Southern Girls Living Fearlessly - Day 26

" . . . live life as a work of art, rather than as a chaotic response to external events . . ."
--Mihaly Csikszentmehalyi (Bet you can't say that name 5 times, fast.)

There are days, like today, when I wake up overwhelmed by my life; burdened by a daily schedule that allows no time for silently standing still to take a breath and appreciate just where I am in the course of things. No, I've got to get four kids out of bed, make sure they're wearing appropriate school clothes, hustle them downstairs to make lunches and eat breakfast, herd them out the door to school, get them there on time, and get myself to work. Then work, work, work. After that, I run children to soccer practices and games, ballet, the store to get supplies for oh-my-gosh-mama-I-forgot-about-it-and-it's-due-tomorrow school projects, dentist appointments, orthodontist appointments, youth group, etc. etc. And somewhere in the mix I've got to find a minute to cook dinner, help with homework, and have meaningful conversations with the people I love.

My husband and I often look at each other, in that rare instance when we can pull our heads up from the task at hand, and ask, "When did everything get so crazy?" Sometimes I feel like the only thing I can control is the pages of my calendar where I write down all of our obligations. After that, I just bounce from one thing to the next, trying my best to survive the unpredictable chaos that so often defines my existence.

Survival mode, however, tweaks the garden club member in me, who knows that life is more than just responding to turmoil, both inner and external. It's more than checking off days on the calendar. She makes herself known, rising to the top of my psyche, reminding me, "Lucy, you can lump it or like it, BUT sugah, you chose it. So suck in that bottom lip and learn to enjoy it. No one likes a complainer or a whiner, so make your day the best it can be."

That's when the poor, poor, pitiful me, who was ping-ponging through the afternoon gets her come-uppence. It's no way to live. The business of daily life is only an excuse for not living a beautiful, better existence. And the fearless woman is always living better than anyone else.

I was not meant to be a frenzied carpool mom. I was meant to be fearless. I fearlessly make my life a work of art when I take the kids to the drive-through car wash and we ooh and ahh like we did when they were little. I make art when I ask them to tell me one good thing about their day at school instead of nagging them about homework. I create beauty in my life when I light a candle, or brew a cup of green tea, or read excerpts from literature to my children, or write down home decorating ideas, or even smell that clean fresh scent of my children's clothes for the next day.

TODAY'S ASSIGNMENT: Buffer yourself against the hard knocks of daily life by living today as work of art. Listen to your garden club persona. She's trying to tell you that you are bigger than unexpected dips, dives, and detours in the day. You control the beauty of your life just by the attitude you express toward it.

Take time today to decorate your home for the season. Make it a warm, cozy retreat that pleases your senses and expresses your creativity. Light a candle, place a pumpkin on your doorstep, place an arrangement of fall flowers on the kitchen table. These simple acts allow you to embrace the day, rather than fear the havoc it may bring.

Southern Girls Living Fearlessly - Day 5

Today's lesson is very, very important. In fact, getting this one lesson straight can make the difference between successfully living the fearless life and people only showing up to your funeral to see what the mortician dressed you in.


Living fearlessly is NOT, I repeat NOT, the same as living foolishly. In fact, doing foolish things makes it that much harder for us to do fearless things. Embarrassment and loss of self-respect drag us down far worse than fear.


Webster Dictionary defines foolish (adj.) as:
1. greatly deficient in good judgement, common sense, real wisdom; idiotic
2. contrary to all good sense, absurd
3. inviting mockery, scorn, or derision; ridiculous [i.e. people coming to your funeral just to see if it's tacky]


On the other hand, and in stark contrast, WebNet defines fearless (adj.) as:
1. oblivious of dangers or perils or calmly resolute in facing them [Think of our Heloise from Day 4]
2. invulnerable to fear or intimidation


The definition of fearless best describes the southern belle, or at the least Miss Scarlett O'Hara for whom tomorrow is another day. But we ladies of the magnolia-blossomed southland forget to capitalize on these strengths in our day to day lives. Still, we shall not diminish ourselves or our heritage by confusing foolishness with fearlessness.


