One of my favorite parts of the 1979 classic film All That Jazz is that every morning Roy Scheider wakes up, tosses back his Alka Seltzer and pills, looks in the mirror, with jazz hands at the ready, and says optimistically, “It’s showtime, folks!”
In 1991, while working as a graphic designer for the American Collectors Association, I had the habit of getting to the office first on account of the option to work a flex schedule. I’d arrive in Edina, Minnesota, every day at 7 a.m. sharp, flip on the lights and get to work. My boss at the time told me she always envisioned me saying, “It’s showtime, folks!” with every flip of that switch.
I guess I was a bit entertaining to work with. That’s one way of putting it.
In 1993 when we bought the house we still live in, I remember seeing that lighted mirror in our bathroom and thinking, “Now THAT is a place to get ready in the morning. Talk about showtime!”
We may have joked about getting rid of that gaudy mirror but here we are, 23 years later, and even if I’m not saying it’s showtime aloud, I most certainly am thinking it. (And no, that is not Jesus on the wall, but rather, Lin-Manuel Miranda.)
Yes. We have a teen who uses acne products as evidenced by the pseudo tie-dyed effect you see on my formerly solid brown towels. It’s amazing how that orange spreads to all of them. I figure once Cole heads off to college, we’ll upgrade, but until then, at least they all sort of match in their orange-stained-ness.
When Cole heads off to college. Geez. Is that really around the proverbial corner?
I shouldn’t get ahead of myself. In fact, one of my top priorities in life is to not do that. I’m working hard to stay in the present and respond to each changing day as it comes. There’s really no sense in lamenting change, right? Because it’s happening on the molecular level every day. Ain’t no stopping that train, ladies. Either get on board or waste your time complaining about it.
It’s weird to be in this place. A place where more than ever, I feel like I have things to say. Things about this experience of being a normal human in the middle part of life. And yet, I find myself playing it a bit more cool. A bit more safe. A bit closer to the vest, if you will.
I want to practice gratitude in the midst of this middle. I want to make more of what I have. More life. More connection. More truth.
Maybe I’ll figure out a way to write it all out. And maybe I’m still just working through it.
Either way, I’m lucky to be here. Of that, I am quite certain.
At least I don’t smoke in the shower anymore.