Books of my childhood…regrets, nostalgia, and paths not taken

I wrote about nostalgia a few days ago…then had another bout of it this weekend.
There was some regret woven in there, too, and that makes it harder to move past it.
It reminded me, again, that the path I am on may not be (well, is not) the path that I thought I’d be on.

I don’t know if I’ve written about the fact that I do not have children.

I don’t. It was a hard choice, but one that we came to after trying for a long time, attempting some relatively noninvasive interventions, and deciding that we did not want to go further down that road. So we veered off. I took another path, one that I rarely regret.

But this weekend, I felt a pang of nostalgia and a tinge of regret, at a library book sale, of all places. I was digging through the children’s books, always on the lookout for books of my childhood, old favorites that I’d love to add (back) to my shelves. So many books I remembered, so many covers that immediately looked like old friends. And I wished that I had a child with whom I could share those books, that passion for falling into another world, going through the doors that books open wide.

I know this would have been my role in parenting – to say my spouse is not a reader is the understatement of the year (he didn’t know about Mrs. Piggle Wiggle!!?!? How is that even possible?). One that I would have embraced wholeheartedly.

One that I was not able to take on.

I felt the pang of regret, the nostalgic longing for the relative simplicity of childhood, the momentary second-guessing of the path I chose over 10 years ago.

And then I returned to my quiet apartment, to an afternoon of reading a bunch of different books (I can’t be reading just one at any time…) and was reminded that the path I’m on now is a pretty good one. 

Assumptions

Never assume…it just makes an ass out of you and me. 
So, my 6th grade teacher was the first person I ever heard say this. I could not believe that she said “ass” in front of a bunch of 11 and 12 year olds… But I still think it on a regular basis, because honestly I have never learned my lesson adequately when it comes to assuming. 
Yesterday it came back to bite me because I just assumed that I had not received an expected email with an assignment for a meeting yesterday because something had changed on the other person’s end. I didn’t want to be a pest – this is a pretty important person at my university – so I just assumed, went about my business…. and then found out that I did not get the email because of a typo on their end, and a failure of the system when it didn’t reject that email (because the email address they used does not exist… who knows where it went?). 
By assuming, I set myself up for an afternoon of frustration and annoyance, and then time spent afterwards trying to figure it out. Sigh. 
I also made an assumption about my spouse’s career goals – I can’t go into detail, but suffice to say that they are not as ambitious as I thought they might be. Not wanting to go after a potential promotion. I had always assumed that if the opportunity arose, they would take it but apparently that is not the case. So, yeah. Bad assumption on my part… me, as someone who would take the promotion, who strives to succeed in her field. 
So, trying – AGAIN – to remember not to assume. But I know I’ll make an ass out of myself more times that I can count in the rest of my life. Such is life as a human, I suppose. 

Convergent and divergent views of the world

I don’t have a quote for this one, but it’s been in the front of my mind for a few days now, as I start thinking about an upcoming vacation I have with my parents. Well, 2, actually.

And here’s the thing: we could not have more divergent views of the world. I don’t know how and when it happened, but my perspective on life and others and how things should be is, well, completely different from theirs. They watch Fox News (sigh…). I, to put it mildly, do not. I choose not to respond to many of the opinions and perspectives they put in their emails to me, because I simply do not want to engage. Suffice to say that we just view the world very differently. I’ve come to terms with that. I know that we will never, ever agree politically. It’s so hard to just walk away sometimes, but I do love them, I do want them in my life, and to do that I have to be willing to NOT engage even when every fiber of my being screams at me that I need to speak up, respond, make my case for my approach to life.

Yet, I also find myself hearing their voices in my head, multiple times per day. I don’t think we ever get away from our childhoods and how we were raised. So there are vestiges – ghosts, perhaps? – of their beliefs that still flit across my mind (and apparently my inner ear) on a regular basis.

Yesterday was a classic example. I was confronted with two instances where people were complaining but not taking action. This is a pet peeve of mine, to be honest – if you’re going to complain about something but not try to actually change the situation or address the problem (assuming, of course, that it can be changed and / or addressed safely), then it’s really hard for me to listen to you complain about that situation or problem.

The first was a colleague complaining about not having help and not being able to get anything done. Part of me wanted to say, well, if you worked on what you want to accomplish instead of spending all this time complaining about it, perhaps you could demonstrate that having help would actually make your work move forward faster. But instead, I bit my tongue and tried to make helpful suggestions.

