#URBAN DICTIONARY: #Black Don’t Crack: The skin of African Americans does not wrinkle and show age as much as individuals from other ethnic backgrounds.
Why did I choose the name “My Black is Not Cracking?” Well, for years I had heard that phrase. Well into my 30’s I would get carded and there would be a surprising response upon inspection of my driver’s license. If the guy carding me happened to be African American, I would often hear that phrase. “Black don’t crack.” I used to think it was funny. And it felt like a compliment. I mean who doesn’t want to be mistaken for someone younger?
And that is the issue that bugs me the most now. Why are we all so obsessed with being mistaken for someone younger? With Anti-Aging? Why is it not okay to be the age that you are? Why do we live in such a youth obsessed culture? I totally understand that looking good makes us feel good, but what I want to get to is “feeling good, making us look good!”
I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but black most certainly does crack. It might crack slowly, but it cracks! I’m watching it crack…daily. And I feel bad about it, but should I? Yes, it is true the skin of African Americans doesn’t wrinkle as fast as it does for those of other ethnic backgrounds. But, as good as we may look on the outside, we disproportionately suffer from hypertension, diabetes and obesity.
Now not to get too deep into the science of why black skin doesn’t crack as fast, in a nutshell it’s because of the type of melanin found in our skin. We are walking around with natural sunscreen on. And the darker our skin, the more UV protection we get. Further, we have a type of collagen in our skin that also helps prevent sun damage.
I found this in an article in the paper some months back, that Skin specialist and aesthetician Bianca Estelle, also states that we typically have a higher oil content, so we have a natural skin hydration system that makes black skin look hydrated and smoother. In the same article, Dr. Almaani stated that although our skin does well with sun, it is still prone to discoloration, pigmentation issues from sun exposure and hormonal effects.
Another doctor, Boris Paskhover, again, same article, who is a facial plastic surgeon stated that black faces also maintain structural support longer. We are born with denser bones in our face that don’t break down as quickly as other ethnicities.
So, those are the reasons that our faces take longer to crack. In addition, we are less prone to osteoporosis. But what I really want to address is not just how we look, but how we feel. (Inside and out) Why was I so devastated when I looked in the mirror one day and pretty much every day since? (with my glasses on!) When did my face shape turn into a square?
Why are we obsessed with anti-aging, instead of aging well, with style, grace and dignity? Why is the anti-aging industry revenue projected to be some $400 BILLION, by 2027? Why do many seem to be more concerned with their face, than their bodies, minds and spirit?
That is what this is about. The title was just to get your attention. Intrigued? Offended? Curious? Whatever. You got here. I hope you will stick around because this is for all women AND those that love them.
There is a squirrel outside my window who lives a more decisive life than most humans I know.
Not a better life. Not a more comfortable one. But definitely a more committed one.
I mean being a squirrel is basically a full-time job of split-second, life-or-death decision making. Every. Single. Day. All Day!
Cross the street? Risky.
Stay put? Also, risky.
Climb the tree? Depends. Who the hell else is in the tree?
Grab the acorn? Sure, but now you’re exposed, vulnerable, and possibly someone’s lunch. Cats? Dogs? Birds?
(Yes, I watched a huge bird snatch a squirrel off a roof once while on a walk. I was horrified, sorta.)
But, back to the squirrel’s decision-making process. There is no committee meeting. No pros and cons list. No “let me circle back after I’ve processed this emotionally.”
Just move or don’t move.
We’ve all seen it. Pretty much every day, unless you live in NYC or LA. Although those NYC squirrels are special. For years, we had an apartment in NYC and one of our neighbors was this black squirrel. That squirrel was crazy. I swear if your eyes met the squirrel’s he would charge at you. He once chased us all the way to our apartment door. We were laughing and running that final block. (Yes, from a squirrel!) The best part was when we ran into the glass door, and the squirrel appeared to throw himself into the door in a threatening manner! Yeah, that NYC squirrel was different. The rats, on the other hand, don’t seem to care! But I digress…..
We’ve seen it. That squirrel.
The one that runs halfway into the street, locks eyes with an oncoming car, and suddenly forgets how decisions work.
Left?
Right?
Wait? Left again?
No. Think I’ll just freeze. Yeah, I’ma definitely freeze. Right here!
Because nothing says survival like standing completely still in the middle of danger, hoping the situation resolves itself.
Spoiler alert! It rarely does.
Now, before we get too judgmental about our furry little friends… (Well, they’re not exactly friends of mine. Destructive little creatures. They not only ate through my siding, they’re chewing the bench by my door, and the support beam for my porch. They are definitely not furry friends of mine!)
But how many of us are doing the exact same thing?
Not with cars.
But with our life.
We step into something; a new idea, a relationship, a career shift, a boundary, a dream we’ve been quietly carrying….
…and then we freeze. (Trust me, this is me right now! Sitting on a completed book, several scripts, and a potentially successful business plan! Frozen AF!)
Not because we don’t know what to do.
But because we are terrified of choosing wrong.
We don’t apply.
We don’t leave.
We don’t start.
We don’t stop.
We hover. We don’t move. We are just stuck. In the middle of the road.
Here’s the thing squirrels understand that we seem to have collectively forgotten.
Indecision is also a decision.
And it is often the most dangerous one.
