Fifty and Other F-Words Read online

  Because, let’s face it, they mostly don’t. It takes a whole lot of ass kissing and compromise to make it to the top of someone else’s ladder. I’ve never been any good at kissing ass, alas. Would that I could pucker up when the need arises or the ass is presented. I can’t help myself—it’s impossible for me to stay silent when stupidity is running roughshod over common sense. I can’t sit back and watch people abuse their power. I am what one might call an insufferable smarty panties, or a bitch.

  Six of one, half a dozen of another . . .

  We live in interesting times. In some parts of the world, a woman can be stoned to death for being raped. In this part of the world, she can be shamed into silence or humiliated in public. She can also be told, by an elected official, that her body has a way of shutting “that whole thing” down to prevent her from becoming pregnant. Therefore, if she didn’t put up the shutters on her uterus, she must not have been raped. Obviously. We’re still not paid the same as a man for doing the same job, one at which we quite likely excel. Many of us balance full-time work with full-time parenting. We won’t risk death, but if we speak up or speak out or dare to stand out in any significant way, someone is more than likely going to think or call us the B-word.

  I think we have to own it. Being a strong, confident, smart, successful, compassionate, kick-ass, warrior woman isn’t something to be feared; it’s something to be celebrated. It’s up to us to throw the party. We have to be mindful of not getting caught up in the mythology of the strong woman as a negative archetype. That’s important for ourselves and also for how we treat other women. Women need to lift each other up, not tear each other down.

  And, for the record, just because we’re strong doesn’t mean we don’t like lip gloss or a new pair of shoes. Whether we do or don’t is entirely our own business.

  The willingness to own your power and to speak and live freely, even if it means risking not being liked, is the key to true happiness. Standing up for yourself and for others, taking the unpopular stand when it’s the right thing to do. Fighting the good fight, despite the opposition. Showing the seams, owning the missteps, being transparent and real. You may not win Miss Congeniality, but really, isn’t that just a fancy way of saying best ass kisser? Besides, wouldn’t you rather bedazzle your own sash and crown?

  Bitch?

  That’s Ms. Bitch to you.

  Dear George

  This is an imaginary email chain to George Soros. I wrote it after the 2016 Women’s March when the buzz on social media suggested the marchers were being paid by Mr. Soros. Obviously, that was fake news.

  Dear Mr. Soros,

  It’s Madge, Margot Potter! May I call you George? I figured it was okay since I just found out that I’m on your payroll. Please make my checks out to Margot Potter. Madge is my nickname. Thank you so much for the job!

  Cheers,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  I wanted to keep you updated on my activities. I’ve been so busy protesting that I’ve developed a nasty case of shingles.

  Speaking of shingles: Do you include health insurance coverage in your paid protestor employment plan? How about workers’ compensation? Where do I sign up for those?

  If you could send that first check soon, I’d really appreciate it. These antiviral medications aren’t cheap.

  Cheers,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  How are you? I attached some pics from the March on Washington, for proof of attendance. Thanks so much for the hats. Those “knitters” sure had everyone fooled, eh?

  I also attached my travel receipts. I have it billed two ways, since I took a bus. Is it 53.5 cents a mile or the cost of the bus ticket? Please advise.

  I’m really looking forward to working together!

  Cheers,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  About that check, I wasn’t sure if you had the correct address. Should I call your office?

  I’m starting to worry that it got lost in the mail.

  Cheers,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  I feel as if we’re developing a real kinship here. You’re such a good listener!

  I’m gearing up for the March for Science in April and I was wondering if you had a time line on the brain hats. Can I request a specific color? Are there any messages you feel best represent the spirit of the march? Since global warming is just a scam you created with Al Gore, I figured you might have some great protest sign ideas.

  Talk soon,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  I’m not sure my emails are reaching you. Please check your spam folder.

  Cheers,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  I realize that you are a busy man. However, participating in the Resistance takes a lot of effort. A little acknowledgment of my contributions would be appreciated.

  Impatiently,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  So this is how it is, huh? No checks, no emails, no phone calls . . . Is this how you treat your paid protestors?

  I guess you really do have an exaggerated view of your own self-importance. For the record, I’ve met the Messiah, and you, sir, are no Messiah.

  Well, I haven’t met the Messiah, but I do follow him on Twitter.

  I have half a mind to stop protesting if this continues.

  Whatever,

  Margot

  Dear George,

  Please forgive me for my last email; shingles are a bitch. I’m half out of my mind, and yet I’m still conscious enough to be outraged. Maybe outraged isn’t the right word. Disgruntled? Yes, that’s better.

  Anywho, I’m going to have to file for unemployment since it’s obvious you’re not going to pay me. Thanks for nothing.

  Cheers,

  Margot

  Join the Lady Party

  Ain’t no party like a lady party

  Can’t we all just tie one on?

