My future's so bright, I have to squint. I think I forgot my sunglasses.

“Finish your peas first. Then you can have a few chips.”

“Finish your homework. Then you can watch TV.”

“Finish remodeling the kitchen. Then we can have a party.”

According to some random conversation my parents heard on NPR, the ability to delay gratification at a young age is an early indicator of success. If a young child can grasp that 3 marshmallows in ten minutes is worth more than 1 now, he is umpteen times more likely to attend a decent university, select a desirable mate (or maybe none at all if he’s really smart), and live a happy, fulfilling life. 

I don’t buy it. Who the fuck did that research? In my experience, the best laid plans are guaranteed to fail miserably while the best things in life happen completely spontaneously. Compare candid photos of kids with with ones from a studio if you need proof.

On the left, an overpriced photo of my daughter screaming. On the right, a candid taken in her room with a $20 camera.

Don’t get me wrong. Saving a little for the future is a valuable endeavor. But what makes tomorrow infinitely more valuable than today? The future's so bright, I have to wear shades? I don't think so. Tomorrow isn’t a guarantee, and living as if it is denies our basic mortality. Perhaps that’s why everyone is so focused on it. It’s easier to plan for a future than to admit there may not be one.

A Facebook friend posted: “I've always instilled one thing in my children. Finish what you start. But what do you do when you find yourself at the same crossroad? Finish what you started? Or leave it with your integrity?”

Last week, I turned down a coaching job because both my 5 and 9 year olds started gymnastics classes and hated them. I let them quit, which also impacted my ability to coach. As we were leaving, someone asked me why I gave my kids the option. My answer? “Because I’m raising quitters.”

What the hell is so wrong with quitting? I was raised to be a quitter. My mom probably won’t appreciate that statement, but I mean it in the best possible way. How many people hang on to things that don’t bring them fulfillment? Horrible careers. Unhappy marriages. Toxic friendships. Commitment and committed have the same root word. Coincidence? I think not.

Why is it considered integrity to stick with a miserable decision? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe circumstances changed. Maybe you changed. I’m not suggesting you pack it in the first time you encounter difficulty, but at some point, isn’t it actually better to move on? It takes bravery to admit that something doesn’t work and change it. There’s nothing I hate more than motivational phrases about perseverance. To what end to you persevere?

I quit all sorts of activities and my fair share of boyfriends and I don’t regret any of them – only the way I went about it when I hurt people. Sorry, Dan. I played the flute, the violin, and the piano. I danced for years. I was even a cheerleader for a while. (And I know that sounds like a joke, but it isn’t.)

Instagram doesn't offer a collage with enough spaces to illustrate everything I've quit.

Although I try to budget and prepare for the future, I place just as much importance on now. I don't live on credit or $20 dollars away from my house being reposessed, but I also don’t own guest towels. I use the nice ones every day. I lay out the silver for dinner when I want to, although not usually on cereal nights. The happiest people I know don't spend every minute squirreling away nuts for the future. I figure I won’t need nuts anyway – when the country goes to crap, a couple of bullets will be all I need to shoot my way to the organic aisle at Kroger.

Thinning the Pack

Yesterday we hosted a pool party for the Cub Scouts. I thought we should call it “Thinning the Pack” and throw them in to see who floated, but my husband was not amused and proceeded to inform me that alcohol was not permitted at official functions and I had to respect him since he’s their leader. We decided ahead of time to divide and conquer, so I assumed responsibility for the pool and left him to work the kitchen.

It wasn’t until the first parents arrived that I realized the flaw in my plan. All the parents knew each other. I, however, don’t attend Cub Scout events. This isn’t due to any particular protest, although if they think they’re keeping out gay 8 year-olds, they’re idiots. I know more than one little boy in our pack who thinks girls are icky. I handle all our other extra-curriculars. I leave the boys to their Scouts.

I was extremely nervous about introducing myself to the parents I’d never met. Instead of my normal bikini, I wore shorts and a tank top. Sometimes, being semi-attractive has drawbacks. People assume I’m arrogant and bitchy when really I’m more like a stalled car trying to choke out conversation. I’m more introverted than snobby. My friend Paul would insert a, “Poor baby, is it awful to be attractive?” right here. Suck it, Paul. We already had this conversation and your professional success more than compensates for anything you perceive as an aesthetic failing. Plenty of desperate internet women send you pictures of boobs.

Maybe I wasn’t an ugly duckling to begin with, but it still startles me when people approach me in public and compare me to Maggie Gyllenhaal. I’m flattered, but external praise has its drawbacks because, even when it’s positive, it lowers my self-esteem in the long run when it doesn’t continue or when I feel I have to meet a certain standard.

Maggie

Me

Are we twins? Not exactly. But I’m pretty sure I just need better lighting and a boss like James Spader to whip me into shape.