The other instance was a bit frustrating – I went in to heat up my lunch, and encountered a microwave with a post it on the front that had “Wow, gross” written on it. So I (of course) opened the door to discover that someone had managed to explode tomato sauce all over the microwave and… had not cleaned it up. All I could think was that the post it note could not possibly be LESS helpful. If you’re going to take the time to do that, perhaps you could rouse yourself to clean it just this once, then follow up by asking people to please remember that these are shared spaces. I mean, really. It took me 1.5 minutes with the cleaning spray and a paper towel to get it cleaned up and usable again.

And the voice I heard in my head during both of these instances? My mother. Saying her classic slogan, “Just do it!”

Despite my growth away from their beliefs, there are still some things that are so ingrained in me that I think them almost automatically. I’m okay with this – as long as I don’t start watching or following Fox News. (Don’t worry, that’s not going to happen…)

Nostalgia…or rose-colored glasses?

Image result for quotes on returning to places of childhood
I had a few moments of nostalgia in the last couple of days. Strangely, several of them revolved around music. 
The first was yesterday, when I learned the Rob Thomas – the singer for Matchbox Twenty, one of THE groups of my college years – had a new album out. I promptly went to play it on Spotify, and was thrilled to hear a voice that has not changed substantially, a style of music that I always enjoyed, yet with new melodies and new words. It reminded me of good times (and, well, not so good, although those memories seem to be hazier than the good ones…), happy times. 
[I am going to gloss over the fact that when I mentioned the new album to my spouse, he responded “Who?”, which led to a long discussion of just exactly WHAT he was going in college, because seriously: how could you go to college in the 90s and not know Matchbox Twenty?!?!?! I mean, he didn’t even remember the duet with Santana for “Smooth”… I was like, who are you, and why did I marry you??]
This morning at the gym, the song playing when I left was one that I did not know the correct lyrics to in college. I think I alluded to this in my “Things I stink at” post, but one thing I truly, truly stink at is accurate knowledge of song lyrics. It’s like a mental block. Let’s just say that my errors for this particular song were hilarious once my roommates and I figured out what I was singing, vs. what the lyrics actually WERE. I laughed out loud when I realized what the song was, and the memory immediately came back. It was a good start to the day. (Well, that, and the really good run I had.) 
Going back to those times – even if just for a moment – makes me smile. Makes me happy. And yet I worry that I am seeking to return to a time when things were “good”, when I hadn’t yet had to grow up and travel the curves in the road that life has been to this point. 
The curves, the hurdles, the stop signs…they have made me who I am today. I like who I am today…but I also like revisiting who I was. Feeling things again. I wouldn’t change a thing, because then I wouldn’t be who I am now, and I would be doing what I do now, where I am doing it. 
So I’ll take the nostalgia, and the really good new album (Thank you, Rob!), and enjoy it in the now. Songs of the past, brought into the future. Works for me.  

If there were ever a day to “skip school”…

Sunny Day
Sweepin’ the clouds away
On my way to where the air is sweet
Can you tell me how to get?
How to get to Sesame Street
Come and play
Everything’s A-OK
Friendly neighbors there
That’s where we meet
Can you tell me how to get
How to get to Sesame Street
It’s a magic carpet ride
Every door will open wide
To happy people like you
Happy people like
What a beautiful
Sunny Day
~Sesame Street Opening song, by The Kids (And if you didn’t know that…maybe this isn’t the blog for you! ;>)

I am so, so tempted to play hooky (I keep wanting to make it an “-ey” for some reason…) today. 

The grant is done. The next one is cooking but not yet at a rolling boil. 
It’s beautiful outside. 

But I have meetings, and other responsibilities. So I’m going to be responsible, for now. 

I’m not saying I’m not going to bail early this afternoon, though. That is a distinct possibility even if it’s just to sit on my little apartment porch and read in the sunshine. 

As I get older (and man, that makes me sound ancient, to say that…) I find myself cherishing these days more and more. I think it also comes from living where I do – where winter lasted until Mother’s Day, and it will be damp and chilly yet again tomorrow. 

Recognizing the fleeting nature of the beautiful days, and striving to enjoy and embrace them, whether they involve sunshine and 70s with a light breeze (yesss…) or snow and 10 degree temps (also a good reason to hole up at home in fleece socks). There is beauty in everyday, but, well, sometimes it’s just a bit easier to enjoy the 70 degree beauty than the 10 degree version. 

Yesterday, I had an outside meeting with a colleague. We sat in the sunshine and wind, my hair was out of control, and we talked passions and research and science. 

It was glorious. 
Here’s to more sunny days, blending passion and sunshine and beauty.