Pfizer's rally cry for women: 'Return to You'

As I venture into life’s second act, the effects of the inevitable transition mount. Many of you likely know the drill: I get cold more often then I used to, then I get hot, then cold again. My weight has increased while my memory has decreased…or disappeared altogether at times. I’m a wee bit more crabby, or weepy, some days. And periods by which I could once set a clock are now the most undependable event on my calendar. My mind has become undependable, too, or at the very least, foggy with occasional moments of zero visibility.

I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in such things. Women my age are destined to have such experiences, I’m told, as well as the need to focus on our hearts and all things that keep it healthy. The concerns can be overwhelming.

One of the perks of such menopausal or perimenopausal unpleasantness is that it forces us to accept that we’re getting older, which is a good thing. For while there may be no way to ignore our age, no way around it, there is indeed a way to embrace it.

As we accept we’re getting older, we realize time is relatively short for doing exactly what we want to do, being exactly who we want to be. A lucky few may have succeeded at being themselves all along, but I wasn’t one of them. Maybe you weren’t either. Many of us weren’t—and now is the time for us to connect with others facing the same challenges in reaching our full potential.

Pfizer is encouraging women to share our “Return to You” stories, our tales of circumstances causing us to refocus on living healthier, happier, better lives. Here is mine:

Once upon a time I was a boss. I ran a department. I managed staff. I was a newspaper editor. An editor who edited and rarely wrote—a far cry from the writer I’d always considered myself to be. But hey, I was the boss, and for a short while that made me happy.

Then the economy tanked, my department was cut, and my staff and I joined the ranks of the unemployed.

I searched for jobs, applied for jobs, finally came within inches of an awesome new job—as a boss. There’d be decent pay, great benefits, staff to boss. But no writing. Again, a far cry from whom I really was, who I really wanted to be.

The day before the final interview for that great job, my head ached, my stomach churned. My gut was telling me the great job wasn’t all that great. At least not for me. I had to make a choice: go for the job or listen to my gut and get back to being myself.

I listened to my gut and cancelled the interview. So much for decent pay, great benefits, staff to boss around. But that was okay because none of that mattered, not to the me I was returning to.

What did matter was writing and making at least a smidgen of money at it, of course, as the balance in my bank account mattered, too. It was a risky choice to make, but it was the right one for me. My husband thankfully agreed and supported it regardless of how tight it might make our finances.

And tight it has indeed been. Yet despite the stress associated with making ends meet, I feel less stressed than ever before. Sure, there's still that whole perimenopause thing going on, but by returning to being me, I feel younger, more vibrant, more vital, more healthy. I readily accept challenges and opportunities I’d let slip by in the past. I eat better, and I exercise more.

Making a conscious decision to return to me led to me being better than ever—physically, mentally, spiritually. In turn, I’m better for everyone else in my life. I’m a better wife, a better mother, a better grandmother.

I’m also a better writer, a more productive writer. This post? It was my fourth completed article of the day—with not even a wee bit of being crabby or weepy in the process. At least not that I can remember.

What about you? Have you had the chance to Return to You? I'd enjoy hearing about it; feel free to share your story in the comment section.

Want to read other Return to You blogger stories? Visit the Pfizer page on BlogHer.com and prepare to be inspired!

Serendipity

Brianna & Andrea, ready for Hugo in 3D."Our brightest blazes of gladness," Samuel Johnson once said, "are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks." I learned the truth of that this past Sunday.

Thanksgiving weekend was pleasant all the way around, but my favorite day of the long holiday wasn't the top-billed, highly planned for Thanksgiving Day. Nor was it the day after...or Saturday. It turned out to be Sunday. Unexpectedly. Unintentionally.

My youngest daughter, Andrea, was unable to join us for the Thanksgiving Day gathering because she had to work. We had talked about her possibly making the trek from Denver to home at some point over the long weekend if her schedule allowed, but there were no definite plans, not even as late as Saturday morning.

Then Sunday worked out for her, opened itself up for a visit. She headed home, Brianna headed over from her place, and Jim and I were fortunate to have two of our three daughters with us for the afternoon. And two out of three ain't bad at all.

We played the ABBA You Can Dance video game on the Wii. Andrea proved to be the true dancing queen, Brianna was the karaoke queen, I was the queen of busting moves to my own groove instead of those intended. And Jim...well, he just laughed while watching the rest of us, far too cool to grace us with ABBA moves of his own.

