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 Oh,
what a difference she made
Every woman at some point in her life has a "moment." It's that instance
in time where you quit going through the motions and actually think
about your life and what it all really means. I've heard some people
describe these as "aha" moments. When I think of "aha" moments I imagine
someone standing on the top of a mountain with a clear view of the
universe below and in that moment the meaning of life becomes clear
to them.
Most of my friends and I have had the more typical moment that comes
from too much work, no sleep, 20 unreturned voicemails, a lack of
clean underwear and a few unpaid bills that culminates in a "what
the hell am I doing with my life" crying jag. Rather than refer to
these as nervous breakdowns, which is what they feel like, I will
call them a "flash." The basis for this book is some of the conclusions
we've reached during our own personal flashes as we tried to ponder
the "what the hell am I doing with my life" question.
My biggest flash occurred at my mother's funeral when I was 29 years
old and 7 months pregnant. My mother had died at the age of 53, after
a yearlong battle with breast cancer. We hadn't had one of those "she's
my best friend" relationships that seem to only exist in feminine
hygiene ads. In fact, we had several falling-outs over the years,
but during her illness we were able to put that behind us and become
close again. Cancer does that.
Here I was at her funeral. I had on my very expensive maternity suit
and looked quite the sophisticate. I was the embodiment of my mother's
dream, a professional woman about to have my first child, proof that
women really could "have it all."
After a few of the usual words from the priest, he turned it over
to several people that had asked to speak. First, one of her students
spoke about how my mother had encouraged his love for science; then,
a note was read from another student about how my mother helped her
through teen alcoholism. She wrote about how my mother had recognized
her problems and had gotten her and her family into counseling. One
of our neighbors spoke about how Mom had challenged the developers
of a major highway and forced them to put in nature trails as part
of the project. She had rallied all of the neighbors to her cause
and 10 years later those trails are still being enjoyed daily.
As the list went on and on, I started wondering if I was at the right
funeral! Was this the same woman who "lost it" on a daily basis, screaming
while her children ignored her, the poor housekeeper who got orange
shag carpet in the 70's and kept it until the 90's because it hid
stains, the same woman who thought cut up SPAM on top of baked beans
counted as a casserole? Surely this was not the woman being so eloquently
eulogized. Sure, I knew she was a teacher and had been in charge of
some citizen's group, but wasn't she really just my mother after all?
Over the years, I had questioned how good she was at that. We had
not been close and there were times I was sure I hated her. Yet here
we were, her three children sitting in the front row, each of us a
success in our own right. Other neighborhood kids had taken a wrong
turn here or there. Looking at the other families I grew up with I
realized that there was at least one screw up in every family. But
not those Earle children, they were all on their way, without a bad
one among us. We all assumed that it was our own doing, but I had
just realized the common denominator.
In addition to us, there were two foster children that she took in
for three years before they were placed for adoption. One was now
in college and the other one about to start. Their adoptive mother
spoke lovingly about the time they spent with our family and how much
my mother had helped them. It was, she said, "a turning point in their
lives."
My father summed up the service when he said, "in the words of that
old country song, you left the woodpile higher than you found it."
As I watched these people pay tribute to my mother I thought long
and hard about what a difference she had made in these lives. As a
teacher, community activist, neighbor, wife, foster mother and, of
course, as my mother. She wasn't perfect, far from it, yet she had
obviously played a major role in the lives of everyone there. All
of the people that spoke sighted her influence as significant.
I started to wonder, what would my funeral be like? What would people
say? I was sure I had surpassed my mother in terms of accomplishments.
Certainly I had done more with my life than she had by 29. I was making
a great living. I was the best sales person in the history of my company,
money being, of course, the measurement tool. I had a beautiful home,
a successful marriage, I was expecting a baby and I would soon be
back at work managing it all looking like a Virginia Slims ad.
As I ticked off my many proud accomplishments I was again haunted
by the thought, but what will they say? Who would be the person to
stand up and talk about how I helped them at the turning point in
their life? My customers? Well I was a great sales rep, but let's
be realistic, I sold training programs, not polio vaccines. My neighbors?
My yard did look pretty good these days and I'm sure they all appreciated
the fact that I researched historic paint palettes before I chose
my color scheme. Who else?
