Oh Well.
I used to play what was probably the very first Extreme Sports/Survivor game by myself when I was a kid; so I basically invented this concept of live action reality challenge TV - too bad I never told anyone or made a patent. Oh well.
This game was awesome! I would cover my eyes with a blindfold of some kind and start from one corner of the top floor of my childhood home and find my way to the basement floor making sure I went into every room, touching every wall, outlining the whole perimeter of the house with my hands without seeing a thing. The goal was to cover the periphery of the house in the dark and not fall or bump into anything. This did not always work mind you; possibly why I struggled so desperately in math but that is a whole other deep dive - first let’s jump into this pool! With practice and within this darkness I knew every wall - the walls my mother painted and the walls with wallpaper; I knew every hallway, creaky, carpeted step, towel rack, doorway, outlet, and vent. This home was where I grew up and was the space that gave me privacy and shelter, hilarious and tender memories as well as a front row seat to the worst moments, the most painful memories. This house and I had a complicated relationship. But just like in so many relationships it was one sided. The house moved on and I kept checking my phone, wanting to have brunch, wondering why it did not like me back and pleaded for it to reconsider. He (it) is Just Not That Into You - The Spec Script for the 2022 Rom Com adorable.
Over the many years after we parted ways I would make a point to drive past this deeply beautiful and haunting house. My go to itinerary would be to conspicuously pull over across the street, lock eyes with my bedroom window, do a Marvel’s Vision scan across the whole place, linger at the basketball court, and conclude my reverie at the beacon globe light that always either kept me calm at night or guided me home.
I loved visiting my old stomping ground; I used to be pleasantly nostalgic and excited to sit within the house’s orbit and think about my life.
Within this past year, coinciding with other family, friend visits, I was able to stalk this Frank Llyod Wright suburbia mock up a few times. During one of these visits I blurted,
“I am actually pissed.”
My husband was with me at the time and listened patiently as I, unbeknownst to myself, unleashed years of buried PISSED. After my much needed purge my husband turned around and smiled and pointed out,
“Wow, you really can hold a good ol’ grudge.”
I really could. I really do. I guess no matter how old we get it is possible to learn new things about ourselves - The good, the bad, and the ugly.
The light bulb that went off in my brain was this - After all the loss, the chaos, the stress, and change I went through during very formative years of my childhood I was told by my father the Spring before the Summer before my senior year of high school that he and my step mom were going to sell our house and we were moving into a condo in the progressively blooming, even more suburbia suburbia, city of Mequon. Soooooo, by the time I get home from my Summer camp job I should expect to be living in a completely new home. He continued to tell me that he communicated with my high school who was allowing me to finish my senior year at the school even though I was well out of the school district of residence. WTF.
I knew at that point in my relationship within this married couple that my rebuttal would be pointless; I was not consulted and decisions were made. I decided to let it go, or so I thought. Oh well.
Wow, could I hold a good grudge; Where did that come from?! At that moment in the car with my husband I allowed myself to stop painting this reverie with glitter; I realized that I no longer had to pull over and stare with Anne of Green Gables longing but accept the numbing nostalgia - it was unfair and I was angry at my house, angry at the adults in my life who I thought made a terrible decision - it just sucked. I was simply not ready for yet another goodbye; that house wasn’t just walls to me, it had been the only consistent thing in my life.
It was a grudge worth keeping and a grudge worth understanding; the next step is however, what do I do with it? Turning fifty is kind of crispy and raw as I observe real truths beyond and through Pollyanna goggles and what lies underneath many times is a good ol’ grudge that I left behind. Being angry and unforgiving is completely exhausting; maybe some grudges just need a good ol’ Oh Well. Letting go a bit doesn't necessarily mean you forget, and to quote the wise mother of a very Funky friend of mine, giving an OH well, may just help “Take a layer off” and open a chance for healing.
In honor of our loved ones, Montoya’s gentle honesty and keeping an open mind,
“You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.” Princess Bride.
Happy New year! May it be as grudgy and/or grudgeless as you choose or need it to be.
Happy 24th Anniversary to the love of my life. And a huge I Love You to our kids who are the very best, kindest, and most wonderful people I know. You are all my favorites!!
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