Then Do Something About It

Somebody Needed to Say It: Then Do Something About It

We all complain. I complain. Sometimes complaining is therapeutic. You get it out, say a few bad words, tell your friend the whole ridiculous story, and feel better.

But eventually?

You have to do something.

You hate your job.

Every day.

You’ve hated it since 2019.

But you haven’t applied anywhere.

You’re always broke, but haven’t changed one thing you’re spending money on.

You’re exhausted, but you’re scrolling TikTok at 1:30 in the morning.

You’re unhappy in your relationship, but won’t have the uncomfortable conversation.

You complain nobody helps you, but every time somebody offers a solution, you have seventeen reasons why it won’t work.

At some point, I don’t know what we’re doing here. 😂

And yes, some situations are genuinely hard. Not every problem has an easy solution. Sometimes all the choices suck.

But doing nothing is still a choice.

You don’t have to change your entire life by Tuesday. Take one step. Make the phone call. Fill out the application. Cancel something you can’t afford. Have the conversation. Ask the question. Make the appointment.

Do something different.

Because if you’ve been complaining about the exact same problem for three years while refusing to change anything, maybe you’re not looking for a solution anymore.

Maybe complaining has become your hobby.

Change it.

Accept it.

Learn to live with it.

Or at least stop giving the rest of us weekly updates. 😂

Because eventually “I don’t know what to do” becomes “I know what I could do. I just don’t want to do it.”

And sometimes that’s the actual problem.

Somebody needed to say it.

Just Tell Me I’m Fine Again

I’ve recently discovered something about myself: I don’t necessarily need new information.

I need the same information repeated until my nervous system agrees with it.

You can tell me, “That’s normal.”

Great.

Five minutes later: “Okay, but is it still normal?”

Ten minutes later: “Can you check again?”

And apparently, if I own a device capable of measuring something, I will measure the absolute shit out of it.

My Apple Watch has learned this the hard way.

Heart rate 89? Wonderful.

Heart rate 101? Excuse me, what the hell is happening?

Heart rate 116 because I stood up and walked across the room? Well, obviously this is the end.

Back to 99?

“Okay, but check it again.”

😂

I don’t think I’m necessarily a hypochondriac. I think I’m more of a professional reassurance seeker. There’s a difference. I don’t always believe something terrible is wrong. I just need someone to confirm approximately 14 times that something terrible is not wrong.

And the funny thing is, once I’m reassured, I’m perfectly reasonable.

“Okay! That makes sense.”

Then my body does one slightly different thing.

“Wait. What was THAT?”

Maybe some of it comes with getting older. When you’re young, your body can make a weird noise and you think, Huh.

At 61, your body makes a weird noise and suddenly you’re conducting a full investigation.

Was that there yesterday?

Is that new?

What medications have I taken?

Did I drink enough water?

Is this hormones?

Am I out of shape?

Could it be the prednisone?

CHECK MY HEART AGAIN.

I know reassurance can become a rabbit hole, and I’m working on trusting my body a little more instead of monitoring every little thing it does.

But sometimes I don’t need someone to tell me I’m being ridiculous.

I just need someone to calmly say, “You’re okay. What you’re feeling makes sense.”

And apparently, occasionally, I need them to say it again.

And again.

And one more time just to be safe.

Then I’ll relax.

Probably.

But first…

Can you check it again? 😂

Labels: Aging, Anxiety, Health, Humor, Overthinking, Reassurance, Getting Older, Apple Watch, Life After 60, Insignificant Thoughts

When You Learn People Are Idiots... You Can't Unsee It!

I’m trying to remember a time when people weren’t idiots. 

Before Facebook? Probably.

I mean, surely people have always been stupid. We just didn’t have access to all of them at once. I can remember when my life was crazy and unpredictable... Things happened... Plans fell apart... People disappointed me... Bills showed up when the money didn’t... Kids got sick at the worst possible time... Cars broke down... Employees quit.. The washer flooded the floor. 

Life did what life does.

And somewhere along the way, instead of constantly waiting for the shit to hit the fan, I started having a plan. Then I had a backup plan. And eventually I had a backup plan for the backup plan...Because one thing I learned pretty early is that life does not give a shit about your plans.

But apparently, somewhere along the way we decided every inconvenience was an emergency. Every disappointment was somebody else’s fault, and every thought that popped into our head needed to be shared with 14,000 strangers on Facebook.  (Stop it!) When did that happen? When did we decide to air all our dirty laundry?

