January 13, 2014

Resolutions? No, Epiphanies.

I don't make New Year's resolutions, but when Epiphany --the day Christians celebrate the magi's realizing that Jewish kid napping in the feed trough was kind of a big deal was-- rolls around I often think about what realizations, when turned into action, would help me inch slightly closer to becoming a decent person.

This year I've come up with four things I've struggled with over the years that I really need to let go.

Judging adults who talk about pot like they were naughty teenagers

Let's leave "Billy Bong Thornton" out of the convo, shall we?
I don't understand why American adults are so cutesy and precious about marijuana. Haven't we all pretty much gotten on board with the only reason it's illegal and tobacco isn't is because 18th century white guys couldn't figure out how to get rich off pot?

I don't partake, but it was one of the few things that helped my brother with his chemo sickness.

As long as you know your source and aren't supporting the cartels who murdered my friend's entire family for their ranch land, I really don't care. It's filed firmly under Grown People's Business, meaning I don't want to know you "scored" some "herbal supplements" any more than you want to know I "ate" an "English muffin."

Still, if that's what passes as interesting and exciting in your life, it's no skin off my nose and I'll do my best not to harsh your mellow with my silent pity.


Caring about Mexican punctuality, even a little

I am way more at peace with this than I used to be.

I still hate to be late, but after a few years in gloriously inconvenient Mexico I don't get the eyeball twitch when other people are.

When you live in the land where everything seems custom-designed for maximum bureaucracy, expecting first-world promptness is ridiculous.

There's always some legitimate but unpredictable hold up (witness the gaping hellmouth that opened up along our main highway two weeks ago) so factoring in a one to two-hour delay is simply a way to avoid having a stress-related stroke before you're 35.

Individually plating anything, ever again

My first party in Mexico the earliest guest arrived four hours late with half a dozen people who hadn't been invited. This is standard practice. I'm getting better about inviting 15, preparing for 30 and only having five, but it wasn't until last year that I realized an overcrowded party can be fun (it helps that I have that atavistic Southern urge to have twice as much food as anyone could ever eat) and there are worse fates in the world than spending a quiet night with a few pals and eating fancy leftovers for the next two weeks. If I want to plate something, I can do it at the end of the party, when the person who swears he was "a friend of José's" asks for a plate with a little bit of everything to take his abuela.

Realizing vulgarians gonna vulg

Again, mostly an American thing because true vulgarity generally requires a certain amount of disposable income. I just can't spend another moment sullying my beautiful, beautiful mind in semi-repulsed awe at other people's deportment. I have spent too long wondering what life choices led a person down a path where one day they walked into a shop and voluntarily plucked out something casual with rhinestones, animal print and lamé and said "Yes. This is the shirt for me. It describes all that I value and want to convey and I shall have none other." This is the year I accept the stereotypical Southern Californian boomer is unknowable to me and just be grateful they gave us Pet Sounds.

So that's what I've got so far. What would you put on your Epiphany List?

3 comments:

  1. Andrea Gideon1/13/2014 12:20 PM

    I've only had one epiphany this year, but it's a whopper. Having turned 40 in 2013, I have come to understand that 40 is not the end of my life. In fact, 40 is pretty awesome.

    ReplyDelete
  2. That sounds like a great one!

    ReplyDelete
  3. It's not an emergency unless someone's dying or about to lose a major organ system. It might be important, and I'll do it, eventually, but I refuse to treat misplaced dance shoes as a Great Life Crisis.

    ReplyDelete