Year of Living Exuberantly
The Year of Living Exuberantly
There they were. The same old resolutions I’d been listing, but not achieving, for the last seven years: lose a few pounds, improve my education, and put away some cash for my retirement. I scratched thick black lines through each item and started over.
In big letters I printed:
1. Wear more hats,
2. Show more cleavage
3. Travel
And…
4. Seduce three new men
I ripped the list from my journal and tacked it on my refrigerator with a Pizza Delivery magnet. This new list looked like a lot more fun.
From the top: wear more hats. More? Who wears hats since Jackie O abandoned the pillbox? Remarkably, the search for opportunities to adorn my head led me into new activities. I attended a baseball game in a snappy Giants cap, bought a sleek new helmet for bike rides, and a seductive wide-brim for loitering at the beach. Then, I wandered into a thrift shop and hit pay dirt: a vintage cloche for a jazzy Gatsby-era tea and a Stetson for Western theme night at the Eagles Club. I’m still scouting milieus for the fedora, the beret, and the bonnet. The crowning glory, a dramatic feathered number, I wore to the Renaissance Faire with my corseted bodice. A two-for-one: hat and cleavage.
Speaking of, writing “show more cleavage” on a list was a lot easier than actually pulling it off. After all, I’m a middle aged brunette sporting a few extra pounds in a media-saturated world of sexy blondes spilling out of beer commercials and Victoria’s Secret ad campaigns. But I was up to the challenge, especially since it required a shopping spree. I invested in plunging vee necks, sexy scoops, spaghetti straps and delicious lingerie to enhance them. The wardrobe change gave mundane encounters with the postman, the dry cleaners and the bag boy at Safeway a flirty edge. The only downside was a slight alienation of wives and girlfriends. So I scaled back and selected my décolleté occasions with care; some local venues, more in foreign locales, all with interesting results.
I dumped a year’s worth of retirement-targeted cash into the travel fund. By planes, trains, and automobiles, I logged adventures. From photographing mountains in Shasta, Seattle, and Colorado to roaming museums and galleries in L.A. and Santa Fe, I racked up the miles. I even drove to my birthplace in Mulberry, Arkansas returning to California via famed Route 66. Motoring west over long distances I belted out chick songs at the top of my lungs with the windows rolled down, squeezing joy out of each mile. By years end, just like Dorothy of Oz fame, I was content to nestle my tush into my favorite chair by the home fire.
Okay, take a really deep breath, next item: Seduce three new men. Seduction requires proximity, and since the breakup of my long-term relationship there had been a dearth of men in my life. This objective could be a bit of a challenge. Then an old friend telephoned.
Ever have one of those off-limits kind of guys in your life—a brother of a friend, or a buddy of your husband, a guy who you always kind of wondered about. You flirt a little, they flirt back, but everyone is too honorable to take it any further. By some whim of fate, mystical alignment of the stars, or karmic convergence, the guy, let’s call him Dave since that’s not his name, called to catch up. When he discovered I was “not involved” with his buddy anymore, he invited me to his home in the mountains for a “just friends” weekend. With my List lurking at the back of my mind, I headed north. A thunderstorm came rolling in and took out the electricity. We lit a fire, some candles and drank enough wine for him to admit he’d fallen in love with me the day, ten years before, that I’d walked into his house on his buddy (my ex’s) arm. Well…
The next morning we stood on his porch arm in arm watching the rain drip from the roof and realized 500 miles and a history were too much to overcome. But I drove away with a satisfied smile and a great big check on my List. One down.
Number Two appeared through the tried-and-true method: two people complaining of their lonely nights to a third. Heather heard the whines, sprouted Cupid’s wings, and gave out emails to myself and Harry (name changed to protect the guilty). It was the beginning of summer and we both anticipated a bit of a summer fling. Together, we enjoyed ballgames, and concerts, beach parties and sunset ferry rides, Seattle and Santa Cruz. Unfortunately, his ex-wife wasn’t quite as ex as first indicated and summer ended.
With four months to find Number Three, I could be selective. I don’t go to bars, my church attendance is irregular at best, and my friend’s friends were mostly married. What’s left? The Internet. The exploits that ensued are a whole other essay. Some contenders fell out early. The ability to spell and punctuate as well as craft an email of charm and wit, including at least one question about my interests, scored a coffee. Over the next couple of months, I endured bios and bravado over steak and sushi. Finally, a potential lover surfaced. I’ll call him Bill, since that is his name. He had an art collection, a sense of humor, and a desire for a monogamous girlfriend. Good thing I’d hit my goal.
I feel lucky. I made it through the bout of dating and mating with a minimum of emotional “oowies” plus some sweet encounters that elicit secret smiles at odd moments.
Bonus: I eschewed diets and inner dialogues about body image and lost 10 lbs without even trying and this 12 month joyride was quite an education. As to retirement, fifty years from now, you can bet I’ll regale the rest of the Blue Hairs with the edited (or unedited) versions of these escapades over Scrabble and Jell-O at Happy Valley.
Was it worth it? You bet. I relished adventures that transformed my journal entries from a mournful whine to the scintillating confessions of a passionate interesting life. In the distant future, if someone discovers this year’s well-worn journal, it will not be a yawn of a read. At least, that’s what I like to think.
So what’s my advice to anyone considering goals for the upcoming year? If you want to experience an exuberant fabulous year—start with a fabulous list!