WHY A GIANT ZIT CAN RUIN YOUR DAY

Damn, I have a giant zit.  I have had it for three days now and it does not appear to be getting any smaller.  If it were any bigger, in fact, it could declare for secession.  And I would welcome that, because it is disgusting, disfiguring and all I can see when I look in the mirror.  Plus a little tender, you know?   I am no teenager and I declare this zit to be “off sides”.  I cannot be dealing with middle-aged neck and acne at the same time!  It is causing a rip in the space/time continuum of my life and nothing will feel quite right again until it is completely gone.

HA HA HA HA, you probably think I am joking, but sadly…I am not.  I can be pretty Zen and wise when my skin is clear, but WHOO!  This blemish has put my spiritual evolution on the backburner, you know?  So the question is, WHY IS THAT?  Why do we day after day and week after week deal with crisis after crisis—illness, death, divorce, job loss, money problems, natural disasters, unnatural disasters—and we keep our feet on the ground, our eye on the ball and persevere?  But a broken dish, a dropped call, a GIANT ZIT…these can derail us and send us into a tailspin.  Does any of this sound familiar yet?  You get through a giant presentation with flying colors, and then snap at your kid for spilling cheerios?  Because stress is stress is stress and stress will OUT ITSELF, whether we like it or not.  Sometimes in the form of a GIANT ZIT.

We all have coping mechanisms and crisis modes, ways in which we get through those things we absolutely, crucially have to get through…and we all have ways which we retreat, lick our wounds, duck and cover.  In general, this is a GOOD thing, and part and parcel of the grand charade we call “being human”.  But I recently read about a study that was done which concluded, in part, that we humans have a somewhat limited supply of what we would call “self-discipline” and that is why the containment of one addiction often leads to the blossoming of another.  We are simply not hard-wired for a monkish existence.  We need to get our FREAK ON, one way or another.  So I say, this applies to stress as well.  There is only so much we can take before something’s gotta give.  In my case, it is the integrity of my pores.

So the next time you are absolutely jonesing for a piece of chocolate cake, remember the 400 things you did NOT let yourself have and the 400 ways you exercised self-discipline and realize—one piece of cake isn’t going to kill you.  And next time a broken shoelace reduces you to tears, remember all the times you were strong for the people you loved when they needed you to be and go ahead, have a good cry.  And the next time you have a GIANT ZIT and want to obsess over it, remember how many things—hurt feelings, broken dreams, irreparable relationships--you have had to let go over the years, and hang on.  Hang on to that stupid zit for dear life.  Because if we are going to manage all of the big stuff that gets thrown at us every day, we sometimes need a good old-fashioned distraction.  Like a giant zit.  But I highly recommend a great book or movie, if that will work instead.  Less disfiguring, you know?

Why My Life is HORRIFYING!

What makes a person LOVE being horrified?  What makes a person CRAVE the experience of FEAR?  Why do I cackle with glee when a horny teenager is impaled through the throat with a corkscrew, when others would visibly wince and look away with disgust?  These are probably good questions for a trained clinical psychologist, but screw all of that fancy schooling, I am going to go ahead and take a “stab” at what makes a true horror buff:  courage.  The deep seated need to be brave in the face of all that revulses, repulses, revolts and reviles.  Horror buffs are armed (metaphorically speaking in most cases, thank God) and dangerous (again.)  There is something that speaks to our very souls in looking the worst possible case scenario in the face and…laughing.  Crazy.  Sick.  I know what you are thinking.  Unless you are just like me.

I trace my love of fear to my earliest childhood memories.  When I was a toddler, my family lived in a house that had the misfortune of having a stream in the backyard.  My actual memories of said stream are nil, but my actual memories of my sibling’s tales about the stream are crystal clear.  This being the 70’s, and me being a baby, my Mom did very little actual supervision of my activities.  HA HA HA HA, just kidding Mom!  By today’s standards, I mean.  So instilling a healthy fear of the stream was wisely delegated to my older siblings.  Who were older enough to be a) kind of twisted and b) very accurate in guessing what exactly would keep my berth from said body of water as wide as possible.  They told me a monster lived in it.  Yup, they went Scotland on my ass, and I bought the tale hook, line and sinker.  Older siblings suck, but often in an incredibly useful way.

