Backstory

Our identities are inextricably tied to the stories our families tell about who we are, where we came from, when we arrived in this land, and details about personalities, work ethic, and cultural heritage. From an early age, we hear stories about Gram Bickey and Uncle Joe and Aunt Alice, about the ice cream store that our grandparents owned, about working poor growing up, and about the rise to middle class economic success. We are told we are just like Aunt Laura or Grandma Helen or Dad, and we look like Cousin Chris or Cousin Barbara or Cousin Sara. We see our noses when we look at Mom and our chins when we look at Dad and our earlobes when we look at large family Christmas portraits. 

Stop.

Go back.

Think about those stories. Now imagine that you aren’t anything like your family in personality or physical characteristics. There are no matches. No physical resemblance. No personality similarities. No “I get that from you” moments. Imagine that when you were young, sometimes those differences created tension and unease.

“Why can’t you just listen?” (Or obediently do what we are telling you to do.)

“Why do you always have to learn the hard way?”

“Why can’t you just write happy things?”

Imagine being made to feel small for your rambunctiousness, for your stubbornness, for your headstrongness, for your independent determination to figure things out for yourself. Like something is wrong with you for being who you are. 

Never imagining that one single interaction could change all of those feelings and reverse all of the hurt. Always wondering what it would feel like to know that you belonged. To lift the sense of being an outlier in your own family.

I feel like I need to make a qualifying statement about how much I love my family before I progress, but as Anne Lamott so succinctly stated, “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”

This quote lives on my office door and I frequently make my students read it as I remind them of this vital fact. To write truthfully and creatively about yourself is to tread on potentially dangerous territory because someone’s feelings might get hurt. But we own our stories. And although I do love my family, I also have deep seated feelings and a long memory. And this is MY truth.

Fast forward.

This past Sunday, at 10 a.m. in North Park outside of Pittsburgh, PA, on a gray and overcast rainy day, I met my birth mother face to face for the first time.

Embedded in that first fierce and strong hug was a lifetime of longing.

“Since I last held you, I’ve wanted this,” she said into my hair, her tears wetting my neck. “I love you.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, surprising me with the force of emotion behind them. “I love you, too.”

She pulled back and caressed my face, laughing and crying. “You’re so pretty. So pretty.”

I looked into her eyes and saw mine. “You have blue eyes,” I said, smiling and allowing myself to feel the weight of the moment as my tears flowed. “I have your eyes.”

She smiled, looking me full in the eyes with absolute acceptance. We hugged for a long time and it felt good. In that hug and in the next seven hours, I started to understand more about who I am, where I come from, why I am the way that I am, why I look the way I do.

We have the same eyes. The same smile. The same nose. The same non-lobe earlobes.

We have the same stubborn determination. The same penchant to think and weigh decisions carefully before committing to a course of action. The same preference for not wearing jewelry, for booths over tables, for gardening, for animals, for taking chances, for loving deeply.

For the first part of the visit, we sat knee to knee, holding hands, sharing stories and laughter and insights. Nerves melted away into a warm comfort of understanding.  I started to feel like I could really breathe. Or finally exhale.

She lifted her hand to caress my cheek. “You have my skin!”

“That explains why I look so much younger than my age. And seeing how beautiful you look gives me hope.”

She showed me family photos of my half-sister and half-brother, aunt, uncle, grandparents. I took photos of her photos and studied the faces. I saw my chin, my nose, my facial shape. I heard about these people and their stories and characteristics and felt something I’ve never experienced before that I think many people take for granted – acceptance that my personality, physical looks, and emotional characteristics stem from a long line of people with similar personality traits, physical appearance, and psychological characteristics. In my specific case, I come from a determined, opinionated, and headstrong German people.

That was a surprise. The German heritage.

My family is Irish and my parents were told by the adoption agency that I was Scottish and Irish and that my birth father was French Canadian.

That wasn’t quite true.

Turns out my birth father was possibly of French descent, but was an American marine. He also denied my paternity, which is why his name doesn’t appear on my original birth certificate. And my birth mother’s family is mostly German with a bit of English and Scottish.

No wonder I like bratwurst and beer. :)

Interlude.

I’m still processing the German, not Irish distinction. Being an American, it’s not as if my family’s former nationality plays a large role in my identity, but in many ways it does. My family is proudly Irish and they bring it up frequently enough to notice. Perhaps this was a relief of sorts that the girl they had adopted shared this nationality. But now that isn’t true and my parents brushed it off and are taking it well. 

