I Regret (Almost) Nothing

In a few short months, I will be 46. It seems that time moves incrementally faster as I age. I’ve crested the hill of my mid-forties and I feel like I’m on a rollercoaster zipping downhill towards 50. I recently read I Miss You When I Blink, which is FABULOUS, BTW. The author, Mary Laura Philpott, quotes Dani Shapiro who quotes Grace Paley (whew): "The years between ages fifty and eighty go by so fast they feel less like minutes, more like seconds." I had a cracked tooth pulled last week which makes me think dentures are only a matter of time, and maybe it's not too soon to start researching assisted living facilities. I never wanted to be one of those women that begrudgingly enters old age kicking and screaming with every year and yet, when I think about turning 50, I break into a cold sweat. The last 2 birthdays with a zero have been hard to swallow. The older I get, the more things I have to add to my “Murtaugh List”. Side-note- In case you don’t know your ‘80s movies, Danny Glover’s character in Lethal Weapon, Roger Murtaugh, has a catchphrase throughout the movie: “I’m too old for this sh*t”. I find myself saying this on a regular basis. I don’t feel any sort of midlife crisis nor do I regret missed opportunities over the last 46ish years…except maybe one. 

I took piano lessons between the ages of 6 and 14. Those last 2 or 3 years, I became less and less enthused. Once I started marching band in high school, there was no longer time to work in the weekly lessons, so I quite happily dropped piano from my schedule. Only when I became an adult did I wish I’d stuck with it. I acquired the family piano thinking maybe one day I’d pick it up again, but once I became a mom, I learned how little time there was to do something just for me. Piano became something to do once the kids were older. I inherited my grandmother’s baby grand a few years ago, and I thought, “This it it! I’ll finally take lessons again!” I called a reputable piano maintenance and repair company over to tune it, and the technician gave me a grim assessment. The piano needed new strings but even worse, the soundboard was cracked. I’d be looking at a repair bill of around $10,000. My piano dreams died once again. 

A couple weeks ago, I had a random thought about my 50th birthday and how far away it was. It turns out that July 2020 is 50 months away from the big 5-0. I want to make peace with aging instead of fighting or dreading it. I don’t want to mourn my 20s, 30s, and 40s. I want reasons to look forward to turning 50. I decided to compile a list of things I’d like to accomplish. I don’t want homework, so I’m not adding “Try 50 new recipes” (ICYMI, I hate to cook), “Read 50 classics” (life is too short to slog through Moby Dick), or “Run 50 miles” (If you see me running, you’d better run, too, because obviously something is chasing me.). I also want to keep this realistic and feasible, so I’m not adding “See all 50 states”; something I wouldn’t be able to do while working full time. I want to have fun, but I also want to learn, grow, and give back. The first item on my “50 Before 50” list: Learn 50 songs on the piano. I’ve purchased a keyboard (A Yamaha P71 with weighted keys and a sustain pedal). I’ve kept all of my old theory and repertoire books, and there are lots of resources on YouTube. The first few songs may be as simple as Chopsticks, but I hope to tackle more challenging pieces within the next couple of years. 

So far, I’ve only come up with a list of 25 things to accomplish before my 50th birthday. I have a whole month to finalize the list before I begin my challenge. Pinterest hasn’t been super helpful. It seems like every woman’s list has “Achieve my goal weight” or “Host a dinner party every month”…yeah, I’m gonna pass on those. I’d love to hear ideas or suggestions! I’ll share my 50 Before 50 list next month.

Enough is Enough

I was almost arrested once.