Because while you’re standing there, paralyzed by the fear of making the “wrong” choice…
Life is still moving. Cars are still coming. But worse than that is that, Opportunities pass. Time passes. Your energy drains into overthinking, instead of action. And suddenly, the risk you were trying to avoid finds you anyway. Squirrels don’t have the luxury of perfection. They don’t get to sit around wondering if the tree on the left is emotionally aligned with their long-term vision.
They move. They adjust. They pivot mid-sprint if they must. And yes, like us humans, sometimes they guess wrong. But more often than not, what saves them isn’t making the perfect decision…
It’s making a damn decision!
Somewhere along the way, we were taught that every choice needs to be final, flawless, and fully guaranteed. That if we pick the wrong path, everything falls apart. So, we wait. We wait for certainty. We wait for clarity. We wait for a sign written in the sky with excellent lighting and a clear call to action.
Meanwhile, life is like,
“Ma’am… the car is coming. MOVE!”
So, here’s a thought. What if the goal isn’t to avoid wrong decision, but to get comfortable with making them? What if changing your mind isn’t failure?
What if choosing anything, with awareness and willingness to adjust is far more powerful than standing still out of fear?
The squirrel doesn’t need a five-year plan. It needs courage for the next five seconds. And honestly? So do we.
Okay, maybe twenty seconds! One of my favorite lines in one of my favorite movies, which I also had the privilege of working on and earned my first screen credit, was We Bought A Zoo. Matt Damon’s character, Benjamin Mee, tells his son, “You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it”.
A fully lived life isn’t built on perfect choices.
It’s built on movement. It’s built on risk. It’s built on deciding, recalibrating, and deciding again. And maybe twenty seconds of insane courage!
So, the next time you find yourself frozen, halfway into something that matters, hear the tiny, chaotic wisdom of the neighborhood squirrel and…
Pick a direction.
Go.
And if it turns out to be the wrong one…
adjust mid-run.
Because the only truly dangerous place to be…
is stuck in the middle of the road.
Where are my 70’s people? There was a song by BT Express in the early 70’s called “Do it.” (You know that period where all the best music was created!) Anyway, the first few lyrics were, “Ooh go on and do it. Do it. Do it til you’re satisfied. Whatever it is, do it! Do it til you’re satisfied.” Later in the song it went, “Everybody knows what they like to do. Whatever it is, do it, ‘long as it pleases you. Just take some time and relax your mind, then DO IT, DO IT, DO IT til you’re satisfied.” Life advice from BT Express.
Lately I’ve been feeling that quiet, but persistent itch of dissatisfaction. Not, exactly the dramatic, throw-a-chair-out-the-window kind. More like the kind that sits next to you every day whispering, “This can’t possibly be it.”
You know the feeling.
You wake up, do the things, check the boxes, repeat the routine, and somewhere deep inside there’s a voice clearing its throat like an impatient dinner guest. “Ahem!” At first you ignore it. Which is pretty easy when the volume of every day life is there to distract you. There are plenty of distractions. But the voice doesn’t go away. If anything, it gets louder. It rises above all the BS noise.
Mine has started officially started shouting. Typically, first thing in the AM, when it’s time to punch the clock, halfway through the day, and a few times while watching TV or when it’s time for quiet. Oh, it is loud as hell around 11pm.
Apparently, my soul has decided it’s time for a major overhaul.
And naturally, it picked something I find mildly terrifying.
A podcast.
Now let me explain something. I would rather walk calmly and voluntarily in front of a firing squad than step onto a stage to speak publicly. (I often wonder if the sound of my voice annoys anyone more than it annoys me!) When I produced my play, at the end of the performance someone decided it would be a great idea to drag me onto the stage. It was definitely not my idea. It also made no sense to me. I’ve been to plays. The writer or producer wasn’t dragged onto the stage. At least, I don’t recall seeing that.
The audience had erupted in applause. At that point, I should have been thrilled. Instead I was terrified! I stood there smiling like a malfunctioning robot thinking, please let the stage floor open up and swallow me whole. I was profoundly uncomfortable.
Yet here I am, starting a podcast. Which is essentially talking into a microphone and releasing my voice into the world like an audio boomerang that may or may not come back and smack me in the head. (And you can ask my sister. Last thing I need is another head injury! She always threatens to get me a helmet!)
Now technically it’s not a stage. But my brain doesn’t know the difference.
Let me also point out that I can talk to strangers all day long. One-on-one? No problem. Two people? Fine. (Well, except when I used to hang out in NYC solo and couples would try to take me home. No judgement if you’re into that. I was NOT.) Three people? Now we’re entering suspicious territory.
But the real panic sets in when my brain jumps ahead.
What if the podcast is successful?
What if people actually listen?
What if someone wants to interview me?
Let me tell you a story. Years ago, when my play was being promoted, I had to do a radio interview at noon. OVER THE PHONE. Yes, the phone. Not even in person.
Just… talking.
Into a phone.
Apparently, the idea of this was enough to send me into a mild existential crisis. At 10:00 that morning I found myself sitting in a bar with a glass of wine, trying to calm my nerves. It was a Sunday and I had eggs, so I think that’s acceptable in society, but…
Ten o’clock.
In the morning.
For a phone interview.
At noon.
This is the level of courage we’re working with here.
And yet… here we are.
Because the strange thing about dissatisfaction is that it isn’t always a sign that something is wrong. Sometimes it’s a sign that your soul is trying to upgrade your life.
It’s like your internal operating system popping up a message that says:
“New version of you available. Install now?”
Most of us hit Remind Me Later for about twenty years. I know I did.
But eventually the reminders stop being polite. My soul is no longer whispering.