My friends? Well, come to think of it how many real friends did I
have? I gave a great Christmas party every year, but how many of those
people was I really important to? Was everyone in my life just an
acquaintance?
There I was the consummate professional, perfectly groomed, the embodiment
of all my mother's dreams for me, proof that the hard work she put
into the women's movement really paid off; yet the sum of my accomplishments
to date seemed to be that I contributed 15% to my 401K, had a standing
appointment with my hairdresser to touch up my roots, and ate a low
fat diet.
It was pretty depressing. Where were the people to make the glowing
tributes about the major impact I had had on their lives? At this
point I was wondering who, if any would even come, much less have
something to say. Maybe I needed an angel like Clarence in It's a
Wonderful Life, to show me my impact but I didn't see anyone who would
stand up and say "Oh what a difference she made to me."
That was the flash, the moment when I realized that things weren't
right. I didn't know quite what was wrong. I had done everything like
I was supposed to; but it just wasn't right. That brief moment of
insight is where this book began. It wasn't a book at first, it was
a flash, a "what the hell am I doing with my life" moment that happened
in the front row of the Robert J. Murphy Funeral home in Arlington,
Virginia. It evolved into a book when I realized I wasn't the only
one floundering.
Most of us have to go through some major tragedy to realize what matters
to us. I hope I can give you that perspective without you having to
suffer. I want you to figure out now what takes most of us a few deaths,
children, and other assorted life altering events to figure out. One
of the goals when JoAnn and I began this project was to give each
woman a 10-year jump in perspective. Things are always clearer in
hindsight and I want to give you a "frontsight" that is just as clear.
One of the other things I hope you get out of this book is a greater
appreciation for yourself and other women. You're probably already
doing more than you know, but you don't have anyone to point it out
to you.
As I've thought of my mother's funeral and how surprised I was at
the scope of her influence, I realize that she would have been quite
shocked by the service. To her, life probably seemed like an endless
to-do list that she could never seem to get checked off. I doubt that
she ever saw how much she meant to people because she never felt close
enough to them to ask. I wonder if she was ever really even happy.
We all wish that we could go back in time to people we've lost and
make things different. If I could reenter my mother's life I wouldn't
go back as her daughter. I would go back as someone else, a friend.
That's what I suspect she and a lot of other women really need. Everyone
can use a person to remind you of all the wonderful life choices you've
already made, to point out to you how much you have meant to people,
to help you figure out where you want to go from here. We all need
that wonderful person who doesn't want or need anything from you,
who listens unbiasedly and helps you find your inner voice.
As I think about that funeral, and everyone saying what a difference
my mother made to them, I can see what a difference a friend like
that could have made to her; she needed a Clarence to show her the
why. Well, I can't go back in time and do it for her, so I'm going
to try to do it for you. I'm hoping I can be that friend for you and
help you become that friend for yourself and others.
Why Me?
Whether I and the other women you'll meet in this book have our own
lives together is questionable depending on what day you ask us. We're
not organized, never get around to writing thank you notes, and I
for one consider Tuna Helper a staple of my family's diet, but more
about these personal failings later. That's why this book is not about
how to help you become a more perfect anything. Let's leave that to
Martha, Dr. Spock, Good Housekeeping, and those other people we like
to hold up as personal standards of everything we're not.
A friend of mine said, "Every time I look at a self help book, I already
feel tired and behind." Well honey, this is the book for you. There
are no queens of perfect here. I don't want to show you how to do
more, get better organized, rise through the ranks of corporate America,
or plan your menus a week in advance; the rest of us have tried all
that and frankly it left us feeling rather flat.
I'm tired of people setting some impossible standard for us, that's
why most of my suggestions involve doing LESS, not more. This isn't
six steps to change your life or a year-long self-improvement plan.
It's a story, a story about what really matters to women and how what
really matters to you is probably in the life you've already got.
You deserve to find some joy and happiness in your life-the life you're
living now and what's yet to come. You deserve to feel significant,
to know that, no matter what you're doing with it, your life does
count. I want you to live your life knowing that at your funeral everybody
will be saying, "Oh what a difference she made to me."
#3046309.
Forget Perfect™
Finding joy, meaning, and
satisfaction in the life you've already got and the YOU
you already are. Now in it's 4th printing!
Hilarious help for every woman who has put herself last
on her own priority list.
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