Families give us our first sense of identity through the stories they tell us as we grow up. Those stories are repeated at family dinners and picnics and vacations to the point of becoming legendary tales that are retold to re-establish that communal sense of belonging. 

What happens when the story changes?

At the end of our daylong meeting, we discussed the Facebook discovery. I found her on Facebook. I had her name and it took me three hours of Internet searching. She recounted how much she has wanted to meet me, but that it had to be my decision. She never wanted to give me up, but did so because it was the right decision for me. She always hoped I would contact her. She has always loved me.

I can’t begin to express how much healing has begun now that I know. The mystery is solved. My story is changing and I will be better for it.

A new story begins.

The routineness of genetic testing

"Sail away, sail away, sail away," Enya croons softly from the overhead speakers. Giada De Laurentiis makes some kind of chocolate cookie dough with chocolate chunks on the little flatscreen TV. A magazine page crinkles and swooshes into place as the woman behind me turns the page. It all seems so routine.

"Genetic testing," my doctor announced definitively at my last gynecology appointment. I had just learned about my family medical history from my birth mother, and had related it to my doctor: Aunt died of ovarian cancer, Grandmother died of breast cancer, Grandfather died of colon cancer. Now that we know I have this dangerous trifecta in my immediate family, genetic testing is the Sherlock Holmes of cancer testing.

For women with my history, genetic testing can open a door to potential preventative solutions, including (in my case) surgical removal of my one remaining ovary because evidently, "Ovarian cancer shows up in stage three," my doctor admonished, looking at me with that "take this seriously" look that I think doctors must perfect in residence. Fortunately, I do take this seriously. Or I thought I did. I just haven't felt any nerves or qualms about it yet because I am fully in favor of knowledge being powerful and an ounce of prevention and all that.

Now, surrounded by such common sights and sounds as I wait, distracting myself with Facebook and emails, I feel a swirl begin in my stomach. True, it may be that my jeans are now too tight because I gained back the ten pounds I lost over the summer (What? It's been a stressful semester. Again. Just in the last four weeks I've been insulted, threatened, and scolded. Seriously.). But no. The jeans aren't that tight.

Have I just been too distracted by my work, my wonderful relationship, my enjoyment of my garden and food and fishing, to really fully comprehend what this testing means?

If I test truly positive or "uncertain" for the breast and ovarian cancer gene, that means major surgery. Necessary, but major. And the last time I had surgery, it took me three days to recover from the anesthesia it made me so sick.

If I test truly positive, this means multiple mammograms and MRIs twice a year just to watch more closely until the inevitable shows up. People with family history of cancer have a 50/50 chance, according to my doctor and the research she presented to me.

For 43 years, I was blissfully unaware. Willing to go with the flow and just deal with whatever arose. And now, that has changed. Now, I will know. I want to know. And if the results aren't clear, then the decision becomes fuzzy and uncertain. Act? Or wait? Waiting could be a death sentence. Or not.

These are weighty thoughts and the swirl in my stomach hasn't stopped. No matter what the test results are, my life will change. Maybe that's why every skin cell now feels alert and prickly hot. My throat starts to throb with my heartbeat as it speeds up. My saliva tastes tinny. This feels momentous. Like I should take it more seriously than maybe I have.

"Amanda? The doctor can see you now."

Professor-shaming: A chilling new precedent

For those of you who haven't seen this, here is an open letter that a student wrote and posted to her Facebook account in order to publicly shame her professor. This letter is now making the rounds of Facebook through sharing. Please read it over and then continue.
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"Open letter to my professor.

Today marked one of the most upsetting academic experiences of my college career. I WAS enrolled in an anthropology and China course at Amherst College. The professor, who is not emotionally intelligent nor does she pick up on social cues well, "talked" about the One Child Policy.