It’s shouting!
Tell the story.
Write the damn book. (Actually, publish. Because it’s been written for a year!)
Start the podcast.
Say the thing. Say all the damn things.
I recently realized something important. I started out, over a quarter a century ago, (damn, that makes me sound old as hell!) wanting to help people with food and nutrition. Teaching people how to eat better, live better, and feel better.
And I still love doing that. (At least attempting to since folks can be resistant!) But then something unexpected happened.
I fell in love with writing.
And storytelling.
Which is fine, since it turns out stories are also nourishment. They feed the mind. They comfort the heart. They remind people they’re not crazy for wanting something more. You may not even know what it is, but you for damn sure know what it ain’t!….More of the same.
And apparently someone else saw that coming long before I did. Ms. Lepel. My high school English teacher. She knew. She saw something in this teenager that I hadn’t figured out yet. I guess teachers are funny that way. They’re like psychic talent scouts.
So here I am. Standing at the edge of something new. Terrified. Excited. Suspicious of my own life choices. But also clear about one thing.
I cannot keep doing the same thing every day while slowly marching toward the end like I’m in some parade of mediocrity.
Nah. That’s not how this is going to go down. That is absolutely NOT how I’m going down.
If my soul is screaming, the least I can do is listen.
So, here’s what I’m learning about dissatisfaction which I googled because I kept spelling it wrong and the robots put together this summary:
Dissatisfaction is a state of discontent, displeasure, or unhappiness stemming from unmet expectations, poor experiences, or lack of fulfillment.
It isn’t always unhappiness. Sometimes it’s guidance. Sometimes it’s the early warning system that your life is ready for expansion. Sometimes it’s the moment before reinvention.
And sometimes it’s the uncomfortable realization that the thing you’re meant to do will scare the living s#*t out of you!
Truth is, your calling does not require your confidence. It only requires your willingness.
You can be scared and still start.
You can doubt yourself and still move forward.
You can drink a glass of wine at 10am before a radio interview… and still show up.
Fear may ride shotgun. But it doesn’t get to drive.
So, if you’re feeling that quiet dissatisfaction creeping into your life, pay attention.
Your soul might just be clearing its throat.
And if it starts to call you, screaming……
Well…
Ya’ll might want to answer.
I’m in full closet clean-out mode.
You know the ritual.
The seasonal migration.
Winter clothes go into exile, stuffed into plastic bins like they did something wrong, and spring/summer gets resurrected.
I got rid of four Amazon bins of clothes in 2024.
FOUR!
That felt like growth. Healing. Personal evolution. I let go of a lot of my favorite size 2 items. That was a little easier, because I have absolutely no desire to be that tiny again!
Apparently… it was just a warm-up act.
Because as I sat there, opening these clear plastic bins, staring at the contents like artifacts from a past life, I realized:
This is not a closet. This is a museum. And every piece has a story.
There’s that dress! Oooh. That was a fun night. I remember fun. I think. It has been a while.
There is the one I wore when life felt lighter. When everyone I loved was still here. There’s the outfit I wore to my granddaughter’s graduation. And just like that, I’m not sorting clothes anymore, I’m standing in a moment I would give anything to step back into.
There’s a top my younger, bolder self, wore. Back when my confidence didn’t require a pep talk and a backup plan. I literally change clothes three or four times each day and not just because of the dress code of the new job (which I haven’t had in thirty years!) but because I’m typically unhappy with the way I look.
And then… there are the body memories.
Oh yeah! My favorite kind of disrespect. Because it’s not just the clothes. It’s the body that used to fill them.
The knees that didn’t look like they were wearing meat curtains.
The calves that had ambition.
The arms filled with muscle.
The armpits… listen… nobody prepared me for the plot twist that is the aging of armpits. I feel like they too should be wearing panties! I’m just going to leave that right there.
And somehow, every piece of clothing is holding onto that version of me like:
“She might come back.” And I’m standing knowing the truth…. “She ain’t coming back.”
But here’s the truth no one tells you about decluttering. You’re not just getting rid of clothes. You’re letting go of versions of yourself.
And that is hard.
Because even the versions that are gone… mattered. The body that changed… carried you here. The moments that are over… shaped who you are now.
So yeah, I stood there longer than necessary. Debating about things I haven’t worn in years.
Releasing the past, even when it’s stitched into outdated fabric, is not easy.
But here’s what I’m learning in this whole “Shedding 2.0” season. It’s a SEASON OF RENEWAL. (I stole that from Greg Osby’s 1989 recording title.)
Some things aren’t meant to fit you anymore.
Not the clothes.
Not the life.
Not the version of yourself that lived inside them.
And maybe the goal isn’t to squeeze back into who you were, but to make space for who you’re becoming.
Even if she needs new clothes.
One Life to Live – And it’s not a daytime drama! (or maybe it is!)
“Every ending is a beginning to something.” We don’t often know exactly what it is.
Ah Yes. So beautiful. So, poetic. Deep.
Also… hella unhelpful when your life feels like it is falling apart.
It is true. In this life, there will be a lot of beginnings and endings. I know. Sometimes an ending doesn’t feel like a beginning. It feels like someone turned off the lights, took the furniture, and left you sitting on the floor wondering how you got here… and how you’re going to get the hell up with those bad knees and non-existent upper body strength.
Get up.