There was a time when if something stupid happened... you called your mom, or your best friend. You sat at the kitchen table and bitched about it to your husband, and then you figured it out. You didn’t immediately run to Facebook:

Them: “Does anyone know what I should do?”

Me: "Yes. Handle it."

That’s what we used to do. We handled shit. We didn’t need 347 opinions from people who don’t know us, don’t know the other people involved, and have heard approximately 12% of the story. And maybe that’s the biggest difference. Before social media, stupid thoughts had a much smaller audience. You might say something ridiculous at work and three people heard it. Somebody might look at you funny. Maybe your friend would say, “Girl, that makes absolutely no sense.” And that was the end of it.

Now you can post it anonymously in a Facebook group and have 600 other people validate your stupidity before lunch. And God forbid someone says, “Well… have you considered that maybe YOU are the problem?” Absolutely not.

BLOCKED.

Because somehow we’ve also reached a point where being offended automatically means you’re right. It doesn’t. Sometimes you’re offended because somebody finally told you something nobody else had the nerve to say. 

Life has taught me that you can spend all your time trying to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you... or you can accept that shit WILL happen, and become the kind of person who knows what to do when it does.

Have a plan.

Have a backup plan.

Learn how to problem solve.

Learn how to hear the word no.

Learn how to be disappointed.

Learn how to admit when you screwed up.

And for the love of God, learn that not every thought needs to become a Facebook post. Maybe people weren’t smarter before Facebook. Maybe we just didn’t know how stupid everybody was. And honestly, I kind of miss that.

Conversations In My Head With Nowhere To Go.

I’ve talked to my mom my entire life. Not every day, but often—sometimes just to share something small, something that didn’t matter to anyone else but mattered to me. She was my person. My audience. My constant.

After spending my whole adult life running a daycare, I finally retired. For years, I imagined retirement would mean more time with her—slow afternoons, longer visits, conversations that didn’t have to end because I had somewhere else to be.

Instead, I retired... and then I lost her.

Nobody prepares you for grieving not just the person, but the future you thought you were finally going to have with them.

Now I find myself wondering who I’m supposed to call. When something funny happens. When I find a good deal. When I want to brag about my grandkids. When I’m sick, excited, scared... or when there’s another grandbaby on the way.

For sixty-one years, the answer was always the same.

My mom.

Grief has a way of hiding in the smallest habits. Reaching for the phone. Seeing something and thinking, I need to tell Mom. Then remembering I can’t.

Life will go on. I’ll keep writing, loving my grandkids, and doing all the things I’ve always done. But there are still conversations in my head with nowhere to go.

I still want to hear her laugh. I still miss the way she’d start every opinion with, “Well...” before telling me exactly what she thought—even if I wasn’t going to take her advice anyway.

Maybe grief is simply missing the place where all your words used to land. So maybe I keep talking anyway. Maybe I write. Maybe I tell the stories. Maybe that’s how I keep her close. 

One More Thing... Really?

I think we all go through seasons where life knocks us down. Sometimes it doesn’t just knock us down—it throws the whole kitchen sink at us... and then somehow finds another kitchen sink. 😂

Nobody gets through this life without hurt, disappointment, unfair situations, and those moments where you just look up and say, “Seriously? One more thing?” That’s called being human.

But somewhere along the way, we have to be careful that what happened to us doesn’t become who we are. There’s a difference between living through a hard chapter and deciding the entire book is ruined.

And let’s be honest... sometimes staying stuck can feel easier. Because if everything is everyone else’s fault, we never have to ask the uncomfortable question, “What can I do differently?” Nobody likes that question. It shows up uninvited, sits on your couch, helps itself to your snacks, and points out things you were hoping nobody noticed. 😂

Now, this doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen. They absolutely do. People hurt us. Life can be unfair. Circumstances come along that we never would have chosen. But healing usually begins when we stop giving the worst moments of our lives permission to make every decision that comes afterward.

At some point, we have to ask ourselves, “Am I carrying this experience, or is this experience carrying me?” Because there’s a difference.

The victim mindset keeps score forever. It remembers every hurt, every disappointment, every person who didn’t show up, and every time life wasn’t fair. The problem is, when your arms are full carrying all of that, there isn’t much room left for hope, joy, growth, or even the people who are trying to walk beside you.

We can’t always choose what happens to us. But we usually get to choose what we do next. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not easily. Maybe one tiny step at a time.

Your past may explain you, but it doesn’t have to define you. Your story is allowed to have more than one chapter. Just make sure you’re still holding the pen.