Enough already!
Here’s something I’ve been thinking about lately: If the first half of life is largely about accumulating things—experiences, skills, relationships, degrees, opinions, tattoos, etc.—then the second half of life is about learning to let go. I mean, yes, you can still also accumulate things. I am still enthusiastically accumulating experiences and relationships, along with wisdom (maybe?), wrinkles (definitely), and the spoils of my mother’s “Swedish Death Cleaning” as she calls it, to my dismay.
But learning the art of letting go is decidedly necessary at middle age and beyond. Children leave home. People you love age and die. Things that you might have once been able to do are no longer physically possible without risk of injury. (Just ask my elbow, currently recovering from a too-intense climbing session.) Goals or plans you once had cease to be realistic given the time and resources you have left. You have to learn how to loosen your grip.
But wait! Lest ye despair! All this go-letting isn’t just about loss, or saying goodbye to things you love. It can also be about letting go of the things that stood between you and joy. And seafood!
Here’s a fun story about that second one: Once, years ago, when the mister and I were newlyweds, his ninety-something grandmother came along for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house.
My mother would always put out various munchies and appetizers for people to graze on while the turkey was roasting: cheese and crackers, nuts, shrimp cocktail, etc. (Because why wait until the main event to overeat when you can get started right away?) So, while Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade played on TV, my grandmother-in-law sat on the sofa trying the various snacks arrayed on the coffee table, including—and especially—the shrimp cocktail.
She was having a grand old shrimpy time until her daughter—my mother-in-law—noticed what was going on and said “Mom! What are you doing?!”
You see, my mother-in-law is Jewish. She wasn’t raised keeping strict Kosher, but her parents had been. So as far as any of us knew, her mother had never eaten pork or shellfish in her life. Yet there she was, in my very gentile family’s living room in Connecticut, downing shrimp like it was going out of style.
What did my grandmother-in-law say when confronted with this grave breach of kosher dietary laws?
“Eh,” (shrug) “enough already.”
She’d lived a long, well-behaved life, and now she was going to eat some damned shrimp.
Here at the half-century mark(ish), I am finding myself doing a lot more eh, enough already-ing myself when it comes to things I’ve always done out of virtue or self-restraint or perfectionism.
I’m not talking about the important stuff; my morals and values and ethical commitments remain more or less intact. I’m talking about stuff like this:
(Brace yourselves.)
I PUT A TV IN THE BEDROOM.
All of my adult life, I’ve heard that you shouldn’t put a TV in your bedroom. Because it will ruin your sleep or your sex life or who knows what else. And for the longest time I was like: Yes!! The bedroom should be a sanctuary of reading and repose and love, unsullied by something as garish and banal as a television!
But about a year ago, after we upgraded our living room TV, I began to occasionally, stealthily hook the old one up in our bedroom to use when my husband was in the living room watching something I did not want to watch—like sportsball, or The Godfather for the 97th time—and I was hankering to watch something else, like the latest binge-worthy thriller (with or without Nicole Kidman), or Dirty Dancing for the 97th time.
And let me tell you—although you probably already know—there is something extremely delicious about lying in bed watching TV. It’s like being in a hotel! Or your parents’ bedroom, circa 1983! Except you’re not watching The Love Boat! (Yes, my parents had a TV in their bedroom for a while, but they also didn’t have the world’s healthiest marriage. COINCIDENCE?)
Still, I felt a little guilty about this indulgence. I didn’t keep the TV plugged in, and I didn't use it if the other TV was free. I know there are some of you reading this right now who are like, WTF, Jane. Zillions of people have a TV in their bedroom. This is not exactly the stuff of Sodom and Gomorrah.
What can I say? When you’ve thought of something as a no-no for so long, it’s hard to change gears. And I am the descendant of self-abnegating Anglo-Saxon protestants. Self-restraint is our bread and butter. (Just a tiny bit of butter, please.)
But a week or so ago, when I was hankering for a cozy night in my PJs and a couple of episodes of Youth, I watched in bed EVEN THOUGH THE DOWNSTAIRS TV WAS AVAILABLE!
And you know what? I did not feel bad about it. I felt delighted, in fact. (Full disclosure: I may have also consumed a gummy about an hour before.)
The extra TV now has a nice new Amazon Fire dongle and a permanent home in the bedroom. That home is on the floor in the corner, and I lift the TV up onto a table facing the bed when I want to watch it, because otherwise it blocks a very nice painting on the wall, and I’m not some kind of monster. But I’m done denying myself the pleasures of a good bed watch.
Enough already!
If my marriage collapses, my sleep suffers, my reading habits crater, or my character degrades as a result, I’ll report back. In the meantime: what privations have YOU said “eh, enough already” to as you’ve advanced in life?
May my grandmother-in-law’s memory—and her late life throwing of caution to the wind—be a blessing.
All posts on Jane’s Calamity are free and publicly available, but writing is how I make my living. If you enjoy my work, I’d be deeply grateful if you would consider leaving me a one-time tip or upgrading to a paid subscription. Or, hey, buy my book! Thank you as always for reading. xoxo.
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P.S. I think a lot of people didn’t see my last post because I stupidly gave it a title that probably triggered spam filters. So if you missed it, give it a look-see! It’s fun! But exercise caution when following any of the advice therein…