YOU ARE NOT A CAT. And you do NOT have nine lives. (Quiet as it’s kept, they don’t either! They just have a reputation of having crazy survival skills and almost magical ability to land on their feet. hmmmmm I might have been a cat in another life!)
You’ve got one.
And this one life is not a soap opera where you can disappear for five years, come back with a new face, a new husband, and a suspicious accent. There is no dramatic organ music. No commercial break. No “previously, on your life…” (other than the re-runs on constant loop in your mind!)
This is it. Real time. The only time.
I was talking about this with my friend on my now-daily commute. When we hung up, she sent me a Facebook video of a 101-year-old woman who said she was “winding down and at the end of the road.” She said she was in a hospital bed with one window and one patch of sky. She was offering up some good advice as our elders who have lived, often do. She said, unlike most living folk, she could see the entire road behind her, complete with every wrong turn. I am sure if you live to be 101, you made plenty of wrong turns, but clearly if you lived to be 101, you did something right!
She spoke about her ending. One of the things that really hit me was when she shared her thoughts on time. (Hopefully, I won’t get myself in trouble quoting her like this, but I wanted to share.)
“Right now, you believe somewhere deep and unspoken that you have time. It is in everything you do. The trip you will take some day. The apology you will give when the moment feels right. The real life you will start once the next thing falls into place. The person you will become when you finally lose the weight, get the promotion, pay off the debt, fix the relationship. You believe time is yours. A resource you can spend later when it is more convenient. It is not. Time was never yours. It was only lent to you, and the loan is shorter than anyone tells you. When you are young nobody sits a 25-year-old down and says you have roughly 4000 weeks. Not one of them is guaranteed. Use them now. They let you believe the road stretches out forever. It does not. I know this because I am at the end of it and it arrived faster than any dream I ever had. One moment I was young and certain. I had plans. I had time. I had my whole life ahead of me, then I blinked and now I am here in this bed with machines beeping around me and a window that shows me the same patch of sky every single day. The road ends for everyone. The only question is what you did while you were walking it.”
One of the hardest things might turn out to be grieving the life you didn’t live. There is no funeral. No closure. Just a quiet, lingering awareness that time has passed… and it’s not coming back.
The roads you didn’t take. The chances you didn’t grab. The version of you that existed only in your imagination, living her best life somewhere in an alternate universe where everything went according to plan.
There’s a particular sting to realizing that some doors didn’t just close… they locked, bolted, and the building has been demolished.
Find a window or perhaps you’re just outside of the wrong door.
So yes, “every ending is a beginning.” Probably less “fresh start” and more “well… now what?” (hmmmm. Where have I heard those words recently? Oh yeah….
Sometimes that beginning looks like confusion. Or starting over when you’re tired.
Or reinventing yourself when you were finally getting comfortable.
COMFORT?
Maybe curiosity didn’t kill the cat. Comfort did!
You hear comfort spoken about as a goal. But is it? “I just want to be comfortable.” You want to make someone dying comfortable. But do we really just want to be, “comfortable, when we’re trying to live fully?” I should be comfortable. I live in a nice home. I’m pretty healthy and capable. I have about 18 jobs and manage to make ends meet. By all accounts, many would think I should be comfortable. (As comfortable as anyone with 18 jobs could be. I’m kidding about the 18 jobs, but have more than one, at the moment and most days it feels like 18.)
I’m grateful, but I’m far from comfortable because I know there are things I am here to do. Because I still have goals, dreams and I believe, talents to share. Instead, I find myself in my favorite, comfortable club chair most nights trying desperately to distract myself from grieving the time I’ve wasted! (If it seems counterproductive, it most certainly is!)
The following words from Beatrice, felt as if she was speaking directly to me:
“Now let me tell you about the thing that quietly steals a life without announcing itself. Not failure. Failure is loud and honest. Failure teaches you things comfort never will. The real thief is comfort. Comfort walks through your front door, sits in your favorite chair, and whispers, “Stay! It is warm here. You have enough. Why risk anything? And you believe it, because you do have enough. But enough is not what you came here for. I watch brilliant capable people, full of something real, slowly let that something go quiet. Not because life defeated them, but because comfort convinced them the fight was no longer necessary. They stopped trying then they started waiting and nothing came because nothing comes to people who are waiting inside comfort. Discomfort is not punishment. It is proof you are still moving. The easy path leads somewhere, just not anywhere worth going.”
I see the road ahead. I just need to get to stepping. I’ve done the research. Organized. Planned. Visualized. Written. Time to stop talking and start doing. But instead, I never feel like “it is ready to present.”
Beatrice continued, yet again, speaking to me directly:
“Stop waiting to feel ready. Ready is a story fear tells to keep you exactly where you are. Nobody who ever did something meaningful felt ready. First, they moved, and the readiness came after. I spent my whole life waiting to feel ready. Ready to travel. Ready to write the book I always wanted to write. Ready to have the hard conversations. Ready to live the life I actually wanted, instead of the one I thought I was supposed to want. I never felt ready, so I never did most of it, and now I am out of time. You are not.”
The truth is, we don’t get multiple lives. We get one.
But we do get multiple versions of ourselves within this one life. Versions often shaped not only by what we’ve lost, but what we’ve gained. Versions that had to let go of one story to step into another.
So, if you find yourself mourning the life you didn’t live, the time you can’t get back, the person you used to be… you’re not alone. You’re standing in the space between an ending and a beginning.
And from here, whether you like it or not, another chapter of your story begins.
LEAP AND THE NET SHALL APPEAR.