Foolish is putting dark meat in our chicken salad; fearless is adding a touch of honey and lime. Foolish is wearing a necklace for a bikini top and a shoestring for the bottoms to the Club pool; fearless is going to the gym at 5am so we could wear it if we wanted . . . and look damn good. Foolish is thinking you'll be happier with your husband's best friend; fearless is asking the man you've been married to for 25 years out on a date.


Heloise (Day 4) could have said where she got that chocolate sauce she served the Garden Club members. Certainly the shock and awe would have provided a few wonderful minutes of mirth. But her sheer fearlessness in solving her problem would have been negated. She would have gone from homemaking hero to harlot faster than Billy Ray Cyrus went from Achy Braky Heart to broke.


Now that foolish and fearless have been clarified, it's assignment time:


TODAY'S ASSIGNMENT: Whatever you do, do not write any of this down. Leave no evidence. This is between you and you conscience. Find a comfortable chair, sit down, lean back, and close your eyes. When the kids come running through the den hollerin', "Whatcha' doin'? Why're you sleepin'?" tell them, "Y'all run on outside, now. Mama's just restin' her eyes."

Okay, get very, very relaxed. Eyes still closed. Think of the most foolish thing you have recently done. Relive the event. Picture yourself going through the motions all over again. Let the angst build up. Feel your chest tighten. Admit to yourself that you don't want to feel this way anymore.

Next, visualize what you could have done differently. How could you have behaved fearlessly instead of foolishly? Did you get caught gossiping? Maybe you could have refuted the gory details instead of wallowing in them. Did you have your yard service prune your neighbor's crepe myrtles? Perhaps the more fearless act would be to find the beauty in wild growth, or at the minimum, talk to the neighbor.

Finally, draw an imaginary bubble in the air with your hands and breath into it. You're filling the bubble with foolishness. Let it go. Move on to the fearless life.

When you're ready, get up and go finish the dishes. Your kids will be back any minute to see if you're still sleeping.

Tune in for Day 6 - Finding passion.

The New Faux Pas

Back in Mama T's day, that's my late grandmother, smoking and walking was about the tackiest thing a woman could do. Going in public without lipstick ran a close second. Unlike the lipstick oversight, in which unkempt lips was the real error of her ways, in the walking and smoking travesty smoking had nothing to do with the transgression.

A woman could sit and smoke until her lungs fell out and she croaked like a midnight catfish and not a soul would bat an eye. A woman could chat on the party line and inhale enough creosote to pave a road from Georgia to Montana and no one would think the lesser of her. She could even drive carpool with the windows rolled up and her children choking pneumatically in the rear seat and who in the world would dare accuse her of behaving un-ladylike.

But as soon as she began the long, unvirtuous walk from her car to the doors of the grocery store with a tobacco stick dangling from her lip or squeezed between two fingers with painted over yellowed nails, the Junior League president would be on the phone with the Garden Club president. Her UDC and DAR ribbons would be stripped from her lapel, and she would never again be asked to make her lemon squares for the UMW bake sale the Sunday after Easter.

Of course, now that smoking itself has fallen out of favor and walking has gained great strides in the health and fitness world, we've had to search high and low for a way to distinguish quality folks from the undesirables. But sitting on Charlotte's front porch swing on Tuesday, I figured it out, the standard we've been missing. Some savvy socialites already apply it, but they've jumped ahead of the curve.

The new litmus test for judging character and self-worth is where people park their cars when they get home from a long day at the grind stone. Front yard parkers, who leave their cars on lawn or dirt (same as putting the car on blocks as far as their neighbors are concerned, even if the car is a Jaguar) for all the world to see, couldn't get an invitation to join the Colonial Dames if they descended straight from the Jamestown settlers.

A proper lady tucks her car at the rear of her domicile and enters through the backdoor, so that her premises will appear undisturbed, pristine, and desolate, just as a realtor or HGTV host would have it. She will never mar the beauty of her home by sitting on the front porch, allowing her pets to frolic in the front yard, or letting her children toss a ball where someone might see. No one wants to view an old lady tottering to her front door or sprawled on the steps with a broken hip. It's uncouth. Folks simply can't bear to watch a young mother tote groceries into the house. How degrading.

Walking and smoking no longer the downfall of genteel living, it's the misparked car that will bring civilization to a hallelujah-halt in the south. Untinted lips, however, still run a close second.