So there I am,  at the full and ripe old age of three, terrified of the backyard.  One of my most vivid memories of childhood is being “out there” with my older sister who, in her defense, was 13 and clearly hormonal.  She received a “very important” phone call and left me alone for what was probably minutes but felt like hours.  Hours and hours.  Hours and hours of standing, scanning the horizon for signs that the monster had in fact emerged from it’s lair, ready to feast on a plump and rosy little blonde.  Who was left waiting, a sitting duck for sure.  I shudder to remember those moments, my eyes splitting time between the back door (from which my sister might emerge at any moment to rescue me) and the back yard (clearly a haven for beasts from beyond).  Good times!  Childhood is such a lark, right???

But that was not the only way in which I was traumatized by my siblings.  My brother, only ten at the time, felt it was highest hilarity to deliberately lure me into compromising situations…involving the TV.  Being a toddler as I was, I harbored a great love for “Underdog”; being a toddler as I was, I also harbored a tremendous fear of the monster who emerged from behind buildings to grip Underdog in its sweaty palm during the opening credits.  My solution was to hide behind the green chair in the living room until the credits were over.  My mistake was allowing my brother to coax me out from behind the green chair…just in time to see the monster grip Underdog in its sweaty palm.  I don’t know what it is about being three that makes one so gullible, but my recollection is that I fell for this "prank" on an embarrassing number of occasions.  My brother has a great innocent looking face, and when he told me the monster was finished, I too frequently believed him.  And LOOK AT ME NOW.

I was primed for fear.  Primed to be afraid.  I suffer from a total recall of my cousin George repeatedly informing me on April Fool’s Day that I had a spider on my back.  I was in preschool, so each time he said it, I believed it.  A dozen times over the course of one day.  Damn, little kids are dumb, am I right?  But I was plugged into fear.  In those same years, my brother was a fan of the serial “Dark Shadows”.  I remember being both attracted and repulsed by it, hiding behind the same green chair, peeking out for moments and hiding my eyes and plugging my ears for others.  For whatever the reason, fear was my guide and my mentor.  Remember Kevin McAllister in “Home Alone”, with his (totally rational, imho) fear of the basement and his creepy neighbor?  Well, put the kid on steroids and you have me, from my very earliest memories and recollections.

I could go on and on about this but for now  I would simply like to say that my life has been HORRIFYING.  And I like it like that.  Would you know what to do if the inevitable zombie apocalypse were to suddenly occur?  I WOULD.  Would you be able to handle the very delicate real estate dilemma if say, a vampire moved in next door?  I WOULD.  Would you have a clue as to how to effectively alert the authorities if the madman you had been supervising in a high security mental facility were to escape?  I WOULD.  I am prepared, people!  When I hear a strange noise in the basement, do I cower under the covers and hope it is nothing?  NO WAY!!!  I make lots of noise myself, turn on lots of lights and go to confront said noise because I already have my escape route carefully mapped out.  Being  afraid can be fun sometimes, but also empowering.  So next time you enjoy the sensation of your stomach in your throat on a rollercoaster, just realize this:  you are I aren’t as different as you think.

Why James Rebhorn may have been one of our greatest actors

Having just read of James Rebhorn’s untimely death, I decided to go ahead and post this piece, which I actually wrote four years ago.  He was an actor I greatly admired and whose career might seem unremarkable to others, but to me actually epitomizes what it means to truly be able to call yourself an “actor”. 

When I was a teenager, I watched a soap opera called The Guiding Light.  This program was on for over 50 years, but became a casualty of what I’ll call media super-saturation…that is, too damned much to watch.  Anyhow, one particular storyline that scarred me was that of a teenage girl whose well-meaning but naive mother married a man that she somehow failed to recognize was a misogynistic pedophiliac tyrant.  This modern horror was played by an actor named James Rebhorn.  His character, Bradley Raines, was eventually exposed for the monster he was and sat trial for the rape of his teen-age step daughter, Beth.  I know you have subsequently seen this and other similar scenarios play out on the various formats of “Law and Order”, etc. but this storyline predated the Dick Wolf franchise and was the sort of controversial, hot button topic that actually used to exist before reality TV desensitized our ability to be shocked by anything.