This is some special kind of exhaustion that is coming from trying to stay positive when life is doing the absolute most. I mean, let’s be honest, sometimes life lately isn’t just hard. It often feels impossible to stay positive when everything around you feels like it’s falling apart. Not just in my world, but the entire world! Meanwhile in my world….
In a span of two days, the car was hit while parked causing $5k in damage. I was already dropped for putting in a claim with my former carrier because an uninsured motorist Doordash driver tried to kill me by broadsiding and totaling the last car. (for which the insurance company gave half of the replacement value!) Please keep in mind NJ has the highest car insurance and that my coverage included UNINSURED MOTORISTS. Also, keep in mind that I have a perfect driving record. Forty-seven years of driving and NOT ONE moving violation. Also keep in mind, I had six other policies with this carrier. They dropped one after I was burglarized! So, sure penalize the victim who has been paying you premiums for years! Don’t get me started on the criminal enterprise that is insurance or why I brought a car from Los Angeles to the suburbs of NJ, and the insurance went up $1000 a year. Riddle me that s#*t! Anyway, the day before it was confirmed that a sewer pipe collapsed at my property. $12k!
It has been a rough going of late. Not a gentle “learning experience.” And it ain’t some cute little “growth season.” This is a full-blown, no-warning, shit storm of bad news, disappointment, and uncertainty.
And right on cue, someone floats in with, “Just stay positive!”
Oh. Of course. Silly f*#@king me! Why didn’t my ass think of that? Let me just flip the positivity switch. It’s right next to the toaster oven. Apparently, positivity is as simple as deciding to be a Disney character while your life is on fire.
The truth is, staying positive in dark times isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It’s about choosing, moment by moment, not to let the darkness swallow you whole. It’s looking for light when it’s barely visible. Just a damn sliver. How about a tiny flicker? A glimmer?
It’s the small things:
A quiet cup of coffee.
A text from someone who thought of you.
A deep breath that reminds you that you’re still here. (Even if there are moments when you question why!)
Real talk. Sometimes positivity isn’t joy. Sometimes it’s survival.
It’s more like, “Okay… everything is terrible… but let me not completely lose my mind before noon.” It’s negotiating with yourself like, “If we can just get through today without screaming into a pillow, that’s a win.” But, by all means, please feel free to scream into that pillow if you need to! Blow off that steam.
Then try finding microscopic pieces of light, like your coffee didn’t spill. Your knees still work (mostly). You remembered why you walked into the room… eventually.
Sometimes positivity is just lowering the bar to “I didn’t make things worse.” I try not to say, “it could be worse,” because magically it seems to go there!
Real positivity isn’t pretending everything is fine. It’s side-eyeing the chaos and saying, “Alright… you’re not taking me all the way down with you. NOT TODAY.”
Because the light doesn’t always show up as a grand breakthrough. Sometimes it shows up as resilience. Sometimes just getting out of bed represents a victory. Choosing not to quit.
And maybe that’s enough.
Maybe in seasons like this, positivity is less about shining and more about not going dark. It’s feeling overwhelmed, irritated, exhausted, and still choosing not to unpack and live that state permanently. And if all you manage to do today is hold on, that counts. Pat yourself on the back! (Just don’t pull a muscle doing it!)
I’m going to focus on my yard full of beautiful tulips that I thought surely the squirrels had relocated to someone else’s yard! (based on all the holes I found shortly after planting them in the fall! Cute creature my A*#!
If today all you can do is hold it together with caffeine, sarcasm, and a thin thread of hope…
Congratulations.
You didn’t listen to the short lady in Poltergeist, you’ve gone into the light Carol Ann.
And tomorrow, try to do it again!
Somewhere inside all of us lives our wounded inner child. She’s (or HE’s!) small. (Well not anymore, especially in that midsection.) Emotional. Possibly wearing pajamas at noon. Whispering, “You know what would fix this? Some toll house cookies! Or brownies!”
Not one brownie. A whole ass pan of brownies! Warm. Fresh out of the oven. Walnuts. They’re good for you. I mean, this is all for healing purposes, of course.
But here’s the thing, that inner child doesn’t actually want brownies. Or cookies. Or Cheez-its. She (or HE!) wants comfort. Safety. Validation. And maybe needs a hug or a nap. The problem is, if we let our inner child run the show, we’d all be living on sugar, avoidance, and impulsive decisions. (Mostly bad ones.)
Your past may explain your cravings, but it doesn’t get to control your calendar, your choices, or your waistline. Unlike most, my wounded inner child ain’t hungry. My adult wounds are a whole other story and typically it involves potatoes and frying.
Healing starts with recognizing there is a problem that needs to be addressed and the realization that we are not only hurting ourselves, we’re also likely hurting others. Say, maybe you’re taking your anger out on the last person that your anger should be directed at……It is said, anger most hurts the person carrying it around and that may be true, but there are usually other victims. Don’t mess around and have your angry inner child get your ass whupped!
So maybe stop packing those issues into the already cluttered closet in your mind and dealing with them.
Go ahead and pat your inner child on the head and whisper, “I see you. I hear you. But no, we are not self-soothing with (insert your go-to here) today. AND, we are not subjecting others to our tantrums.”
Your past had limited tools. Your present has options. (Like therapy, which can be done online and it’s pretty inexpensive.) My friend Barb and past guest contributor is a therapist and if I’m not mistaken, works with folks on the site Betterhelp.com. Your future deserves someone at the wheel who knows the difference between hunger and hurt.