  Sit back and let the ladies handle this

  We’ve got cocktails . . . and opinions

  Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of a Great Pair of Jeans

  Because we said so

  We’re always right, unless we’re wrong . . . which is never

  Momma knows best

  Giving birth is hard, running a country is easy

  Ladies first

  Yes, she can

  Dancing backwards and in high heels since 1933

  Step off our skirts

  Ladies of Liberty

  A woman’s place is in the White House

  Because bitches get shit done

  Wild Woman Manifesto

  From the moment we become aware, women are taught how to be. We are limited by the world around us, a world that is hostile to the wild woman who lives inside of us. We are told to smooth the edges, hide the seams, follow the rules, act like a lady, and do what we’re told. This helps to dissipate the threat from the wild woman. She’s dangerous, because she defies the social norms.

  Even the “rule breakers” police us from their own limited constructs. “Conform to our version of nonconformity! You’re not nonconforming properly!”

  We are sent an endless stream of contradictory messages that reinforce the lie that we are not good enough no matter what we choose. The drip, drip, drip wears away at that wild woman, taming her into submission.

  Here’s a secret: The world may construct the cage, but we lock ourselves inside and hide the key.

  This wild woman has had enough. She’s setting herself free.

  Every aspect of how I live my life and move through the world belongs to me. I don’t owe anyone an excuse or an explanation. I don’t owe anyone anything at all. I am tired of being policed. In fact, I soundly reject it. I am also tired of policing. It’s not my place to tell other people what to think, do, say, wear, feel, believe. It’s not my place to tell other people what to think about me. If the world finds me three notches too loud and five notche
s too sparkly, that’s a judgment. It is only truth if I accept it.

  My wild woman is fully unfettered. She will do as she pleases and she does not care if it pleases you. She will wear what she pleases, think what she pleases, and say what she pleases. She will vote as she pleases, love whom she pleases, and live as she pleases. She will age as she pleases. She does not require your approval.

  Mrs. Potter Regrets

  I posed a question on Facebook today: “Is there anything in your past you’d like to do over if it were possible to go back and make a different choice?” I asked because there is something I would most definitely like to do over, but since this is not a possibility, I’m working extra hard every day to keep marching forward. Some days are easier than others. Some days I feel as if I’m swimming in concrete.

  It is my belief that a life lived fully is bound to contain at least a few regrets. Life is, after all, a series of choices, consequences, and reactions to the consequences of our choices.

  Some folks in my thread handed the power over to the Divine, claiming that everything that has happened in their lives was “God’s plan.” My sincere apologies if this offends, but I don’t believe that’s true. If it were all destiny, I’d feel like tossing the towel in today. If there is no free will, we would never need to make any choices at all. If it’s all part of someone else’s plan, we are no longer responsible for any of our choices. In fact, that pesky thing called free will was the problem from the start, wasn’t it? We must choose—that’s part of the deal.

  “Well, officer, I do realize that the car was speeding. Yes, I also know that it ran over several pedestrians, but, you see, I handed the wheel to Jesus. He’s a terrible driver, but a top-notch Messiah. So, if you don’t mind, you can make that ticket out to Jesus Christ and I’ll be on my way.”

  We can’t live our lives playing the “would have, could have, should have” game. We can, however, learn and grow from the consequences of our choices. Life offers us lessons and opportunities for growth, grace, and forgiveness. We can feel remorse and take ownership of the choices that may have led to pain for others. We can learn to trust that still, quiet voice inside that is almost always pointing true north. To take responsibility for the consequences of your choices is a powerful thing and a sobering thing. We can, if we CHOOSE, make different choices with richer and more rewarding consequences. In that sense, what we choose, no matter what the consequences, offers us the same lesson—the opportunity to practice unconditional love.

  Is it so wrong to want to learn that lesson with a little less collateral damage?

  Does Mrs. Potter regret? Yes, she does regret a few things. She regrets the things left unspoken, and the things spoken in anger or sadness. She regrets a handful of questionable choices and the manner in which they negatively affected people she loves. She regrets the moments she was not present enough, compassionate enough, or thoughtful enough. It’s likely that when it’s all said and done, there will be a few more.

  Top ten Things about Which I No Longer Care

  1. The Kardashians.

  2. Tampons.

  3. What other people think about me.

  4. Being pretty.

  5. Arguing with people on social media.

  6. Making the grade.

  7. Making myself smaller to make other people happy.

  8. Aging gracefully.

  9. What’s in and what’s out.

  10. People telling me to smile.

  Ten Things about Which I Currently Care

  1. The future of the world.

  2. Comfortable shoes.

  3. What I think about myself.

  4. Being interested and engaged.

  5. Making meaningful connections with nice people.

  6. Breaking the rules.

  7. Making myself happy.

  8. Aging disgracefully.

  9. What’s real.

  10. Surrounding myself with people who inspire me to smile.

  Because You’re Worth It

  I was at QVC a few years back, being fitted for my microphone before going on air. A man stopped to compliment me on my dress. I started the “Oh this old thing? It’s godawful, blah, blah, blah” thing that women do. He smiled and laughed. Then he asked me why it was that women simply cannot accept a compliment without a long-winded list of reasons they don’t deserve one?