When Bradley took the stand and broke down about abuses he himself had suffered and his remorse over his own behavior, I was amazed to discover I felt sorry for him.  This gargoyle, the villain that we had spent countless episodes despising and praying for his demise was suddenly…a human being.  Someone who needed help and, if not forgiveness, at least understanding.  Even as a kid I was able to recognize that this was not great writing; it was great acting.  Since then I have seen James Rebhorn in dozens and dozens of other movies, television shows, etc., and although he doesn’t usually get as juicy a role as that one, he is always a reliable presence, an actor you can count on to do good work.  Even though you probably have no idea who he is, I guarantee you have seen him in dozens of things too.  Ever see Independence Day?  He was in that.  How about Meet the Parents?  He was in that too.  He’s also been on Seinfeld, Law and Order, The Practice, 30 Rock and Homeland.  It would take 2 pages to list his credits, but you still probably don’t have the faintest idea who I am talking about.  In fact, if I had his picture printed right here, he might not even look familiar to you!

So how in the world does this qualify him as one of our greatest actors?  The very fact of his consistent working status hand-in-hand with his virtual anonymity.  We all love the big celebrities of the day and many of them are actually good actors.  But the reality is, real acting is about disappearing into a role and if I am as aware of you and your personality as I am of say, Jack Nicholson, then maybe I am missing something about your character that I might notice more if he were played by James Rebhorn.  The cult of celebrity has stolen a little something from us when it comes to real performance.  Celebrities attract us for many reasons having nothing to do with talent; charisma, looks, mystery or familiarity, train-wreck appeal and sometimes a combination of any of these.  They attract our attention and our money too.  The studios are so understandably concerned about making money that they are inserting celebrity in places where James Rebhorn might have better served. 

 Let’s face it, Oprah Winfrey is a good actress, but we are ALWAYS aware we are watching Oprah Winfrey.  I’m picking on Oprah because she is a tough cookie and can take it, but this is true of so many, many, many of our big name actors that it would take me as long to list them as it would to list James Rebhorn’s credits.  James Rebhorn was an ACTOR.  A professional.  A man with a craft and a work ethic and an ability to become the person he was portraying, body and soul.  So next time you read about an interesting movie but decide not to go because George Clooney isn’t in it, think again.  You sadly will no longer have the pleasure of seeing James Rebhorn work, but you might be missing a really great performance by someone else you don’t know.

PS George Clooney can totally take it too.  Not as sure about Jack Nicholson.

 

WHY LIFE IS A PARADE! (Of Bad Decisions)

Last weekend my son and I went to the Newport St. Patrick’s Day parade with some friends of ours, a tradition now four years strong.  We all enjoy it tremendously, especially cutting out early to avoid traffic and hit a cozy pub for lunch.  But other people are frequently amazed when we disclose this particular outing; the question everyone asks is, “You bring your kid to THAT???”  Or as one person succinctly put it, “You just know some girl is going to show you her boobs”.  HA! 

In three years’ time, I have yet to see a boob (well, not as an anatomical feature, anyhow) but I have certainly seen all kinds of questionable things.  Like people drinking and/or drunk at 11 o’clock in the morning.  Pretty much every variety of bad attire, including the skimpiest of outfits in sub-freezing weather.  And of course, profanity abounds.  I am personally a fan of profanity; however, not everyone shares my passion for it and I get that. 

But you know what else they have?  Bagpipe players and clowns and fire trucks and dogs dyed green and Irish dancers and marching bands and the WORLD’S BIGGEST LEPRACHAUN…just for starters!  The kids have a blast while the adults can enjoy a sideshow of, as my friend Ryan put it, “the parade of bad decisions.”

I love that and Ryan should have gotten a copyright on it before I stole it right out from under his nose! 

It was a great line, especially under the circumstances, but also a great description of life as we know it.  The parade of bad decisions!  I’ve already made a few today, how about you?  The thing is, the majority of us actually make mostly good decisions on a regular basis, with a few bad decisions thrown in to pepper the pot, as it were.  Keeps things spicy, you know? 

We get mad at ourselves when we make bad decisions, but truthfully most of my very best stories have come out of the consequences of some bad decision or another I have made.  Good decisions aren’t terribly interesting and tend to have predictable results.  Bad decisions, on the other hand, are the wild card…probably 99% of our entertainment comes from watching, reading or listening to someone sing about their own bad decisions.  Think about it.