Dear Professor: First of all, please do not talk to us like we are children. Second of all, please do not tell an entire class while laughing and cracking jokes that "people in China flush girls down the river and abandon them because no one wants a girl." Where do I even begin, Professor? Should I tell you that there are such things as "social pressures and government policies" that force women/families to make critical decisions that they don't necessarily want to make? Have you ever read your colleague's book "Wanting a Daughter, Needing a Son"? Did you consider not laughing and making fun of this sensitive topic? Did you also know that I was one of those "unwanted females who every parent aborted" whom you so kindly speak of? Yes, you did know. How did you know? Because I told you on the first day of class while we all introduced ourselves and you asked us (the students) why we were taking the course. Oh, maybe you didn't hear me because you weren't paying attention? Why weren't you paying attention? Ah, you must have been staring admiringly into the eyes of your favorite Amherst student. Why did you continue to ignore my raised hand for at least 2 minutes, which a long time in classroom time? Judging from your actions, you must've wanted to ignore/silence me because you proceeded to call on the next Amherst student who raised his hand while totally disregarding my blood-drained arm that was still fighting to stay raised the entire time. Lastly, Professor, if you are going to pull this kind of sh#@ in front of a Chinese adoptee, you should know who that Chinese adoptee is. And if you're going to mess with a MoHo (Mount Holyoke student), you should know that she isn't running back to her dorm room to cry about it, she's going somewhere else - it's called the Dean's office.

 Signed, An Unwanted Female

 P.S. I am not one to shame people in public, but sometimes, an unwanted girl's gotta do what an unwanted girl's gotta do, right?
*****************************

Some of you may be saying "bravo!" and "go, girl!"

Some of you may be saying, "holy shit was THAT inappropriate." 

Wherever your response is in that range, let's examine this public piece of writing for what it really is: public shaming of a professor for the sole purpose of retaliation, vengeance, and humiliation.

On every college campus in America there exist two grievance committees - one for students to submit grievances about faculty or staff and one for faculty and staff to submit grievances about each other and the system. There also exists on most, if not all, campuses a version of a Social Equity office that handles complaints about harassment, intimidation, and other discriminatory behavior. There are also department chairs and then deans, who often field such complaints before making any recommendations to the complainants about next steps. Finally, on most campuses, the procedure for making a grievance or complaint is private and held as a confidential process so as not to unduly embarrass any party, or create the potential for retaliation or change of status (ie, being kicked out of school, or being fired) particularly when all of the evidence has not been gathered or examined and all parties have not had their 'day in court' with the necessary committee or office.

In other words, there is a process in place to handle potentially problematic situations that were readily available to this student, whose feelings were hurt. Let's consider the facts that she offers us:

1. There is an Anthropology and China course at Amherst College
2. A professor teaches it
3. The student is angry about how she was treated
4. The student is a Chinese adoptee
5. An Amherst professor wrote a book on the subject titled Wanting a Daughter, Needing a Son

The rest of this student's very angry missive is pure opinion. Might this professor truly be out to offend this particular student? Yes, it's possible. Might the class have introduced themselves on the first day and the professor doesn't actually remember this one girl's background? Yes, it's possible.

Is it possible that this professor talked in a joking manner about something very serious, possibly crossing the line into "inappropriate"? Yes, it's possible. Is it also possible that the professor was laughing out of disbelief, rather than support of such a policy? Also possible. 

Is it possible that this student is a "constant contributor" to discussions and the professor was trying to call on other students? Yes. Is it also possible that the professor just didn't see this girl's hand in the sea of hands? Yes. Is it also possible that the professor has favorites and unfairly treats certain students better than others? Absolutely possible.

Are there misogynistic, bigoted, racist professors who bring those attitudes into their teachings and classroom environments? Of course. Do intolerant, needy, and spiteful young people get offended at the slightest whiff of something they disagree with or don't like? Absolutely possible. Are these two groups of people the majority on college campuses? Absolutely not. But this letter adds to the constant drumbeat of disgust and hatred that students and the general public feel toward professors already - this merely adds fuel to an already existing bonfire. Who benefits from this?

Clearly, the student who wrote this "open letter" got what she wanted. So many of the comments on her post  (and the shares of her post - at least that I've seen) are of the encouraging, congratulatory, and laudatory type that it makes my skin crawl.

No doubt, right now, on Amherst's campus, administrators are meeting to discuss what to do about this. They will likely call the professor, whose identity is easily discovered by a simple Google search, into a conference room to ask about this incident. Hopefully, the professor will be give a fair chance to respond. And if the prof is found wanting, then changes should be made - perhaps additional training in tolerance or pedagogy - but this person does not, I repeat, DOES NOT deserve to be fired on the strength of one wounded girl's opinion. 

