Breaking Tradition

I did it. I succumbed.

I am going home for Christmas. Well, let me stop right there. "Home" to Iowa. As long as my parents live in that house that is in that town, I will always consider it home. I love my house/life/home here, but when I'm talking about the holidays, that means Lenox, Iowa - population 1,300.

I'll be 35 in a couple of weeks, making this the 35th year that I will be enjoying holiday cheer with my nuclear family. I've lived in California for almost six years now, and I've "threatened" to not go home for a couple of years. It's too expensive. I can't get the time off. I don't even believe in the purpose of this holiday. Each year, I succumb. Why?

I like tradition. It's what I've always done; it's what I know. And despite at least 47 sub-par Hollywood comedies demonstrating typical family mishaps, calamities, and reasons to Just Say No to holiday get-togethers, I enjoy it!

There. I said it.

Sure, we've had our issues -- and I am a descendant from a long line of martyrs -- but we're all able to raise our glasses and put these things behind us as we gather around the table to tell and retell stories, entertain and be entertained by my (one-and-only) niece Lauren, and appreciate the time we've taken for each other. These are the things that are special to me. It isn't the gifts. It isn't the snow on the ground. It's looking around at these people who have seen me at my best and my worst and still make a conscious decision to accept and love me. This is family.

I know my family will still be there, even if I don't make it home for Christmas one year. But as the dates ticked by on the calendar, I admit that I found myself getting nervous. I found myself picturing what I would be doing if I stayed here in California this year. Greg is not a holiday person. Not a tradition person. Not a sentimental person. I began to fear (there's that word again!) what my Christmas would be like this year. If he looked at it as "just another day," would I resent him? Would we argue about it? Would I regret having not gone home? GASP!

Well, that decides it. With both of my parents offering to pay for my ticket and time to kill while unemployed, how could I justify NOT going? Plus, Greg and I do well with a little time apart. When I found the fare last night and called my mom, I felt this amazing relief to know that I had done the right thing to make her and Dad happy... and to make me happy. It felt good knowing I had a ticket home in my hand. My only fear now is that I'm delayed on my return trip.

To Be Continued...

Shaken, not stirred

I made a joke in my last post regarding midday drinking. I'm not going to lie -- I really do enjoy midday drinking (as well as drinking at almost any other time of the day). But I have a good friend who is struggling with alcoholism and the afternoons are her witching hours. She isn't working right now, and has found herself with nothing to do on a few afternoons. So she goes to the bottle. In Tuesday's case, she went to the bottle-and-a-half of port wine. Which she drank while hiding in the basement. Yesterday, while grocery shopping in the afternoon, she wandered down the booze aisle and walked out with a bottle of wine that she went home and drank by herself. Today, she called me to ask if we could hang out this afternoon right before she called another friend to accompany her while she checked herself into rehab. Step 1.

Scary! Drinking can be a slippery slope for many people. We all want to believe that we can stop at any time. And most of us can! Until we can't.

I am a self-described "heavy drinker." I like drinking, and I'm good at it. My friends are often amazed at how much I can drink and still be fully functioning. I rarely have a hangover. I'm not saying this to brag; it's a matter of fact. I like the idea of having a drink. I like holding a drink in my hand. I like the fun that I have with my friends when we're drinking. It's a very social activity for me. What makes me different than my friend is that I can walk away from it, or even the idea of it. Sitting here now, just after noon on a Friday, I am enjoying a beer. I ran 11 miles this morning and wanted a beer with my lunch. Fine. Once this beer is gone, I'll get up and take my dog for a walk and not think about it again. Believe me, there is enough booze in this house to really tie one on. But I really just want the one beer.

I went back to Kansas City for a family wedding in June. I come from a family of drinkers and weddings are as good an excuse as any to raise our glasses and celebrate. Everyone was participating in the fun all weekend long. Good times! Monday morning, I got a call from my dad. He said, "Molly, I think you have a drinking problem." I won't lie, it was 10 AM and my first thought was, "Oh brother. I need a drink!" Instead, I took a deep breath and asked him why he thought that. He started asking me questions -- do I drink every day? How many drinks do I have when I drink? etc... I was able to put his fears to rest with my honest answers: I don't drink every day. I sometimes will have a single glass of wine with dinner and put a cork in it - I don't drink it until the bottle is gone just because it's there. I don't use alcohol as a crutch or a control mechanism. Dad was relieved and I was grateful that we could have the honest conversation. He admitted that he thinks he walks very close to the edge, and alcoholism runs deep in his family. Since then, I have really thought about my relationship with alcohol, and I've asked my friends who are closest to me their thoughts. We all agree that I do not have a drinking problem and that is a relief.

But the fear is there. Fear of having alcohol control me. Fear of someone telling me, "You'll never be able to have a glass of wine again." Fear of losing my husband, my friends, and my health. My friend is walking down this very scary path and I'll be with her every step of the way to help. It takes a village to weather the ups and downs life hands us. I live in a good one.

Cheers!

Fear Management

It's 11:34 PM. I am an in-bed-by-10 kind of girl and I found myself lying awake wondering, "What if I do nothing with my time as an unemployed person?" How many calories am I burning just thinking about this? Enough to offset that last glass of wine, I'm willing to bet...

I have all of these ideas of Things To Do When There's Nothing Else To Do*:

• Wash the windows.
• Write a book.
• Organize the linen closet.
• Write a chapter.
  
• Visit family.
• Write an outline.
• Run a half marathon.
• Start a blog.

* "Nothing else to do" does not include napping, looking for jobs, stalking people on Facebook, or midday drinking.

So. I laid in bed tonight with all of these thoughts running through my head, as they have over hundreds of training miles in the last few months. What is stopping me from writing all of it down?

Fear.

Let me be more specific. I am not afraid of what will happen if I don't wash the windows (because I already did, only to have it rain. Life goes on.). I am afraid that if I write a book/chapter/outline about my life and why it "matters," no one will read it. Worse than that? People will read it and not like it. My life's work (literally) will be a failure.

But worse than that? I am terrified of NOT writing it. Of not trying at all.

My book, a memoir. That's the main idea. I think about it all the time. What would I call such-and-such chapter? How would I characterize my fear during the accident, during the ultimatum-before-engagement period, leaving the nest? I have so many common experiences that others face that I can bring with a fresh eye and a witty perspective. At least I hope I can.

It's time to write it down and see if anyone cares or relates or notices. Because as I've learned, those experiences that are the scariest are the ones that are most rewarding -- and burn the most calories.