I was born and raised in the south. My family wasn’t affluent, but we had what we needed and enjoyed some splurges from time to time. I was jealous of friends whose families could take frequent vacations and buy any new clothes, music, toy, etc. advertised on TV or in magazines. I would’ve said life was a bit of a struggle, but I understood there were others that had it worse. And most of those others were of a different race. From my perspective, the ‘80s were better to my black friends than any decade before. However, South Carolina was a proud southern state still bitter about losing to the yankees. That heritage has been difficult to eradicate. The generational belief that non-whites were less deserving of the rights and goodness bestowed on my race had been diluted over the years, but it was still there. Racial slurs weren’t prevalent in my community, but also not uncommon. I grew up believing the non-whites who were poor or imprisoned were there due to bad choices they’d made. If they would just try harder to be productive, law-abiding citizens, their situations would be much better. Welfare and food stamps only encouraged people to be lazy and take advantage of the government. Since I had black friends and didn’t use the N-word, I didn’t consider myself to be a racist. My run-in with the law happened in 1992. I had a summer job as a cashier at Captain D’s in a town 10-15 miles away from my home. I was not yet 18, and I would be attending Clemson University as a freshman in a few weeks. This particular night, I’d had a closing shift at the restaurant. By the time I’d turned onto Anderson Mill Road, it was almost 11PM. Our house was in a subdivision, but the country road it branched off of was devoid of streetlights. I was a chronic speeder, and this night, I saw police lights in my rearview mirror. I didn’t retain much from my AP English class senior year, but I did recall a warning our teacher gave to us female students. If we were ever driving alone at night on a dark country road and a police officer wanted one of us to pull over, we had the right to get to a well-lit area first as a safety measure. We should just slow down so the cop would know we weren’t trying to evade them as we looked for a safe place to stop. When I saw the cop in my mirror, there were no streetlights anywhere. I was about 1 mile from my house. I decided to slow down and have the cop follow me home. Unfortunately, the cop didn’t know what my intentions were. When I wouldn’t pull over, he turned on the siren. I slowed down more. When I still wouldn’t stop, he drove up beside me and tried to push me off the road. I drove even slower. I was terrified and crying. As I pulled into my driveway, my parents ran outside. The cruiser had barely stopped before the cop leaped out, ran to my car, and tried to yank my door open. Fortunately, it was locked and I wasn’t about to unlock it. I stayed inside the car while the cop yelled at my parents and they tried to talk him down. He wanted to charge me with resisting arrest. Eventually, my parents convinced the cop that I was just a scared girl trying to protect myself and would never dream of doing anything unlawful. He gave me a ticket and court date for me to argue my case (I didn’t win; I was told there was no such rule about allowing solo women drivers to find a safe place to pull over for a traffic violation. I had to pay the fine). This incident became legendary in my family and a way to poke fun at me. 

All of the childhood beliefs I had about race followed me into adulthood, until I slowly began to think for myself and observe the world around me. I learned that class and race were not so easily defined. POC were still struggling, but I became optimistic my generation would change the world. When I became a parent, I vowed to do better; be better. I would not pass down my proud southern heritage. I would teach my children not to make broad assumptions about another race. I thanked God that my children were living in a time that was more welcoming of racial equality. And yet…

Travon Martin

Tamir Rice

Sandra Bland

Ahmad Arbery

Breonna Taylor

George Floyd

…here we are. It is 2020, and I am a middle-aged white woman. It is exhausting and heartbreaking that for all our efforts, racism prevails. As tired as I am, I don’t have to face this fact every day of my life the way POC do. I thought I was doing everything right to make this world a better place. I’ve read books by black authors. I’ve attended bible class discussion groups where I listened to a panel of speakers on the topic of social justice. I’m learning to identify and own my white privilege and wrestle with the sickening truth; I was born on second base while POC were born in the dugout. POC can’t just make better choices because they don’t HAVE better choices. The system has always been and continues to be rigged in favor of white people. I’ve been thinking about that traffic stop in the summer of 1992 a lot lately, but I haven’t found any reason to laugh. Because I’m faced with a chilling reality; if any of my black friends had been the scared teenager driving on that dark country road with an irate cop wanting them to pull over, that traffic stop would’ve ended so much differently. At best, they’d have ended up in prison. At worst, they’d have ended up in a casket. 

White people, we MUST do better. My opinion on the recent protests is this: As a white person, I don’t GET to have an opinion. We have no right to tell POC how they should process yet another incident of police brutality and racial injustice. Our job right now is to shut up and listen. Read books authored by POC about social justice and race (Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson and I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown are excellent). Don’t put the burden of education on POC. The onus is on YOU to do the hard work of researching and learning. I have learned much, but I still have SO much more to learn and do. While there should be more listening and less talking, white people can no longer stay silent when we see/hear/read things that perpetuate racism. I used to think it was enough to simply unfollow people on social media when they say or share things that disparage other people or races. But last year, I decided to speak up. I was called a coward for broaching the subject in an email. The last 18 months have been ugly and relationships have been destroyed. I'm not looking for sympathy or a pat on the back. Knowing the pain, stress, and loss I’d endure, would I do it again? Yes. Because POC have lost FAR more than I have and will continue to do so until white people say enough is enough. Educate yourself. Vote. Donate to organizations working towards social justice and racial equality. Be the change you want to see in the world.