Furthermore, this student will likely also be called to account for her rash and unnecessary public shaming of her professor. My hope is that she also receives some consequence - even a warning that this sort of retaliatory discourse is unacceptable and inappropriate for an Amherst student. 

The grievance processes and committees exist for exactly this sort of situation. In this case, that is where the student should have turned. She was wrong to turn to Facebook because this sets a dangerous and chilling precedent.

Is this the model that we want our students, our children, our peers to follow when they feel aggrieved? It is one thing to speak up, which should be applauded. It is quite another thing to speak up rashly and out of anger in the wrong forum. We should be setting a better example for young people and helping them to understand the difference between appropriate and inappropriate mediums for personal grievances, especially when someone's identity and job might be on the line.

Chili peppers: The ultimate icons of disrespect and devaluation

Today, one of Slate.com's bloggers, The XX Factor's Amanda Marcotte, published this piece about women being caught in "an infuriating bind" that we can't seem to win: Women: Please don't be stylish. Also, please don't be frumpy.

Having been out of the corporate world for awhile, I found myself thinking about a similar bind in academe: the chili pepper.

For those unaware of this little icon's nefarious undercutting of all things important and professional in the university system, the "chili pepper" is a "hotness" icon on ratemyprofessors.com. If you open the site and select a professor, any professor, you will be given five ratings items for this highly trained, educated, and skilled individual: Overall Quality, Helpfulness, Clarity, Easiness, and Hotness, this last as exemplified by the red chili pepper icon. Holding your cursor over this icon, the following text appears, "Is your professor hot? Hot professors get a red chili pepper."

Let's start by acknowledging that this icon can be assigned to women or men, but I maintain that it is infinitely more damaging to women professors because academe remains a male-dominated space in which we continually must prove ourselves equal and worthy.

By including "hotness" as a quality deemed important or appealing to students, this web site (and, presumably, anyone who assigns such chili peppers to professors) dismisses the individual professor's education, experience, skills, abilities, intelligence, and care for students. Instead, the chili pepper places undue emphasis on physical attributes and appearance in a location that SHOULD be focused on the education of the MIND, hopefully in service of preparing said minds for future career success after graduation. How does "hotness" affect this outcome? It doesn't, and its inclusion as a ratings option on ratemyprofessors suggests that the way your professor LOOKS is more important than HOW and WHAT she teaches. The chili pepper, with one click of the mouse, devalues a female professor's worth as a professor.

Some men might be bothered by receiving a chili pepper, but women who receive them are considered objects of desire not to be taken seriously, instead of credible vessels of knowledge and gatekeepers to the next academic level. This type of misplaced emphasis on physical appearance contributes to an already potentially harsh environment for women professors. According to Bernice Sandler, a Senior Scholar in Residence at the Women's Research and Education Institute,

"Some studies (but not all) show that students rate their female professors more harshly than their male professors. In one study, where women students gave their female professors somewhat higher ratings than the men, the women still viewed the male professors as more dynamic and as better teachers.25 How well women fit the stereotypes of “femininity” can also affect their evaluations by students. One study found that ratings of women faculty were strongly affected by whether they smiled and were sociable, but these factors were less important to the ratings of men.26 Another study noted that women who presented themselves in traditional feminine ways were rated less competent than women who did not."

She who receives the ultimate icon of disrespect has been devalued as a professor and deemed "less than" - less than easy, less than fun, less than serious...with an emphasis on "less than easy to look at." According to this scale, the "hot" professors are the ones students should want to take because physical appearance dominates the goals of a college classroom, right?

Imagine being the female professor who has received a chili pepper by a former student. Imagine the discomfort that causes, knowing that at least one of her former students looked at her as an object to be fantasized about instead of a professional who had valuable information to teach. Imagine going into the next semester knowing that her future students will see that chili pepper and what they will think of her as a result. Imagine having to get past that high wall of assumptions in order to get the semester's work done.

Women and work may still be a difficult concept for many Americans to grasp, and the chili pepper contributes to the next generation's misunderstanding of the role of women in professional environments.

Radical surrender: A new mantra

Everyone has their limits before they break.