  I have pondered this ever since. It’s a very good question. People give us compliments because they genuinely mean them and they want to make us feel good. If we can’t graciously accept them, we deprive them of that opportunity. Is it really that tough to wrap our minds around the simple fact that someone finds us attractive, smart, funny, interesting, or worthy of praise?

  After that illuminating moment, I broke out of my habit of immediately responding to a compliment with a self-effacing witticism. I shut off the voice inside of me that told me I was unworthy of compliments. Now I breathe them in and feel worthy. Because I am. Worthy. You are worthy. We all are. I love me! What was I thinking?! Whenever I instinctively blurt out something along the lines of “I’m so imperfect they need to invent a new word for it” or “I got this dress on the sale rack. It has a stain on it,” I try to regroup and follow that with a simple “Thank you for the lovely compliment.”

  Sometimes the hardest thing we do in life is to accept that we deserve happiness. We’re our own worst enemies. You like me? Me?! Are you freaking kidding? I’m such a dork. You must be a real asshole for liking me. What the hell is wrong with you?! Why don’t you go and like someone else?

  Until we open our hearts to love, we will never really be able to receive it. If we are unable to receive it, we will be unable to fully love anyone else. Yes, you deserve to be loved. So, start acting like you deserve it, Sweet Cheeks, or soon the compliments are going to dry up like your post-menopausal vagina.

  Here’s a little dime-store guru advice, for what it’s worth. Stand in front of your mirror every morning and pay yourself a sincere compliment. Like “Shazam! You are one hot tamale!” or “Hubba, hubba that’s a seriously sassy caboose you’ve got there” or “Hey, nice blouse. That’s a good color for you.”

  You get the picture.

  I am sending all of you a compliment today. I think you’re the bee’s knees.

  Now please don’t tell me about your knee surgery.

  Write a New Story

  There was a commercial for an antidepressant medication a while back that featured a black cloud on a string that followed a sad person around. My daughter dubbed it “the depression turd.” I loved that! Depression is less of a cloud, and more of an incredibly stinky turd that leaves its stench on everyone and everything, and follows us wherever we go. The more we drag it around, the bigger and smellier it becomes.

  You don’t have to define yourself by your old stories. You can choose to write a different one: This happened to me then, but this is what I am choosing now. Why keep dragging a turd around? You can flush that crap any time you like.

  The world is filled with horror. People survive and endure things most of us cannot imagine surviving. We can’t ignore these things, but we don’t have to focus on them. They can remain in the past, or we can drag them into our present. Every day we make that choice. No matter what we’ve endured, we can rise above it. We have choices! Happy people aren’t in denial of sorrow; they’ve just opted not to get stuck in it. The truth is, we define our experience of life. Our reality is shaped by our perception and the choices we make.

  When you start to feel yourself getting dragged into negativity, breathe deeply, take a moment, and ask yourself, “How is this serving me—or anyone else? Is what I am about to do or say contributing to the greater good?” You are allowed to walk away from negativity. You can remove yourself from people who continuously seek to dull your sparkle. You don’t owe them anything at all. You can walk off their set. You don’t have to be in their movie. You have the power to write your own story: You can choose an adventure or a mystery, a romance or
a thriller, a comedy or a tragedy. And you can, if you so choose, write your own happy ending.

  Carpe Gaudium

  This New Year we rented a little apartment on the River Liffey in the Temple Bar District in Dublin, Ireland. My husband, my daughter, and I spent a week exploring the city together. Now that our daughter is away at college, our trio has become a duet. With the amount of travel my husband does for work, the duet is often a solo act. It was nice to get the old band together again and take the show on the road.

  A place called Ink Factory was right next to the entrance to our apartment. It’s a tattoo and piercing parlor, barber shop, and coffee purveyor. I’m not even remotely cool enough to hang out there, but they were very welcoming and kind enough to pretend they didn’t notice. I’ve toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo for years. My husband has several. Many of my friends have wildly colorful tattoos running up both arms. Way back in my wayward youth, most of my friends had tattoos. I was never able to decide on anything that I wanted emblazoned on my body forever. I decided to wait until I felt moved enough to do it.

  Before we left for Dublin, I decided to go into the New Year actively embracing exciting new experiences. As I’m a writer, and I love words, I decided to get a favorite phrase tattooed on the inside of my left wrist in a vintage-style typewriter font. At the age of 55 my skin is not perfectly smooth; therefore, neither is my tattoo. I’m okay with a little wabi-sabi. My new tattoo says Carpe Gaudium. The Latin word carpe literally means “pick, pluck, pluck off, cull, crop, gather, serve.” The word gaudium means “joy.” Okay, so work with me here, people. Carpe means “seize and serve” and gaudium means “joy.” When we “seize joy” we can also “serve joy,” meaning the act of embracing it for ourselves offers us the opportunity to serve it to others.

  What if we seized as much joy as we could carry, as often as possible, and then let it spill out and over and around us to others? How would that inform our experience? How would that shift our perspective?