For example, who doesn’t love the “awkward family photos”?  Man, some of those are just priceless!  And the reason we all love them isn’t necessarily because we are “making fun” of the subjects (Although sometimes we are.  I mean, come on!) but more because we self-recognize and are laughing at ourselves.  Who does NOT have awkward family photos?  Ask my brother, the whitest man alive, how he feels about the photographic evidence of his 70’s era fro/perm.  Ask me how I feel about the photographic evidence of my entire adolescence! 

Or how about the problem of the “ex pictures”?  You know, big, happy group shots except for that guy you are all so super psyched is finally divorced out of the family?  My cousin had a creative solution:  a black dot of gorilla tape covering just the face of the offender in each picture.  Ha!!  Seriously brings a smile to my face every time I think of it.

Bad decisions are a part of daily life.  Sometimes they are BIG bad decisions and they have far reaching consequences we regret; more often they are small bad decisions that result in indigestion or some embarrassment or frustration.  But big or small, there is a degree to which they are unavoidable.  And a larger degree to which they are beneficial.  Other people’s bad decisions help us practice compassion; our own bad decisions teach us both healthy humility and guide us toward making better decisions in the future. 

Even that person you know, the one you describe as a “train wreck” because of their seeming inability to make a single GOOD decision is contributing somehow to a greater purpose.  As the old joke goes, “Sometimes your life is lived simply as a warning to others”.  Our aim cannot be to never make another bad decision; that would be impossible.  Also: impossibly boring.  Our aim must be to decide what it is we are going to do next.

You ate too much cake?  What do you do next?  Say “the hell with it” and polish off a box of Cap’n Crunch...or go for a walk?  You dated (or married) the “wrong” guy?  What do you do next?  Moan about it until everyone on the planet knows you see yourself as a victim of your decision, or own it and grow stronger?  You took the “wrong” job, moved to the “wrong” place, went to the “wrong” school, were born into the “wrong” family???  WHAT DO YOU DO NEXT? 

The power of your decision is your freedom.  Every day we have a full buffet of decisions to make, and if most of them are healthy you can afford a little dessert.  Your worst decisions can lead to your greatest discoveries, if you let them.  You will know yourself more honestly, more completely and in the most empowering way possible if you own your mistakes and look for the silver lining.  If you decide that WHAT YOU DO NEXT will be a game changer.  So enjoy the parade!  Even the creepy clowns!  There is always a pony there, somewhere.

 

WHY YOUR INSULT IS MY COMPLIMENT

Years ago, I dated a crazy person.  I realize this in retrospect; although to be fair, my friends realized it at the time (Go, friends!)  He and I would frequently fight because he was crazy and I am not.  This dichotomy actually leads to a lot of differences of opinion. 

One day as we were arguing, undoubtedly about something like whether or not one should drink kerosene or chew glass, he threw his hands up in frustration and shouted, “My God, you’re just RELENTLESS!”  Cue me smiling.  Now, my ears work perfectly well; I know for a fact he used the word “relentless”.  He also called me “God”, but we won’t go there. 

I heard the word “relentless” but my mind understood the word “persistent”.  Yes, by gum, I AM persistent!  One of my many super-powers!  I didn’t even break up with him that day, that is how gosh darned persistent I AM!

I have recently come to realize that this is a habit of mine that serves me quite well.  You may think you are insulting me, but in my mind there is a big, fat shiny compliment to be found.  Which reminds me of another example:  another guy I knocked around with briefly in the folly of my youth once sneeringly told me that not only do I accept compliments, I take them home, polish them up and put them on my trophy shelf. 

Yes, he was a writer.  Clever fellow, he was.  Full of sarcastically deriding bon mots. 

Anyhow, I was delighted by this description!  He had meant to shame me, but instead I polished up what he said and put it on my trophy shelf because WOW!  What a gift to be able to sincerely accept and appreciate other people’s respect and esteem. 

I once pestered Mandy Patinkin in a NY restaurant, vomiting my love and admiration all over the poor man and excused my behavior by saying I decided it would be okay to interrupt his dinner because I always love when people tell me they think I’m wonderful.  To which the great Mr. Patinkin replied, “Miss…I think you’re wonderful!”  Holla, Mandy!