One thing I loved about living in LA was that EVERYONE had a therapist and there was absolutely no shame in their game. I was referred to this older woman with spooky eyes that I swear could see through my soul. I saw her a few times. Let’s just say it didn’t take her long to get to the root of my perfectionist and controlling behavior and my inability to allow myself to be taken care of. I know I have written about this in another post, (it’s an excerpt from a book I’ve been working on for a few years about loss.) but my mother was dying for most of my life. I always did what she told me to do. (Ok almost always.) I think I believed if I was perfect, she would get better. If I was perfect, she wouldn’t die. I was wrong. She died, but sadly my battle with perfection lived on. The inner child that survived became a rescuer. And some times she rescues others at the cost of her own safety and security. Sometimes she rescues undeserving individuals. It’s like the standard airline safety phrase, “Put on your own oxygen mask first before assisting others.” This instruction ensures you remain conscious to help those around you. You cannot help anyone else if your ass is passed out!
“The desire to be perfect and expect others to be perfect is just disappointment waiting to happen at every turn. What I learned and continue to learn is to expect others to be human. Be the best human I can be. Perfect girls don’t get peace.” (quoting myself!)
Parenting is not easy. That is why I’m a firm believer that not everyone should be a parent. There is no manual. No road map. Most of us screw it up at one point or another. Some far worse than others. My biggest regret as a parent was missing out time with my daughter when she probably needed me the most. And no, I wasn’t out partying. I had multiple jobs and often worked seven days a week or at night on weekends. It haunts me to this day, and she is good and grown. Sure, it is a life lesson for me, but it is one that not only affected my life, but it affected hers as well. No amount of weight training can prepare you for the weight of guilt! Many of us didn’t get what we needed or maybe got a little too much and too much of anything can present problems.
And not all our wounded inner children crave baked goods. For some, the self-soothing options are even more unhealthy and downright dangerous.
The bottom line is don’t let yesterday sabotage today or tomorrow with a brownie tray and a guilt spiral.
Your past can visit, but it does not get a key. Don’t let it hang around too long, or you’ll end up with a squatter.
So yes, love your inner child.
Reparent her. (or him) Your mom likely did the best she could with the tools and experiences she had available to her.
Protect her. (or him)
Just don’t let them grocery shop unsupervised.
Anyone ever see or remember the movie “Dazed and confused?”
It was this coming-of-age film, “capturing the aimless, hazy last day of school in 1976 for a group of Texas teens focusing on the transition from childhood to adulthood, exploring themes of freedom, boredom, friendship, and identity through interconnected vignettes of cruising, partying, and rebellion.” Dazed and Confused is a “slice of American youth cinema” that captures the universal, messy, and memorable moments of growing up. “A whole lot of hanging out, boredom, big talk, small plans, and the general feeling of being free… and completely directionless at the same time.” That’s what AI said in google, anyway.
My blog, along with health and overall wellness information, (I HOPE!) explores “the universal, messy, and memorable moments of growing older!
Okay, before I go any further, this is the part where I’m gonna brag a lil’ bit.
One of my first few jobs in LA was with a company called Neo Art & Logic. It was a great experience, and I worked with some really cool people. Casting director Don Phillips was one of them. He had an office there. We met when I noticed him getting out of a car with Jersey plates. (My home state.) Turns out he grew up very close to where I did. Small world, right?
Don was responsible for casting the film Dazed and Confused, Animal House, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Dog Day Afternoon and many more. As I recall, he was doing some casting work for Neo. He also happened to be the man who helped launch the careers of Matthew McConaughey, Sean Penn, Mary Steenburgen and a host of other actors.
So yeah, I’ve been greatness adjacent. (That’s how they sell you on neighborhoods in LA!) And speaking of greatness adjacent, I had my interview for the job at Neo at Panevino; a great Italian restaurant which became my Friday night hang for years. I spent many a Friday night at the bar wedged between legends Billy Dee Williams and Clarence Williams III; both sharing their backstories with me, from rooftop living and working at West Union sending telegraphs, to working in brothels, and attending gangster funerals in NYC where Grandma played piano. It has been fourteen years, and I still miss that spot on Friday nights. Those were fun times. Those were inspiring times. I worked with creatives and hung out with creatives.
Anyway. Back to the movie premise and the general feeling of being (partially free…ya’ll remember I’m punching that clock again, so not totally free!)… and completely directionless at the same time.
Believe it or not, that’s what being over 60 and semi-retired can feel like. You’re done with one major chapter of life, but the next one hasn’t handed you a syllabus yet. You have dreams, interests, ideas, but no bell ringing to tell you where to go next.
So, you start to feel a little stuck.
Not because you’re lazy.
Not because you lack talent or experience.
But because there are too many doors and no clear sign that says Start Here.
You wake up thinking,” I still have so much I want to do.”
You sit down to rest. (Which you have EARNED after many years of working followed by 6-8 hours today!) and five minutes later your brain taps you on the shoulder and says, shouldn’t you be doing something productive right now? Then it’s Sunday, and the voice says, shouldn’t you be doing something productive instead of enjoying a quiet afternoon or an unstructured day?”
Guilt shows up like an uninvited hall monitor.
Being over 60 and semi-retired is a very specific kind of confusion. I’m going to go with AGED AND CONFUSED? (No. Not the serious kind of confused that can accompany aging!)
You’re not tired-tired… but you’re not “let’s grind for 12 hours” either.