You've probably had one of those weeks. Or months. Or years. Where one thing after another goes wrong and nothing you do to correct, push back, or fix seems to work. When no matter what you do, say, or think, someone dislikes you enough to try and get you fired. When all of your positive efforts fail and your dentist announces a major procedure is forthcoming. Where you go in for a routine checkup and discover that genetic testing is necessary to determine the presence of a cancer gene which may or may not lead to a life-changing surgery. When following the rules and making good decisions doesn't work and you end up in a debt hole that feels too deep to climb out. You know. One thing after another piles up and suddenly, you reach maximum capacity and feel overwhelmed and beaten down. Like the universe has turned on you.

That's where I was last week. I was a wreck. The littlest thing made me cry. I lost all motivation to do anything productive. I was tired, so tired. All I had the energy to do was sit on the couch and watch Justified.  Movie review due. Article needing revision. Syllabi to revise. Book to write. Data to enter. Insurance company to fight. Friends to catch up with. Lawn to mow. Things to do. No energy. I know I'm not alone in this. I know I'm not the only person who has experienced this sensation.

I was down and headed toward depression. A temporary state for me, thankfully. Not much brings me down and as my officemate noted at our lunch last week, I do tend to bounce back and recover rather quickly from these universe punches to the gut. I've been doing it all year.

I just reached my limit. Fortunately, unlike the many people I know who get stuck in this lackluster cauldron of despair to the point of truly needing medical help, I must have some kind of internal hard drive that only lets me sink so far before my mind starts to talk me off the ledge. Good friends help. Caring parents, likewise. Mom said to me today, "You have a strong back to carry all of this." And a wonderful man whose mere presence calms me in a way I never realized was possible.

On Friday, I was miserable and I'm sure when my honey saw me, he wondered where the woman he fell in love with disappeared to. That depressed, sad, worried, weepy, down woman was someone else. But it wasn't. It was me. And I really did feel that bad. And I also know that not everyone has the ability to pull themselves out of such a funk.

On Saturday, after a good night's sleep and plenty of discussion, caring snuggling, and sympathy (and an entire bottle of blood orange creme liquor shared while sitting on the bow of a boat as the wind blew across the marina and bay as the clock ticked toward 1 a.m.), I woke to fully feel this realization: Something will happen.

When I had lunch with my friend last week in the midst of my despair, I mentioned this idea of radical surrender, and she confirmed the concept by stating, "Something will happen."

This tickle of an idea set something off deep in my core, even as I felt myself sinking deeper. Something will happen resonated inside me like a temple bell. Something will happen. Something will happen. Like a mantra, I kept repeating this to myself until Saturday morning.

On Saturday morning, I awoke and FELT the idea. Something will happen. And I will deal with it when it does. Uncertainty can be dealt with better with less energy spent on worrying about potential outcomes. I cannot control the who, what, when, where, why, or how, but something will happen. And when it does, I will deal with it.

That proverbial weight crushing me just lifted and I suddenly felt calm. There's something liberating about being completely overwhelmed and realizing there isn't anything you can do to change things. Because something will happen. So just wait. And deal with that something when it happens.

I also need to acknowledge my sweetheart, whose mere physical presence calms me. Our relationship is marked by peacefulness despite our many surface disagreements. It's funny to me because people who hear us playfully disagreeing must think we don't agree on anything. But the issues we disagree on are actually insignificant in the grand scheme of life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. When I am with him, I am calmer. I motivate him to try new things like attending theatrical performances and kayaking and moving to a better marina, and he makes me smile, laugh, and feel calm. Our relationship has a peaceful centeredness that I treasure. It is this center that I returned to this Friday night and that retreat pushed me back into accepting radical surrender as a new mantra.

I am thankful for his presence in my life and am thankful to have a healthier mindset heading into one last shore trip this week before the semester starts anew.

Maybe you're in that headspace where everything feels out of control and you feel like you're drowning. Please, don't. You won't drown. You do have people in your life who know you, support you, and care about you. You are not alone. You can get through this. Try repeating this new mantra and maybe it'll bring you back to your center. Practice radical surrender. Something will happen and you will deal with it when it does.

Peace, friends.

A call to change gendered assumptions about grilling

Last week, I hosted a family and friends cookout. At the top of the menu was smoked turkey and ribs. I purchased the meats carefully, selecting plump, hefty portions, knowing that the long smoke would dry them out. I selected preservative-free apple juice and used a chocolate stout for basting because these add sweetness, savory depth, and color (but no chemicals). I loaded a bin with cherry wood the night before and filled the bin with water because soaking the wood thoroughly means that it will smoke more when added to the fire. When I got home from the store, I made a brine for the turkey - apple juice, water, brown sugar, salt, orange rinds, bay leaves, peppercorns, and immersed the bird before sealing the container and loading it into a cleared shelf in the refrigerator.