Truth be told, I love compliments and I love complimenting others.  If you are wearing a flattering color, new hairstyle or spiffy attitude, I am going to tell you about it.  If you have strengths I admire, or good taste, or a kind heart, I will not let that slide by without a comment.  I live to notice what is wonderful about you! 

Which leads me to yet another insulting compliment:  when I was in college, I was with a group of friends perusing some newly developed photos (yes, I went to college a LONG time ago.)  In one of the pictures I was sitting next to a nice young man I barely knew and my friend Joseph laughed at me, saying “You are looking at him like you are in love with him”. To which another friend replied, “Kara looks at EVERYONE as if she were in love with them.”  Judging from her tone, this was NOT meant as a compliment.

Her intent be damned, I took it as a compliment!!!  In fact, to this day it is one of the most amazing “compliments” I have ever received.  I truly hope that one day I will be able to look at every single person on earth as if I AM in love with them!  Wouldn’t that be incredible!?

Right now I am still focused on doing it full time with the people I actually love, and extending this gaze part time to people who don't deliberately aggravate me or try to shred my soul.  Occasionally I’ll catch myself doing it to a perfect stranger…someone whose dearness catches my eye in some way.  It probably sounds corny, but looking at people as if you are in love with them feels really, really good.  The only negative?  It can be a bit draining to be mooning around after folks all the time.

Which brings me to the final “insulpliment” I will share with you:  I was speaking one day with a neighbor who looked increasingly aggravated with my description of all the running around I do to keep in close touch with my friends and family.  She shook her head, rolled her eyes and said, “It just must be exhausting to be you”.  Now, I’m not dumb.  I realize what she meant was, “Sucks to be you”. 

But it doesn’t, actually.  It IS, however, often times exhausting, and I appreciated the acknowledgment of that, however grudgingly offered.  We all know there is good tired and bad tired, and extending yourself to spend time with people you love is a really good tired.  If I am not busy using my energy, resources and super-powers to engage with others, then why am I here? 

The older I get, the more I understand that our time here is short, and is best used to love each other deeply and abidingly.  So why waste your time insulting me?  Think of how annoyed you’ll be when I’m not insulted.  Why not go ahead and try a compliment instead?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why It's Okay to Be the Bad Guy

It’s okay to be the bad guy.  This is something all good parents know in their bones and live in relationship to their kids.  The word “no” is the tool by which we do right by our offspring; the word “no” is also the most divisive and difficult word to say.  No, you may not watch another hour of television (even though I am exhausted and frankly could use the quiet time).  No, you may not have another cookie (even though it would assure you would skip off instead of stomping).  No, you may not have the latest iPhone, ride your bike without your helmet or draw a “masterpiece” on the wall.  It is an endless cycle of disappointing expectations that earns you not only stomping, but also glaring, eye-rolling, exaggerated sighing and, depending on the kid, full on tantrums and name calling.  Denying a teenager his or her heart’s desire can even get you shunned.  But we do it anyway; we are willing to be the bad guy because we know what is best for our children.

So now we can expand on this premise.  If it is okay to be the “bad guy” for our kid’s best interests, is it possible that it is also okay to be the “bad guy” for our own?  Radical thinking, I know.  But the word “no” can be used on our own behalf to some good effect.  And here’s another thing:  we are all willing to make sweeping, unilateral decisions if we feel they benefit our family in some way, and no amount of whining, cajoling or guilt-tripping will manipulate us into standing down.  When was the last time that was true when you made an unpopular decision that was in your own self-interest?  This is where we get tripped up, because isn’t “self-interest” synonymous with “selfish”?  And don’t most of us agree it is bad to be selfish?  And don’t we often say no to our kids in order to teach them how NOT to be selfish???

We teach our kids to share, especially with children who may have less than they do.  We teach our kids to cooperate and compromise, especially if they have a tendency to bully for their own way.  We teach our kids to prioritize the greater good, even if it means a bit of sacrifice for them.  We teach our kids not to be selfish, but all they have to do is watch TV to understand that some of the most powerful men and women in the world embody and advocate the exact opposite of those ideals.  Frankly, being selfish pays very well and is often key to climbing the ladder to success.  It is also the key to keeping other people off of the ladder, thereby increasing your chances of making it to the top.  So now we are on the horns of the dilemma:  is it possible to be unselfish and compassionate and still “be all that you can be”?