You have dreams, goals, interests and absolutely no idea which one you’re supposed to start first, next, or ever.
Motivation shows up like a flaky friend. Some days it’s loud, confident, and making lists.
Other days it ghosts you completely and leaves you on the couch at the end of the day wondering what the hell happened.
Rest is supposed to feel good. Instead, it feels like you’re skipping school. (And I wasn’t one of those kids. I was one of the kids who liked school. Maybe not every class, but learning.)
Meanwhile, fear is working quietly in the background.
Not screaming, but whispering helpful bullshit like:
What if you pick the wrong thing? (I probably have too many things.)
What if you start and lose interest?
What if you succeed and now you have to keep going?
What if? What if? What if? So, you do nothing. Which somehow feels even more exhausting.
Here’s what I’m learning (slowly… very slowly):
You don’t need a master plan.
You don’t need a vision board or five-year strategy, or a TED Talk.
You need one small move. You just need one small, imperfect move. (And that is where I seem to get stuck every single time!)
Rest, without guilt. Rest is maintenance. Rest is not quitting. It’s refueling.
- Then, when motivation wanders back in, catch it before it leaves again.
- Write a paragraph or page.
- Make a note.
- Send the email.
- Outline the idea.
- Make the call.
Do the tiniest version of the thing you keep thinking about.
Fear of the unknown doesn’t leave when you “figure it out.” It leaves when you get tired as hell of standing still. I never seem to stop moving, but always end up in the same place. I’m busy as hell…ALL THE TIME. But in terms of my goals and dreams, often find myself standing still. In the exact same place. Stuck! So, I say this to myself and I’m saying it to ya’ll:
Make a move.
A small one.
A slightly messy one.
So long as it is in the right direction and not around in circles!
Because at this age, progress looks less like grinding and more like gently nudging yourself forward…GENTLY. Momentum doesn’t come from thinking.
It comes from motion. And you’ve heard me say it before, Movement of Lose it!
#GOALS. This project has been three years in the making. The idea was suggested to me by a writer/producer/director friend, former employer and mentor, Joel Soisson, who graciously offered his services to me shortly after I lost my Noodle. I attempted to enlist the services of two other producers, but one got busy and one got….(no nice way to say it, so I won’t.) Let’s just say, things didn’t work out. I guess I have to do it myself! That said, I will be calling upon all of my former colleagues in film and TV. You’ve been warned.
Let Me Be Amazing
A Short Film
Honoring a Life That Can Never Be Replaced
Written in love, by her Mom Mom
THE STORY IN ONE SENTENCE
The story of a young woman who broke barriers on the field, a bad-ass on the court, was loved by hundreds, gone too soon — and the family still fighting for the justice she deserves.
OVERVIEW
LET ME BE AMAZING is a short documentary portrait film — roughly 20 to 30 minutes in length — that tells the story of an extraordinary young woman: athlete, coach, student, pioneer, beloved daughter and fiercely protective big sister. She was the first girl in the history of her school to play on the varsity football team. She was a four-sport athlete in high school, a college student, a professional women’s football player, and a basketball coach whose influence reached far beyond any scoreboard.
Although, we and the world, lost her on 6/4/22. this film does not dwell in tragedy. It dwells in her. It is structured in three movements — Joy, Legacy, and Love That Remains — and it is told through the voices of those who knew her best: her family, her coaches, her teammates, and the students whose lives she changed.
Her story is inspiring, not because of her death, but because of who she was while she lived and the impact she had on so many. The film will honor that distinction.
STAY TUNED.
Feel free to reach out if you would like to volunteer your services!
The consumers are being consumed! This is kinda a two-fer.
The other day my daughter and I were driving past Aldi and I mentioned that I had read how much of the food there is labeled bioengineered. Without missing a beat she said, “Yeah, but it’s cheap. That’s all some people can afford.” And she’s not wrong.
Groceries are outrageous right now. I’ve watched my own grocery bill practically double over the last six months. But her comment stuck with me. Because it made me think about what “cheap” actually means.
And despite the low prices, the truth is… no one can really afford it. I’m not talking about the price you pay at the register. I’m talking about the price you pay later.
The price that shows up in doctor visits, medications, chronic inflammation, diabetes, heart disease, and hospital bills after years of eating ultra-processed chemicals cleverly disguised as food. You’re going to pay.
The only question is when.
Are you paying now for real ingredients…Or paying later in medical bills and declining health?
And believe me, I understand the dilemma. Most families are trying to stretch every dollar right now. Convenience and processed food is fast, it’s available everywhere, and it looks like the affordable option. But here’s the uncomfortable truth. It’s not cheap food.
First of all, it isn’t really food.
It’s a manufactured product engineered to last longer on a shelf than it should ever spend inside a human body. So while it may be inexpensive at checkout, it’s actually very expensive in the long run. Because you’re not just paying for it with money.
You’re paying for it with your health.
And now, the age related part…….
Aging is inevitable. But the speed at which many of us are aging? Well, I’m afraid that part is being heavily influenced by our lifestyle and what we eat.
Newsflash! What most folks call “food” is basically speeding up the aging process. Of course, time is doing its job. But processed food? Processed food is doing OVERTIME! And we are paying for it.
Most of what is on the store shelves was “made” in a factory, shipped 2,000 miles, preserved for 3 years…
…and your body is like:
“Ma’am. What on God’s green side of the earth was that BS?”
The truth is that commercial food production is NOT designed for health. And the cost of consuming it shows up in our bodies. Pay now. Or pay later! (Pay now and later!)