The day before the picnic, I woke up, made a cup of coffee, and loaded my little firestarter chimney with charcoal, pushed two balls of newspaper underneath, and lit it on fire. It takes about 10 minutes for the coals to get red hot, at which point, I moved the superheated chimney around the main grill top and scraped and scrubbed the grates, using the heat as my cleaning agent along with the scouring brush. Then I dumped the coals into the smoker and shut all of the lids to allow the inside of the grill to get nice and hot while I dry-rubbed the ribs with a spicy, sugary mixture, and rinsed the turkey.

Once the meats were prepped, I loaded them onto trays, carried them out to the deck, and laid them in specific places on the grill: the fat turkey breast went closest to the smoker opening, the turkey thigh went on the shelf above that, but a little further back from the heat, and the ribs were placed from thinnest to thickest from the coolest to the hottest part of the grill. Placement is essential unless you want dried out, sawdust meat.

My plan was to use the 3-2-1 method: three hours of open smoking, two hours covered and wrapped in foil while smoking, and then one hour open smoke. Basting after two hours and every half hour (or so) after that. Smoking, as I've learned, really is an art. This is a fire-born dance of heat and flavor that can produce some of the best-tasting meat you've ever had - or turn a juicy, just-right rib into the toughest, jerky-like piece of flesh you've place your teeth on. I'm still learning, but I persist because I love cooking and this is just another cooking frontier for me.

Two days before the picnic, my parents came into town and we went to dinner at one of my favorite local brewpubs. Mom said she already bought my man's birthday gift (this event is a month away). I said, "Really? And what did you get?" She smiled proudly and said, "We got two of those smoking kits from Rollier's!" I paused, frowned a touch, and said, "I'm the one who smokes. Not him."

Mom genuinely seemed surprised and said, "But I thought you got things going and then he stepped in and took over?"

Just this week, I was searching the Life is Good web site for their latest designs and came across the grilling section. Imagine my disappointment when I discover only a "King of the Grill" t-shirt and hat - but no "Queen of the Grill."  This reflects my Mom's assumption that only men can rule the grill, which is something I clearly disprove every time I set my smoker with fire.

This may seem a small thing. Insignificant in light of the bigger and more serious gendered assumptions in our world. But I maintain that this type of gendered assumption starts small and insignificant, embedding itself in our brains and activities to the point where "he takes over (and does the REAL work)" just rolls off the tongue in all sorts of daily situations. In other words, the persistent acceptance of this assumption pervades even the commonest and mildest forms of daily life - like grilling.

I have already written to the Life is Good company to request that they make a Queen of the Grill t-shirt for women like me who rule the grill. If you agree with me, please consider supporting my request by sending them one of your own. The Contact Us page is here: http://www.lifeisgood.com/on/demandware.store/Sites-LIG-Site/default/CustomerService-ContactUs.

Grill queens (and those who love our efforts) unite! :)

43 Reflections (Part Two)

As promised, here is the second half of my list of 43 reflections and observations. And as with the Part One, read what you will, agree or disagree, accept or reject what I say, share and compare your experiences and reflections, or simply pause a moment to reflect on your own knowledge and understandings, whatever your age. I promise that you know more than you think you do. (And, of course, these are in no particular order of importance. :):

24. It's okay to lose control. Sometimes we get wound so tightly that we can't enjoy ourselves. The brain doesn't shut off, the interior voices don't shut up, and we can't live in the moment and let go. I've had such problems with this, but I'm finally becoming comfortable enough with myself to truly let go when the situation allows for it. And it is a marvelous, wild, time-stopping feeling.

25. Generosity is as vital as understanding. With money (if you have it), with time, with talents and skills, with advice, with listening, with compassion. Being generous with the people in your life will reap more dividends on a longer term basis than any amount of wise financial investment in the stock market. Spend your emotional, physical, and financial capital on the people you love and watch what happens.

26. Don't flinch when challenged. Remember that kid's game - two for flinching? Well, as adults, it may not be two arm punches that come flying at us when we flinch, it may be a downgrade of our reputation, a decrease in trust, a questioning of our abilities. Even when you are wrong and must fix a situation, never flinch when challenged. Calmly assert your claim to authority and walk away with your character and confidence intact. And then fix the problem.

