel if I hear the first few strums of a Bon Jovi song. (Sometimes Cole won't let me if he catches 'Livin on a Prayer' in time.) So, what happened to this girl who, with her chummy roommates, faithfully watched MTV's Daily Top Ten and Headbanger's Ball?

In 1984, I sat moping in my bedroom while Eddie Van Halen played what was to be his last concert with David Lee Roth. When they broked up in 1985, I vowed that if they ever, ever got back together, I would not miss the concert. Van Halen were my rock gods. I had every 'cassette'. I carried a David Lee Roth/Eddie Van Halen writing pen. Eddie was to me as John Lennon was to my mom. I grieved for years after their break-up. (Van Hagar was only mildly healing.) Fast forward twenty-eight years. David Lee Roth has rejoined his old pal for a Van Halen reunion in Omaha on February 2nd! Where was I?

In Disney World with my family -- the best vacation of our lives, by the way.

This summer Tom Petty is on tour. Oh, sure -- it will be a good concert. But it sure wasn't text-worthy -- like the concert announcement of Coldplay on August 3rd!

So, what happened to this spandex-obsessed girl of the past? Maybe I burned myself out on the prosaic, catchy guitar riffs that eventually copy-catted themselves to death. Maybe I don't want to be reminded of my big, frizzy hair. Or maybe I've just grown up.

But I do like to remember the fun days of the hair bands. But if I have a choice of a sentimental journey or the newest John Mayer song, what will I do? It probably depends on the day. But there's a good chance, Birddog, I'll select a "chicken band".