Of course to a logical mind, this is not an either/or scenario; we need not take one horn or the other, but endeavor a middle path, striking a healthy balance between the two.  Perhaps we overcorrect our children because a child can really only perceive self-interest up to a point, and so we train them to the extreme in order to create that balance.  But now let’s return to ourselves…are we overcorrecting ourselves as well?  Do we feel a healthy give and take between the number of times we say “yes” and the number of times we say “no” or have too many of us built our self-esteem on compliance to other people’s wishes?  If the latter is true, how many times do we back ourselves into an endless loop of self-abuse by realizing and re-realizing that you can only please some of the people some of the time?

This is why you have to be willing to be a bad guy.  Because the truth of the matter is, unless you are a complete and total people-pleasing doormat, YOU ALREADY ARE, at least in the minds of some others.  Do you hear me?  YOU ARE A BAD GUY.  The denial of this fact probably causes us as much unhappiness as anything in the world, because it is our belief that we CAN in fact please all of the people all of the time that leads to exhaustion and pain.  You just have to accept that someone thinks you are shallow, or someone else thinks you’re arrogant, or someone else may even think of you as (gulp!) selfish!  Despite your very best efforts to make the exact opposite impression!  At times you just rub people the wrong way (guilty as charged),  occasionally a momentary lapse on your part can give a permanent bad impression (oops!) and the worst news yet is that every so often your very best efforts fall short, at least in the mind of a (very demanding!) other.  What I’m saying is that this game is rigged; you cannot win it.  Choose one horn or the other, but in the end you’ll be impaled.  Sorry about that.

So not only is it okay to be the bad guy, it is actually inevitable.  Whether you do it deliberately or not, there are always going to be people who don’t like you, or hold a grudge against you, or think you are an idiot/jerk/selfish brat/social climber/lazy slob/arrogant snob, whatever.  This may be your “fault” and it may be entirely a projection on the other person’s part, but ultimately the result is the same.  So the next time you have to say “no”, or make a decision that may prove to be unpopular, or make a choice that may be perceived as selfish, try taking the court of public opinion out of the equation.  Ask yourself, what would I do if no one else would know?  This may be a drastic stance on the “dance like no one was watching” adage, but you have to get to a point where you trust yourself enough not to question your own motives.  Are you a good person because people are watching?  Or are you authentically yourself, a person who doesn’t steal or kill but may occasionally not be in the mood for a Tupperware party?  When you accept you are already a villain in someone else’s play, you realize the only place you have the power to rewrite is your own story. 

Parents know:  some days you are the good guy, some days you are the bad guy, most days you are everything in between and then some.  We can accept these roles on behalf of our children, so why is it so easy to forget when we are thinking for ourselves?  I am willing to be the bad guy because the pain of someone’s judgments about me are no longer more acute than the pain of living a life that exhausts me and undermines my faith in myself.  I’m willing to be the bad guy because I’ve lived long enough to know being willing to make a decision, even if it is a hard one, is so much better than living in a stagnation.  I’m willing to be a bad guy because I know myself very well, all the dark and light places, and I trust that my primary motivation is to seek the light.  I’m willing to be the bad guy because I’m willing to forgive you on days when you take that part.  And you will take it, whether you want to or not.  So rip off the Band-Aid and become deliberate; you own this role.  You may not relish it, but life will be so much simpler if you can accept it.

PLEASE "like" this on the Huffington Post:  http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kara-postkennedy/why-its-ok-to-be-the-bad-guy_b_7301186.html

WHY I HATE THE OLYMPICS

I have always hated the Olympics, even when I was a kid.  ESPECIALLY when I was a kid, actually, because in the time before cable, there were only three broadcast networks, and those three broadcast networks ALL aired Olympics and Olympics ONLY round the clock for what felt like eons.  I awaited each new cycle with a dread that bordered on rage; who in their right mind wants to watch amateur sports and only amateur sports for weeks on end?  WHO??  WHO??? 