27. Silence can be a powerful ally or weapon, depending on how it is deployed. Sometimes stepping away or remaining silent is more powerful than words. Just try it some time and witness the effect that silence can have.

28. It's not always important to win. I can't tell you how hard-won this piece of knowledge is for me. Until my mid-30s, I really believed that winning was the most important thing - more important than friendships, relationship peace, anything really. And that is dead wrong. I was wrong. And it took me a lot of time and mental energy to re-work myself around to what I now know. Perhaps this knowledge can only come from first feeling the opposite and then suffering through the result and changing - like an alcoholic admitting she has a problem. However, if you can avoid learning this particular lesson the hard way, I recommend doing so.

29. Learning shouldn't stop. Certainly, the older we get, and the more we read, see, and experience, the more we know. But for some people, that learning stops - they hit a certain age and decide to stop learning new things or considering new ideas. This may just be a personal preference on my part, but I think shutting yourself off from learning is the beginning of the end of your mind's health and vitality.

30. Bad news and unexpected disruptions to "normal" life should be expected, but always take us by surprise. The longer you live, the more things you live through - much of it bad news and unexpected disruptions that you didn't create or cause. So you'd think we'd become accustomed to these infrequent disturbances to our "normal" lives. Nope. We easily fall back into the comfort zone and enter a type of selective amnesia and then wham! Another unexpected disruption and we're SO surprised! Perhaps expecting the unexpected is one of those concepts that can only be talked about and agreed upon, but not truly felt.

31. It's okay to grieve. The death of a relationship, a loved one, a pet. The end of anything that is important to us. We can't see the beginning peeking around the corner because we are too sad, too blinded by despair. But hope and new starts are there, calmly waiting. Well-meaning people will pressure you to buck up and snap out of it - don't listen. Grieve. Cry. Mourn. Be sad. Be angry. Take as long as you need to start healing and seeing the world with hope and wonder again. Don't feel bad about taking your time. Don't internalize societal pressure to get over it. Ignore that idea. Take as long as you need.

32. Working hard does not guarantee success. There's a myth that we Americans tend to subscribe to - that hard work in and of itself will pay off economically, socially, and/or professionally. And as much of an advocate as I am of working hard, I've seen and experienced enough to know what folly it is to believe in this idea. It is not just hard work. It is also your ability to network, meet people, and cultivate relationships with influential individuals who can help move your ideas along. It is also a large dose of luck to be in the right place at the right time, something we cannot control or predict. It is also your intuition and ability to interpret a moment and possibly make a sudden decision. And it is also your willingness to take advantage of opportunities as they come your way - not dismiss them out of hand for some surface and temporary reason (salary reduction is often a big one) - but see them as stepping stones for future success. Hard work is just part of the equation.

33. Success is not the enemy, greed is. Once you do achieve a modicum of professional and/or economic success, be proud of your accomplishments and enjoy the rewards of your labors. Success in this respect is a wonderful thing. Just don't become Gordon Gekko. Maybe this is just my inner Marxist coming out, but there does seem to be a difference between economic success that is earned, enjoyed, and shared versus greed - when enough isn't enough. Perhaps it is in the underlying motivation. We live in a consumerist society - no avoiding that - but you don't have to subscribe to the belief that you need everything and more more more. Achievement and success are good things and everyone should strive to reach as far up the ladder as their desires want them to go...but don't let pure greed be the motivating factor.

34.  When in doubt, take a deep breath before diving in. Whether in a job interview, a meeting, a coffee date with a friend, on stage, or when presented with a statement or question that you aren't sure how to answer, the best response is breathing. Just take a deep breath, say, "Hmm, good point/question. Let me think about that for a moment." And then silently (and quickly) compose a response before speaking. You will come across as confident, mature, and composed, instead of scatterbrained, disjointed, and nervous.

35. Courtesy is no longer common, but it should be. Now I sound like one of those old timers futzing about these damn kids...but I am in earnest. Simple gestures like opening and holding a door for someone, saying thank you when they do the same for you, offering to help with a task, pausing in traffic to let another driver in to the lane; these are becoming rare instances, which is a shame because it speaks to a downgrading of classiness in all of us.

