We are greater than the sum of our salary and possessions.

Being in front of a computer during the workday, I have become more accustomed to the influences of the web and accompanying sharing (often over-sharing) of content. Sometimes, it awakens a habit of comparing. I don't like comparing if it is used in a non-constructive way. Being inspired by others and rallied to action? Great. This type of comparison promotes progress. Feeling inadequate about not having a concrete course of action for this thing called life? Not useful or productive.  It just leaves me feeling disconcerted, and even a little sad.

Someone, somewhere once said that comparison is the death of joy, and it totally is. When I figure out who, I will site them properly. And to quote my Dad in response to a meltdown I must have had during my youth over some trivial comparison, "What are you gonna go stick your head in the sand?" Love that guy.

There will always be people with more, and well less for that matter. More/less stuff, food, opportunities, skills etc. There are moments when I am deeply bothered by this, probably because I struggle for some forms of order and fairness in my head, and heart. But we are greater than the sum of our salary and possessions. The proof is everywhere. Sun above and earth underfoot. Accessible by all, regardless of your station in life.

There is no premium on belly laughing or dreaming. Loving someone, or having love returned. No price tag on wonderment.

Happiness can be cultivated because the best things aren't things. 

Writing this for the next time I get flustered by the rat race unfolding around us, which happens from time to time. We can't all just up and venture to Walden Pond when we have an existential dilemma. But maybe I can read it from a shady porch... while drinking a Pumpkin Spice latte.

Scenes from Sunday

Sun·day  ˈsəndā,-dē/

noun  1. the day of the week before Monday and following Saturday, observed by Christians as a day of rest and religious worship and (together with Saturday) forming part of the weekend.

Sunday: a day to rest, reflect, and  indulge. All without the guilt one might feel on say a Wednesday or the pressure to be out and about, characteristic of a Saturday. Sundays are like little slivers of heaven, where you can do what brings you to a calm, happy place. That comfort zone is entirely subjective and varies from person to person, but there look to be some consistent trends during the autumn months. Apple picking, prayer sharing, family meals, football watching, and afternoon naps. 

There is something scandalous about sleeping late. I feel like valuable daylight is wasted when lingering under the covers too long. But on Sunday, it is pardoned. Stomach grumblings eventually ensue. The coffee pot is on, and the pancakes are mixed. Chocolate chips and shredded coconut are added for a twist. A dollop of whipped cream delivers the knockout. The dishes even get done on the spot- a rarity.

Comfortable clothes worn to account for the crisp breeze. Windows open, sun shining through. Chit chat and jokes exchanged in the truck en route to DePiero's, a gem of a farm not too far from home.

At home, two things are on: football and a mammoth pot of sauce. Yells echo from the living room and it's obvious Daddy's not pleased with the Giants. He thinks they may go 8-0. Hopefully, not. At commercial breaks, the sauce is stirred and the aroma fills our home. Hot peppers are sautéed too; as I write my nasal passages have been cleared and my eyes are running. Pasta is served and too much is eaten. Soon after, everyone slips into a brief (or not so brief) nap. It's Sunday, remember, so this indulgence is encouraged.

For dessert, there are donuts and coffee. We break into more chatter, in between big bites of fluffy sugared goodness. More football and snoring...

Nothing extravagant happens, but the time together is special enough. It's the little things that matter,  the scenes from Sunday.

Get your hands dirty

I don't think it is a generational issue, or correlated to age at all. It's not necessarily driven by social class either. My guess is, it must be a societal trend. We've forgotten the value of getting our hands dirty. This statement is in no way, amply supported; my gut feelings will have to suffice.

When my sister and I were little, we played outside nearly every single day. We had a world of make believe at our fingertips. To this day, a walk around the block brings back vivid memories. Torn jeans, muddy sneakers, and runny noses were indicators of a good day indeed. Capture the flag, running bases, and tag filled the warmer months. Building forts in the snow and sledding marked the winter ones. We were always moving, always exploring. 

My parents talk of similar childhoods. Dad didn't have a lot of toys so he had to work with what he had, or "borrow" things from his cousins. Miraculously, they still talk to him. They all lived together in a two family home, where I happen to live today. If I close my eyes, I can invision them playing together and growing up between these walls.  A few towns over, my Mom was living simillarly. She and her friends played house together, pairing off to make imaginary couples and wandering around Grace Avenue. They played games and made things with their hands. 

As adults, we don't have the same opportunities to play with wreckless abandon, although we can certainly channel our youth if we try. My papa is living proof that youth is a state of mind, not necessarily represented by your age. Gosh, I hope I stay half as cool as he is. Papa gets his hands dirty. He tinkers in the garage, teaches himself how to make different kinds of nautical knots, gardens, and builds. Maybe this is why he stays so young.

Dad works like no one else I know, and thankfully he instilled his views along the way. When I was old enough to work the power mower, he took me landscaping on weekends. If I was way thinner, I would be Jessica Biel in Summer Catch. Although it would seem totally unenjoyable, it is ( I still landscape now and then) and always was oddly rewarding. Dad says it builds character, and I whole-heartedly agree. To exert yourself and labor a little isn't like jumping in puddles or playing tag as a kid. But it's similar in the regard that there is a level of motor stimulation that triggers good feelings in the brain. There is evidentiary support of that... so there you have it.

Things come really easy in the modern age. I am immensely grateful for the ease with which we can access information, communicate, and experience our surroundings. Strides made in technology and the sciences are awe-inspiring. Sometimes though, I fear we are complicating the formula for happiness. A patch of pavement and some chalk was sufficient to occupy us for hours when we were young. And obviously, there were no tablets but we made it ok. Kids should play outside, and get dirty. 

As for me, there's always grass to be cut.