Well, apparently a lot of people who are not me because the Olympics are still around, although thankfully no longer on every network and blessedly not around the clock.  God, those endless days of Olympics with nothing else to watch, especially in the winter!  My own personal hell.  I admit I am not a fan of sports in general, but I can enjoy a rousing game of basketball with the best of them, or even listen for up to five minutes when my husband or son drones on and on about football.  But the Olympics are a total drag, imho.

I can just imagine people getting all outraged about this because I think it is most likely considered “un-American” to hate the Olympics, and what worse crime is there than being “un-American”?  America was built on the competitive spirit!!!   The drive to excel!!!...but I would argue that it was actually built on the foundation of cooperation and community driven initiative.   Personally, I don’t give a damn who wins the Olympics because, to trot out another cliché, aren’t they already winners if they made it to the Olympics? 

And while I am certainly not advocating NOT doing your best, I also recognize that my best varies tremendously from day to day and I assume this is true of most people, even Olympians.  I assume that plenty of people have maybe gotten the (gasp!) bronze when they are capable of the gold, just because they were having an off day.  Or maybe someone else was just really having an ON day, who knows?  My point is, I really couldn’t care less about who came in one tenth of a second ahead of somebody else, if you can forgive me for this.

I have seen kids bawl their eyes out over big team losses, small team losses, coming in a tenth of a second behind someone else and losing a game of Go Fish; to me it is all the same.  Essentially meaningless.  The percentage of people who will go on to play professional sports is negligible, and those who will be professional card players even fewer.  To me, it is all the biggest “WHO CARES?” on the planet, and frankly if you can’t have fun either way I don’t know why in the world you would bother to play the game, no matter what it is. 

Losing is part of life, a pretty crucial part of life, actually.  Theoretically at least, it should teach you self-compassion, other-compassion and how to sort out the meaningless from the meaningful.  When you die, the headline might read “Gold Medal Winner Passes Away”, but what really matters about your life and how you lived it will be completely absent from that banner.  You could win a gold medal and be a truly terrible person.  Or you could win a gold medal and be the greatest person who ever lived.  But the latter is not dependent on the former and never could be.

Look, I am not trying to yuck anybody’s yum here; if you just love watching a bunch of kids you don’t know compete against each other at various sports, go for it.  I think we can all be moved by the personal stories, the purity of purpose those young people seem to embody.  But the next time you watch some little ice skater crying her eyes out because TODAY of ALL DAYS she had to fall in the middle of her routine, remember that she has given up having a normal life for this day. 

She has given up sleep, a lot of fun food and the better part of her social life for this day.  She has LIVED FOR THIS DAY and THIS DAY ONLY for most of her life and guess what?  It didn’t pay off.  She was having an off day and she choked, like we all do a thousand times in a lifetime, but hopefully and usually we have sacrificed very little to our screw up and we can just shrug and say tomorrow’s another day.  She can’t and I am not okay with that.  As gold medal winner Tara Lipinski put it, “You have so much pressure on you, and there's so many people relying on you, and the rest of your life is riding on four minutes”.   The rest of your life is riding on four minutes.   I do not think a culture that promotes that idea is okay.  To me, it is not okay at all. 

People are so derisive of the “everybody gets trophy” mentality in children’s sports, but I am not one of those people.  You don’t have to be a star, baby, to be in my show.  If you are here, not being a jerk and having some fun, I am glad to have you.  Once when she was little, my niece was playing with a group of children (including her cousin, my son) and decided she was going to give everyone a prize.  So she got out the crayons and paper and made a medal for every kid who was there.  She picked out a strength she noticed in their behavior and gave them a medal for it. 

How unbelievably great is that?  How would it be, if instead of training children to compete against each other in various endeavors, we taught them to notice and appreciate the strengths and gifts others bring to the table with gratitude, not envy?  There is a time and place for competition, but as Emerson so perfectly put it, “The roses…do not compare themselves to former roses or better ones; they are what they are.”  And so are we, each a perfect rose in our own way.  We are not all going to be Olympians, but we all have a lot to contribute on our good days, our bad days and every day in between.  So today you get a medal, whether you fell during your “routine” or not.  You get a medal for getting back up, and for remembering that tomorrow is another day.