Sometimes a life preserver moment comes from seeing another person that you care about do something that makes you happy. Fantabulous mini-moments when you know to your toes that the World really is an okay place. They can catch you by surprise and change your day. It’s espresso for the soul.
Today, I’m sharing a vlog from a girl named Amy. An amazing sweetheart who I’ve known pretty much since she was born. One of those kids who makes you believe that the next generation will do just fine.
She had a dream to go to Disney World and work there as part of a college program.
Note: Disney is a spot that is near and dear to my own heart. When I was 10 years old, my aunt and uncle took me, my brother, and my sister there. When I turned 30, I went again with some friends and cousins. At the time, I joked that I would just have to go back to Disney every 20 years. (Hard to believe it’s time again.) (Yes, I’m going.) But, enough about me.
This week, after lots of preparation, much hard work, timely follow-through, oodles of creativity, a bushel of enthusiasm, and support from her awesome parents I’m sure, my young friend Amy made her dream come true and arrived in Disney. She posted this
I clicked through that video to discover her vlog, which led me to this gem
It’s a bit of reality that feels like, well, a Disney movie. Yes, I teared up watching it. (Hell, I’m tearing up writing about watching it.) But they’re happy tears, and that’s life-preserving stuff.
So, have a good day. Find optimism. Seek joy. Keep an eye out for Amys.
Over the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking about what my resolution should be for 2013. There is a long list of potentials.
I want to lose weight, eat healthy, exercise more. I could commit to changing bad habits, to being kinder, to swearing less while driving. I could make a firm commitment to clean the litter box every day or to never leave dirty dishes in the sink or to stop leaving clothes in the dryer until they’re so wrinkled I have to re-wash them. I could promise to talk to a tree guy about the once-weeds-soon-to-be-trees growing under my porch. I could return the busted comcast console that’s been boxed up and sitting in my basement for over a year. I could vow to write to my out-of-town nephews more often. I could say I’m going to wash my car once a week and clean out the papers, scarves, shoes, litter, water bottles, and who-knows-what-else on a more frequent basis so that there doesn’t appear to be a homeless person wintering in my back seat. I could start that novel. Or, at least, try to find a way to get all of the poems and short stories I’ve written off of two broken laptops, the old tower, and the stack of floppy disks. I should get my inbox back to zero (or, at least, lower than 1400 unread). I really should play the piano more often, and I want to learn to play my grandfather’s accordion. I could make a resolution to do more pro bono freelance jobs or hands-on volunteer work. I’d like to find a job that helps make the world a better place but still pays the bills. I could promise myself to be less shy, more hopeful, and at least make some attempt to assist the universe in bringing true love into my life. I could promise myself to cook a real dinner more often. I could stop cutting my own bangs. I could get organized. I really need to paint (walls, not canvases). I could promise to start doing one of those brain games that helps you improve your memory, so then I could promise not to forget stuff so much. I could resolve to get new glasses or go to the dentist. I could commit to cleaning out the garage and basement and sorting through the junk and making an overdue trip to Goodwill.
Yep. There are a lot of things I could focus on that would make for an acceptable, sensible resolution. Things to help make me a happier person or a more valuable member of society. A better friend, a better daughter, a better sibling, a better neighbor.
But, as things go quiet, with the hub-bubious distractions of the holiday season behind me, the goal has become obvious. Like a deer facing headlights on a dark and stormy night, like a track-tied damsel spotting the oncoming train, I see it clearly. I have 40 days. And there is but one resolution I can make.
I hereby resolve to do everything in my power to avoid a complete and utter, bug-eyed, jaw-dropped, screaming banshee, Don-Knottian, Daffy-Duckian, Thelma-and-Louisian, all-out-batshit-freakout when I turn 50.
When I turned 30, I went again with some friends and cousins. At the time, I joked that I would just have to go back to Disney every 20 years. (Hard to believe it’s time again.) (Yes, I’m going.) But, enough about me.
Life Preservers 
The 40-day Resolution
Over the past couple of days, I’ve been thinking about what my resolution should be for 2013. There is a long list of potentials.
I want to lose weight, eat healthy, exercise more. I could commit to changing bad habits, to being kinder, to swearing less while driving. I could make a firm commitment to clean the litter box every day or to never leave dirty dishes in the sink or to stop leaving clothes in the dryer until they’re so wrinkled I have to re-wash them. I could promise to talk to a tree guy about the once-weeds-soon-to-be-trees growing under my porch. I could return the busted comcast console that’s been boxed up and sitting in my basement for over a year. I could vow to write to my out-of-town nephews more often. I could say I’m going to wash my car once a week and clean out the papers, scarves, shoes, litter, water bottles, and who-knows-what-else on a more frequent basis so that there doesn’t appear to be a homeless person wintering in my back seat. I could start that novel. Or, at least, try to find a way to get all of the poems and short stories I’ve written off of two broken laptops, the old tower, and the stack of floppy disks. I should get my inbox back to zero (or, at least, lower than 1400 unread). I really should play the piano more often, and I want to learn to play my grandfather’s accordion. I could make a resolution to do more pro bono freelance jobs or hands-on volunteer work. I’d like to find a job that helps make the world a better place but still pays the bills. I could promise myself to be less shy, more hopeful, and at least make some attempt to assist the universe in bringing true love into my life. I could promise myself to cook a real dinner more often. I could stop cutting my own bangs. I could get organized. I really need to paint (walls, not canvases). I could promise to start doing one of those brain games that helps you improve your memory, so then I could promise not to forget stuff so much. I could resolve to get new glasses or go to the dentist. I could commit to cleaning out the garage and basement and sorting through the junk and making an overdue trip to Goodwill.
Yep. There are a lot of things I could focus on that would make for an acceptable, sensible resolution. Things to help make me a happier person or a more valuable member of society. A better friend, a better daughter, a better sibling, a better neighbor.
But, as things go quiet, with the hub-bubious distractions of the holiday season behind me, the goal has become obvious. Like a deer facing headlights on a dark and stormy night, like a track-tied damsel spotting the oncoming train, I see it clearly. I have 40 days. And there is but one resolution I can make.
I hereby resolve to do everything in my power to avoid a complete and utter, bug-eyed, jaw-dropped, screaming banshee, Don-Knottian, Daffy-Duckian, Thelma-and-Louisian, all-out-batshit-freakout when I turn 50.
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January 2, 2013 at 6:29 pm 3 comments