The Friend Zone

For most of my high school and college years, I resided in this trying place known as "The Friend Zone". Because I am now happily in a relationship that was well worth the wait, I think it is finally ok to share my tales of woe. An episode of MTV's Girl Code, a hilarious show I have grown somewhat fond of, sparked a memory for me. Since the pseudo-scars of early womanhood have healed, why not make a joke of it. For a giggle, or ten, check it out.

In high school, I was blissfully busy with schoolwork and extracurricular activities. If possible, from what I recall, I was not super preoccupied with finding a mate. Sure I had crushes, and many awkward let downs. When you hear the guy you were pining after found a super hot girlfriend. Haven't we all? If not, just pretend to understand. I also kept in the back of my mind the belief that high school guys were a tad immature and just made better friends, and I would find a companion in college. Also, I did not have a lot of game. I think my Dad maybe even told me this once, but he meant it lovingly like, "Oh Francesca, don't be concerned, other girls just have more game than you. But never change. You are perfect, and someone will adore you like I do." Aw, thanks Dad.

College came and there were indeed handsome and bright guys all around. Many had girlfriends, or just worked the masses with their dimples and long LAX bro hair. Nice to look at no less, but alas they were not my match.  I developed a considerable crush on a guy in one of my classes, who was genuinely a kind and intelligent person. I thought we were connecting on many levels, and I guess in retrospect we were. But he fed me a classic "Friend Zone" line, that he had just gotten out of a long, serious relationship. Today, he is dating a young man as equally as handsome as he, so I suppose it wasn't me that was the issue,  just my gender.

I think I probably tried too hard, mostly because I really wanted to find a companion. Over-thinking every word and deed, and generating in my mind these elaborate justifications that the guy I liked really did like me too. Until I read this, and it became clear. He was just not that into me.

I met a few guys older than me, at church of all places. Thank you Jesus, for hooking a sister up! One was a grad student, and the other an alum about 10 years older than me. Another lightbulb in retrospect: Francesca, look for older guys.  Nothing ever got too serious, but I do believe that everyone you meet has something to teach you if you look hard enough. I came away from every encounter more capable of navigating the WTF moments of dating/ trying to date.

There were always warning signs that I was in the "Friend Zone" and now I can identify them. Some of the more obvious ones, I failed to recognize:

"You will make a wonderful mother someday" - This melted my heart, of course. What a compliment. But when coming from a young man it typically meant, you are a nurturing and kind soul, but I do not want to date you.

"Want to study with me?" - Again, super flattering. Someone admires my intellect? He must want to be my boyfriend. No, sorry. If he wants to be your boyfriend, he will ask you to dinner or try to bed you, ASAP. 

"I really enjoy your company, but..." - The but is never, ever good. If a guy wants to be with you, he will break down a wall to do so. Although I tried ever so diligently to prove myself otherwise, it just wasn't meant to be in many cases. 

I wish I had known some of these things then, but I have emerged from the battlefield and am doing just fine. It was not all for naught. For other wallflowers that may have a hard time dating, do not be discouraged. Celebrate who you are, and don't change for anyone. Although it will be saddening in the moment, the best is yet to come. Relationships that do not materialize prepare you for different and hopefully better things and well, people.

Someone will love every part of you.

And rain will make the flowers grow

Theater buffs among you will know those lyrics are from Les Miserables, and sung during Eponine's heart wrenching last moments. If you could care less about theater, that is certainly fine as well. The message is one of hope and I think it is relevant most days, but especially today, twelve years after many innocent lives were taken from us.

The song is called "A Little Fall of Rain" and as earlier mentioned, it marks the last breathes for a young woman, who led a life far from what she had dreamt. She doesn't receive the affection of the man she adores, as he is madly in love with someone else. He still comes to her side to comfort her before she departs,  and their exchange is so poignant. "If I could heal your wounds with words of love."  If only...

All the while, rain falls. Eponine musters the courage to be brave, speaking of the cathartic nature of the rain, falling upon the Earth and making flowers bloom anew. She is undeniably afraid but continues to find solace in this motif of rain. "This rain will wash away what's past."  I don't necessarily agree that anything painful will ever be completely past us, but I suppose life and all its demands propel us to find the strength to continue. 

I am guilty, and I am sure most of us are, of sometimes focusing my energies on frivolous things I cannot control. Irrational fears about the future, or hell, about the present for that matter. Am I doing enough to build a future I can be proud of? What is my purpose and what does it all mean? Then there is the really insignificant stuff. Does this dress make me look fat or is my hair a hot mess? Why did that random stranger just cut me off and scream obscenities. Ugh, the line at the super market is so very long and I am hungry... The list goes on. It takes a conscious effort to try and quiet these nagging voices in my head. They don't help in any way, if anything they deter from any sort of productive action and motivation to better myself. 

Yet, life is not all daisies and butterflies. Not even close.  We cannot will all the bad things to go away. Periods of loss and sadness we have to face. Broken hearts. Even expectations that are deflated and plans that do not come to fruition deliver a crushing blow.  I don't think everything happens for the best, or else young parents would never abandon their babies all because they went to work on an average, sunny day.  Parents wouldn't bury their children. People would live to old age with the ones they love. Still, I have to believe in a place where we can learn from what hurts us. We cannot bring loved ones back, but maybe they never leave us in the first place if they reside in our heart. 

It is worthwhile and necessary to be brave, and just try. To put our best foot forward, or even just  a foot forward, and do what we can, where we are. Life is fragile and we should smell the flowers more often. Breathe in some fresh air. And remember not to curse the rain as it serves its purpose too in this grand, confusing scheme. 

May God watch over the fallen and their families, today and always. As well as anyone who ails in their heart, whatever the reason.