We ate the last of the Thanksgiving turkey and potatoes and more, not at the table in proper family dining fashion, but in front of the TV. We—okay, they—watched and talked about football. We ate pie. We conducted a mini chocolate taste-testing of Lindt Excellence chocolate bars for my Holiday Guide.

And we went to see Hugo, the 3D movie directed by Martin Scorsese, produced by Johnny Depp, and crowned with an A+ rating by Roger Ebert. That's all we knew beforehand, as the trailer doesn't come close (thankfully) to truly revealing the tale...so we were all delightfully surprised by how magical, moving, and memorable Hugo turned out to be.

Just like our unplanned, unexpected day turned out to be: delightful, surprising, magical, moving, memorable.

Today I bask in that blaze of gladness, sparked by pure serendipity.

Today's question:

What leftovers from Thanksgiving still remain in your refrigerator?

Of Indian corn, cranberries, tradition

I'm a sucker for establishing and following family traditions. My family of origin didn't have many traditions, but the family Jim and I created has been steeped in them, especially during the holidays. All holidays, from New Years to St. Patrick's Day to Fourth of July and on into Thanksgiving and Christmas. For each, we have traditions unique to our clan, ones we've followed for years.

Well, at least used to.

The empty nest continually challenges my desire to do as we've done in years upon years past. I'm struggling with creating new traditions to replace the old ones, the ones that required participation of the whole family...or at least its majority. I'm not yet used to not having the majority around for the celebrations that mattered—and continue to matter—most. Yesterday's Thanksgiving celebration, although delightful and enjoyable, was the first time I celebrated a holiday with only one of my three daughters. One had to work, the other celebrated with in-laws. I understand and accept such things, such changes; I'm just not yet used to them.

The empty nest isn't the only thing challenging my commitment to traditions set into motion years ago. Basic changes in our society—specifically, the availability of certain goods and services—take a toll as well.

To wit: I once upon a time created a tradition of sprinkling on the Thanksgiving table the multi-colored kernels of Indian corn. Throughout the meal, family and other guests were invited to place kernels representing the blessings for which they were thankful into a ceramic "gratitude" dish placed on the table. I considered it a way to express our thanks without having to say such things aloud and draw uncomfortable attention to oneself or the things for which they're grateful.

It was a tradition we followed for years, but I'm now unable to find Indian corn anywhere. (I wrote here of one embarrassing Thanksgiving when I had saved the kernels from the previous year, upon realizing the corn was confoundedly difficult to find every year.) Last year we spent the holiday at Megan's house sans gratitude dish, but the year prior, I decided to use popcorn kernels in place of the nowhere-to-be-found Indian corn kernels. I quickly realized it just didn't have the same feel, the same "pop" (pardon the pun) as the Indian corn, that tried-and-true symbol of Thanksgiving. I considered the tradition over.

Until this past Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I came up with a brilliant idea, a way to continue the tradition, with similarly symbolic tokens to represent our gratitude. Cranberries! Why I didn't think of it before, I don't know. But yesterday my Thanksgiving table was sprinkled with the festive red berries, most everyone a berry or two or ten symbolizing blessings in the dish, and in no time our gratitude cup indeed runneth over. Success!

Time and the toll it's taken on the commercial availability of Indian corn required me to alter one of the my family's most time-honored traditions. It felt a little funny at first, but it worked. Sure, the Indian corn was missed...and fondly recalled. But the cranberries worked just as well, even added a colorful turn the tradition lacked in its initial form. A new tradition was born.

As we head into the Christmas season—the holiday marked by the most treasured of family traditions—I resolve to hold close the lesson of our altered Thanksgiving tradition. It's proof that despite changes and alterations, new traditions can be just as meaningful, just as important as the old.

As Indian corn can be replaced by cranberries, new traditions celebrated by a family minority—possibly even just by Jim and myself—can be just as meaningful, just as important as those once celebrated by our entire family. I'll be mindful of that, keep reminding myself of that.

Out of habit, though, I'll likely keep an eye out for Indian corn in the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving for a long time to come. Similarly, one part of my heart will always be focused on the traditions that once defined our family, as well. At least until I find something as festive and colorful as the cranberries to replace them.

Today's question:

Which of your family traditions have changed—or ceased—through the years?