Lighten Up Already!

GAIL: Two months ago, you thought you had a malignant melanoma.

MICKEY: Naturally! The sudden appearance of a black spot on my back!

GAIL:  It was on your shirt!

Julie Kavner and Woody Allen in Hannah and Her Sisters

I have a lot of grown-up things on my to do list right now. I have to figure out how people file taxes here in purgatory (the state between married and divorced). I have to actually get divorced. -- Do we use a mediator or lawyers? Are we getting along well enough to try a collaborative divorce (whatever that is)? -- And I have to step up my job search so that I can inch my way a tiny bit closer to the middle class I pretend to be a part of. All this while managing my current three jobs and two kids. Like I said, this is grown-up stuff. So, my question is, WHERE THE HELL ARE THE GROWN-UPS?! I mean, HELLO??  I keep waiting for them to come home and take over, but it seems they've left me in charge.

A couple of days ago I was feeling really weighed down by all of this big-girl stuff, weighed down and inadequate. Am I really cut out for adulthood? At 51, you'd think I might have figured this out by now, but here we are. It was a gorgeous day. Between jobs I took my dog, Zeke, for a walk on the beach. If a sunny walk on the beach won't snap me out of a funk, what will? Zeke was running around greeting every person we met, wagging like a maniac, dashing in and out of the waves, bringing me sticks to throw, rolling in dead things on the beach, and generally having the time of his life. Me? I was walking as if being pulled down by quick sand, worried the Adult Licensing Board would come strolling up any minute and revoke my license. "We're sorry," they would say. "But whatever gave you the idea you were a grown-up? Clearly there has been some kind of a mistake, Ms. Bregante. You must have cheated on the entrance exam. Or slept with one of the higher ups."

I tried focusing on everything I have to be grateful for. The whole "attitude of gratitude" thing generally works for me, but not that day. I listlessly said things to myself like, "I'm grateful for .... um .... the ocean? Yeah, whatever." I couldn't muster up the energy to feel grateful, just sour and anxious. Intellectually I knew I had a lot to be grateful for. Just last week I wrote about orchards of abundant fruit in my life, but that day the fruit didn't seem as fresh and juicy as it did last week. It seemed more like one of those holiday dried fruit baskets with too many prunes.

So happy dogs and beach walks weren't getting me out of my funk. Gratitude was just making me feel guilty for my bad mood. What's left? 

That's when I thought about Woody Allen. I have been slowly indoctrinating my sixteen year old daughter into the hilarious, thought provoking world of Woody Allen films. I know, I know, the man's personal life doesn't make him much of a role model, but I have to separate the man from his movies. I can't imagine going through life without "Annie Hall" as a reference. I mean, Van Gough cut off his ear for god's sake. I wouldn't want my daughter to date him, but I still want her to appreciate his sunflowers. 

Anyway, so far we have watched "Manhattan" and, just last weekend, "Hannah and Her Sisters," which is a touchstone film for me. In the movie, Woody Allen plays a chronic hypochondriac who, when faced with the possibility of a real illness, is thrust into a hilarious search for the meaning of life. The scene where Julie Kavner reminds him that the malignant melanoma he thought he had was really a stain on his shirt makes me laugh every time I see the movie. I know the line is coming, I wait for it, and I crack up. Just thinking about it makes me smile.

And then it hit me. I'm not a hypochondriac about illness, but I am kind of a hypochondriac about life events. Divorce and taxes really suck, but they're not terminal. Looking for work is daunting in this job market, but I'll be able to do it without surgery. I don't want to minimize how hard this stuff is, but how is it going to help me to wallow in self-pity? As Woody Allen says, "Life is full of misery, loneliness, and suffering - and it's all over much too soon." It's full of other stuff too, of course, like walks on the beach, exuberant dogs, and Woody Allen movies. I need to take a deep breath, figure out the next right step (not the entire dance routine), ask for help when I need it (that's a whole other post), and laugh. Laugh a lot. Especially at myself. It's either that, or go to the bridge. Right now, the spot's just on my shirt. I choose laughter.