36.One person's truth is another person's lie. There is no avoiding this fact. What I believe wholeheartedly to be true, I can name a dozen people who not only disagree with me, but who believe the exact opposite to be true (You may be one of those people, looking at this list, and trying to count the ways in which I am wrong). The better truth to embrace is simple acknowledgment that my truth and your truth are just different: equally powerful and compelling, but different. Once you learn to accept that as fact, debates of all kinds become easier, less contentious, and more palatable.

37. When someone compliments you, say thank you. When you dismiss a compliment, you are dismissing that person's entire perspective and saying, "What you say doesn't matter - I don't agree with your compliment, so will brush it off and replace it with my own negativity." That is so disrespectful. Don't do that. Just don't. Appreciate the sentiment and the spirit in which it is offered. When someone compliments your hair, your outfit, your article, your qualities, just smile and say, "Thank you!" 

38. Constructing a bucket list is a useful and functional exercise. Just remember to be flexible. What you desire to accomplish at 25 will likely change by the time you are 35 and 45 and 55, so start that list and begin doing the activities and accomplishing a few of the goals. And then revisit it in a few years to see what you've done (pat yourself on the back and be happy if you've managed a couple of items) and what goals have changed. Don't hesitate to replace anything that no longer makes sense for where you are in life.

39. Failure is inevitable. Failure is inevitable. Failure is inevitable. (Getting the hint? Keep repeating this until it sinks in.) Accept that failure is inevitable - in school, in professional life, in relationships, in families and friendships, in projects and small tasks, in purchasing things and trying new hobbies. Failure. Is. Inevitable. It is not that you can prevent failure, it is how you respond when you fail that marks the difference between "failures" and "survivors." Fail. Learn. Go again.

40. There will come a day when you finally get it. It wasn't in my 20s (even though I thought I knew everything then). It wasn't in my 30s after being married and divorced. It wasn't even when I turned 40, earned my Ph.D. and became a professor. I really just started to get it this year. I feel like I am finally starting to have a handle on how life and all of its myriad components, surprises, left jabs, and challenges work. I feel confident now that I really can survive anything. That no matter what ridiculous obstacles leap into view, that I will be okay and I will be able to figure it out. Life seems much less fragile now, or maybe I just feel more resilient. That feeling just happened. This year. So be patient and know that this type of wisdom really can take some serious time.

41. Never speak negatively about yourself. Whether with friends, co-workers, a potential new boss, a professor, or a landlord, never knock yourself down with words. Once spoken, the words hang in the air and create a sense of doubt about you. If you don't like yourself enough to sing your own praises and at least mildly proclaim them, why should anyone believe in you and give you a chance? Be your own best advocate and always speak well of yourself without crossing the line into arrogance.

42. When you need help, ask for it. Not asking for help is this weird affliction that I swear is either a Pennsylvania thing or maybe an American thing. I'm not sure, but there's something about asking for help that makes us feel weak. And no one likes to feel weak. I used to suffer from this affliction. No longer. I now know and am fully aware of how important it is (for my own sanity and to speed up the solution process) to ask for help. It is actually a sign of strength, not weakness. Because you know something else? When you ask for help (especially when you rarely ask), friends and family tend to leap to your aid - which makes sense. I know I tend to leap when a friend or family member asks for help, advice, assistance - I love helping others. How arrogant of me to assume other people don't have the same impulse? So, when you need help, ask for it. And say thank you when your peeps step up.

43. Work at having fun. Too many of us work way too hard, stress way too much, and focus on the negatives. I've been guilty of this just this year, what with State Farm jerking me around (my Hurricane Sandy claim remains unsettled) and all of the other obstacles and challenges that have arisen in this short 12 month period. But my man and friends and family always remind me of the good things and the fact that situations always improve - it is easy to lose sight of this when in the throes of chaos. But they are correct. And even in the midst of chaos, it is vitally important to have fun. I work to live, I don't live to work. When I was nine, my dad asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. I said, "Have fun." He laughed and said, "You can't make a living having fun!" I responded, "I will!" Now, all of my careers and jobs have certainly been work, but have always included elements of fun. But when I say have fun, I don't restrict that to work because let's face it, work can really drag us down sometimes. Which is why it so important to work at having fun. Whatever it is that brings you joy and satisfaction should be close to the top of your weekly list. Every week. And new fun adventures that you're itching to try? Go for it. Having fun is one of those activities that makes life worth living, so why slack off? :)