'Bass Ackwards and Belly Up' and 'Footfree and Fancyloose' tell the story of four best friends who commit the ultimate suburban sin: putting off college to pursue their dreams.
Publisher's Weekly said: "Full of romance and adventure, laughter and tears, the story is a reminder that veering from the straight and narrow road doesn't always lead to a dead end."
Well. I was going to write about my What If List today, but I just got off the phone with an astrologer, and What If seems a lot less important right now than What Will Be.
According to this astrologer-- it feels weird to keep calling her astrologer, astrologer, astrologer, so I'll call her... let's see... the Twilight books are stacked on my desk, so I'll call her Stephanie. According to Stephanie, What Will Be is gonna be pretty darn great. There will be kids. (Two, probably. Didn't ask if they're adopted or tummy kids.) And a man. (One man. The One. And he's pretty cool.) And some pretty fantastic career stuff, too. And it's all coming soon, to a life near me...
If I say 'yes.'
And isn't that always the glitch. Why is it so easy to say 'yes, sure, come on in!' to the bad stuff, and so hard, agonizing, terrifying to say 'yes, no problem, get on in here' to the life-changingly-wonderful stuff? This, apparently, is my challenge. And what a challenge it is...
Because-- and this is something else Stephanie said, and holy hell is it true-- I am so often ruled by fear. (At least, in my personal life. Professionally, somewhat less so.) This fear-based existence is a universal condition, I know. Fear causes everything from wars to cancer, and still we maintain a vice-like grip on it-- because the other choice is hope.
And hope is more terrifying than Freddy Kruger on meth.
Fear will always be validated, while hope will so often be dashed. Against rocks. Jagged rocks with knives and shards of glass stickin' out. Not that I have any experience in this arena. I, of course, speak of these things purely theoretically.
Whatever you may think of astrology (I can tell you Stephanie's description of my mother was DEAD ON, and there's no way she could've known that stuff), I will be calling this particular astrologer again. Because she reminded me that the rocks with the knives and the shards and the whatnot are just part of the trip.
So, here I am, officially saying yes. To the good stuff. The bad stuff can kiss my ass.
Oh, and Stephanie also told me that I need to tell men right up front, on the first date, that I am high maintenance. Not in a prissy, getting my hair and nails done, kinda way. In a very particular, me kinda way. So, to The One, if you're out there, I'm telling you now: I'm high maintenance. Stephanie says you can handle it.
And to my future uncontrollable, highly independent kids: Can't wait to meet you.
How does fear hold you back? What do you need to say yes to?
L.A. 2009. I’m stuck in traffic on the 101 freeway, listening to Isabella Rosselini on NPR. Isabella, for some reason, mentions that starfish are one of those rare species that can reproduce asexually, and I realize that if I could do that, I wouldn't have to worry about finding a boyfriend/husband. I wouldn’t have to internet date! I wouldn't have to figure out if I want to/can/should have a baby/adopt a baby/child on my own. I wouldn't have to stress about things like FSH levels, or weigh my feelings on in vitro versus adoption.
I would just have a baby. Thus began my starfish envy.