Commercial food was designed for:
- Shelf life
- Convenience
- Profit
- Craving
- Cheap to produce
Some of these foods have more ingredients than I have friends. (Anyone following this blog for a minute knows that story by now!) AND, if you can’t pronounce the ingredients, your liver probably doesn’t want to meet them. It’s edible… but is it nourishing?
I’m going to take HELL NO for $200 Bob.
Processed foods tend to be high in: (Tend to be? Okay, almost ALWAYS!)
- Added sugars
- Refined carbohydrates
- Industrial seed oils
- Preservatives
- Artificial flavors and additives (NATURAL FLAVORS MY A$$!)
And low in what we actually need:
- Fiber
- Micronutrients
- Antioxidants
- Nourishment
Over time, this kind of diet contributes to chronic inflammation, which is one of the biggest drivers of accelerated aging and disease.
Inflammation affects everything:
- Skin aging
- Joint pain
- Heart health
- Brain function
- Metabolism
- Immune system strength
It’s not just about weight. It’s about how our cells are functioning.
The Commercial Food System Isn’t Built for Longevity
Much of our food today is grown in depleted soil, shipped long distances, and harvested before it’s fully ripe so it can survive transport.
That means:
- Less flavor
- Lower nutrient density
- More reliance on chemicals and processing
Food has become just a product, rather than a source of life.
The Power of Scratch Cooking
Scratch cooking is one of the most underrated health tools we have. It doesn’t have to mean elaborate meals or gourmet kitchens. (Trust me, I no longer have one!)
It simply means using real ingredients:
- Vegetables
- Beans
- Whole grains
- Fresh herbs
- Quality proteins
- Healthy fats
When you cook at home, you control:
- The sugar
- The oils
- The additives
- The portion sizes
And your body responds quickly — often with:
- Better digestion
- More stable energy
- Improved skin
- Reduced inflammation
- Better blood sugar balance
Seasonal + Local Food Is the Real Anti-Aging Cream
And don’t get me started on eating local and in season. Fresh food just tastes different. A tomato in season tastes like a tomato. A tomato out of season tastes like sadness and packaging.
Seasonal eating is nature’s way of saying:
“Here’s what your body needs right now.”
And local food hasn’t been on a cross-country tour before it hits your plate.
It’s fresher. More nutrient-rich.
Here’s a prescription without the drugs:
Make small changes starting today.
Eat real food.
We can’t stop time. But we can stop speeding it up with food that was never meant to sustain us. Every time we choose real ingredients, cook a simple meal, or buy what’s fresh and local, we’re doing something radical:
We’re choosing nourishment over convenience.
We’re choosing longevity over depletion.
We’re choosing to age with strength and not just years.
Processed Food Is Aging Us Faster Than Time Ever Could
And, I’m not saying aging is optional.
But I am saying a lot of us are not just getting older…
We’re getting older faster because of what we’re eating. Processed food is out here doing more damage than birthdays. Time is already doing enough. I don’t need my groceries helping it.
Aging is natural. But aging rapidly because of what’s in our pantry, fridge or freezer?
That part is optional.
Real food won’t make you immortal…But it might stop you from feeling like you’re 72 at 52.
So, I finally got new glasses.
Because I thought, you know…“How deep do these forehead creases need to get?”
What I did NOT realize is that the new glasses came with a free trial of emotional devastation.
The moment I put them on, I looked in the mirror and whispered, “Oh… so we’re just doing brutal honesty now.” My second thought was…”Is that what I look like? And exactly how long have I looked like this?”
For years, my eyeballs have had me living in a soft blur of peace. An airbrushed, softly filtered, and gentle haze of denial.
My reflection was basically giving timeless. Radiant. But these new lenses? These new lenses said, “Ma’am. Here are your actual features in 4K. Sorry.”
Thank you glasses. I can see everything. (In fact, they are so strong I can now read minds!)
I see fine lines. Hair where there shouldn’t be hair. Hair missing that should be there. A forehead crease that looks like it formed while opening a recent car insurance or utility bill.
Honestly, getting new glasses after 60 should come with a warning:
⚠️ Objects in mirror are older than they appear
⚠️ Includes unexpected self-reflection
⚠️ Confidence may temporarily exit the building
But here’s the thing…
On the inside, I’m still the same person. Inside, I’m still 40, tops! (Of course, my internal organs may beg to differ!) Same humor. Same dreams. Same spark. (Some days you have to play with the ignition switch as bit, but I start!) But my face? My face is out here telling the true Hollywood story. Aging is a strange experience. I do. I feel the same inside.
Mentally. Spiritually. Delusionally.
Meanwhile, my reflection is like, “Sweetie… we’ve been through some things. This is the face that belongs to someone who has lived.
Loved.
Lost.
Laughed until she cried. (and maybe there was a drop of ……)
Cried until she healed.
Made it through things she never posts about.
And yeah… it’s a harsh reality sometimes. Especially in natural light!
Not because aging is ugly… But because we’ve been taught that youth is the goal and aging is the punishment. When really… Aging is proof. Proof you’re still here. Some do not get the privilege.
So yes, these new glasses showed me my aging face clearly for the first time in a while. And after the initial shock and real talk, the brief desire to sue the optometrist, I can see clearly now. No, my friends, what appeared in the mirror wasn’t pretty. It was BEAUTIFUL. Because I’m still here.
But, I would like to return these glasses immediately.