Cindy Tames A Bully

Or, "I don't want to go to the beach, and you can't make me!"

My current view.

My mom used to say she would have to live to be 120 years old for all the lessons she kept learning. At a mere 63, I’m going to need at least that with all the stuff that keeps coming up for me to learn. And relearn.

Trigger warning: This is a full-on first world problem. But stick with me…it gets better.

Angelo recently checked out the weather forecast and decided that several of the upcoming days would be perfect for a beach day in Rhode Island. One of those days was a Sunday and I immediately declined. “I don’t want to go to the beach on the first hot, sunny day in June with the rest of New England!” So we didn’t go. The next day, Monday was my dedicated writing day. “Sorry…and Monday won’t work, either. . .” and that’s when he began to get cranky. (In my defense, I offered to go to a closer beach to cut the travel time and possibly give myself a couple of hours to get some work done, but he only wanted to go to an ocean beach. Connecticut’s beaches are on the Sound. An eyeroll emoji would be perfect here.)

Over the course of the several discussions we had about perfect beach weather, travel time and other responsibilities, I realized that, even though I felt bad about not wanting to accompany Angelo to the beach, I also felt strongly about sticking to the commitment to my work. I was conflicted, but I didn’t feel guilty. Or even the slightest bit pressured, both of which I’ve felt plenty of in situations past. How many decisions have I made in my life tempered with what I had to do for someone else? I suspect it’s somewhere in the thousands. There are times in life when such decisions have to be made which preclude any personal agency, like parenting. Practically all of parenting is putting your child before yourself in any given situation. But if that’s all you do, if you never learn to stake out a few boundaries for yourself, you get really tired. And forget how to take care of yourself.

Until you get older. Unfortunate as it may be that my self-discovery is exemplified by a literal “day at the beach” it was a turning point for my being confident enough to make a decision for myself, stick with it—and here’s the important part--not feel guilty. Clearly the alternative wasn’t going to be terrible, but the decision isn’t always between two evils—sometimes it’s about two benefits. There are times when you have to draw your own personal lines of comfort and responsibility. First world, third world, whichever world. It’s easier for me, I know. I’m lucky. Just look at where I’m working today (pictured above). I have privileges and opportunities that over three-quarters of the world doesn’t have access to. I don’t take that lightly, but I believe everyone has the right to take care of his- or herself, or we’ll just end up knowing what’s best for everyone else, but not us. Or me.

Many years ago my friend Tracy gave me this T-shirt:

At the time, I was mid-way through an acrimonious divorce during which what seemed like half the town had taken his side…at least it felt that way. It was one of the few times I felt absolutely alone in the world. Tracy, over 300 miles away in Washington, DC, kept up my spirits with nearly daily letters and the occasional visit, when she could get time off from work. On one of those visits she brought me this shirt. Maybe it was supposed to represent my ex or the others in town who were giving me such a hard time, but every time I see it—usually when I’m trying to make some room in my dresser by giving away old clothes—I take it out, hold it up, smile, and put it right back. A 30-year-old message still making itself clear in my inability to send the shirt off to its next destination.  

Regardless of who the bully was supposed to represent then, what I’ve decided is that the bully I have to tame is me. Or at least the voice in my head that tells me what I need isn’t important. There is plenty of room in my life for all the things I have to do and including my own needs and choices is an important part of that balance. Mom didn’t get another 40 years to learn her lessons, and I’m pretty sure I won’t live to 120, either. But I still have time to keep up with my own. And go to the beach.