Luckily, the first mom to arrive and I hit it off. It turns out she published a book as well and, after feeling each other out to ensure a lack of judgment, we had tons to talk about. It’s hard to divulge my book information when I know that person will immediately Google me on Sunday morning, perhaps before church, and learn I have a folder on my computer named Bible Verses that’s full of porn. Have no fear, it includes no Boy Scouts, and I'll only release it publicly if I decide to run for a political office. Mostly, I just hope to provide entertainment so the NSA will monitor us and one of them will be bored enough after rifling through my files to write me a book review. It might guarantee I’ll be first in line for hell, though. I always wanted to be first at something.

Since the author-mom knew everyone else, she helped me fit in, and the conversation turned to bullying. As an adult, everyone assumes I was popular when I was younger, which couldn’t be further from the truth. When I said I related to the pain, I felt like the other women rolled their eyes, thinking, “Right, as if she understands,” because sometimes now I feel as judged for being pretty as I used to for not being.

I’m more comfortable in my body than in my head, which immediately jumped to the horror that was middle school. My older daughter will start sixth grade in a few weeks. I fell in love for the first time in sixth grade. Remember kissing me and your hands roaming to Eric Carmen’s Lose Control, Chad? And how really you just asked me to go steady on a dare from Matt? That was my first kiss. My first experience with a boy. Your hard-won $10 taught me that my body was worth more to a guy than my soul and for the most part, you were right.

In sixth grade, I walked home from school. A couple of the popular girls lived close to me. I’d walk in front of their group and they’d lag behind, making fun of my clothes or daring each other to pull my earrings. I wouldn’t relive those years for anything, nor will I even pretend to for a class reunion. Those heartwarming after-school movies fucking lied. If there's any lesson I want to impart to my daughter, it's not to wear dangly earrings during her formative years.

And now I’m preparing to watch my child go through the same, crossing my fingers she will evade my misery, but also knowing in some form she will face her own and it will make her into the woman she will become. I have to help her navigate a world of teenage selfies and bullies who taunt through unrelenting cyber humiliation. The closest I came to cyber-bullying growing up was a three-way phone call.

I hope to find a way to instill confidence in her when sometimes it's hard for me to gather my own in my backyard. Maybe in some way, I can help her “Thin the Pack”, to discern people whose intent for her is not always positive, without jading her, because even as an adult, it's incredibly hard to do.

How To Be Social

I have a “How to be Social” Excel Spreadsheet. Aaron assumed I was being sarcastic, which is usually a fair assumption with me unless we’re on the subject of spreadsheets because I have a spreadsheet for everything.

I had one to track my kids eating and bowel movements as infants. I have spreadsheets to track every car repair done on our vehicles. I have a spreadsheet that compiles doctors, symptoms, and medications into a matrix because no one believes me when I give them my son’s health history. When he sees a new doctor, I provide a spreadsheet with a coordinating slideshow and a letter of reference from his general practitioner to prove my mental competency. I have a grocery list designed by aisle with the specific groceries I purchase on a regular basis so I can hit print and simply check off what I need in order, ensuring I never have to return for a forgotten item. And I have one for how to be social.

This probably isn’t what you expected, Aaron. It isn’t “Look people in the eye occasionally” or “Don’t discuss anal sex when your grandmother is within earshot”. The only things I know about real life social interactions are:

1. Let your spouse make introductions so you don’t have to remember anyone’s name.
2. Develop catchphrases so you can ignore people and they’ll think you’re engaged. Interrupt occasionally and say, “Well, what are you going to do?” or make comforting noises. They like that - especially the noises. At least, I think they do.
3. Don't accidentally refer to kids as "those little fuckers" during a play date

My spreadsheet is a guideline I compiled as an author because I started from nothing. I had no social media accounts until last summer and no idea where to start or how to build them. The only thing I knew was what I DIDN’T want. I didn’t want to yell “buy my book” over and over to a non-existent audience or badger the few friends I have into submission. I didn’t want to offer or endorse other books or products I didn’t truly love. I didn’t want to feel obligated to write a good review as a trade or tweet a book promotion for something I’d never read or, even worse, read and didn't like. I didn’t want to waste time begging bloggers or reviewers to throw me a tiny scrap of attention. I wanted to find the people who would understand me, and I wanted them to relate to me enough that they wanted to read it.

To avoid the things I didn't want, I needed a platform - someplace to start. So without further ado:

HOW TO BE SOCIAL

The author version

1. Create email/Google +
2. Create Facebook acct
3. Create blog
4. License domain
5. Design website
6. Google analytics
7. Google webmaster tools
8. FB & G+ pages for book
9. Google verify
10. Create Twitter acct
11. Add +1 button to website
12. Ensure photo shown with Google search results
13. Goodreads - establish as author
14. Cross-link all accounts
15. Keywords to increase traffic
16. Product video trailer / YouTube acct & link
17. Contact local library, book stores, authors
18. Focus in on social media where audience responds
19. Add in extras - Pinterest, Instagram, etc.
20. Sell yourself, not your book

That was my list to set the stage. Since then, I’ve had tons of help. Some of my social media accounts have been rewarding. Some haven't. An author friend of mine is wildly successful on Facebook, where I have almost no following other than a few real, supportive friends.

On the flip side, she's lukewarm with Twitter, whereas I found it to be a revelation, a place where I was accepted and surrounded by "my people". My cousin Liz, who’s younger, prettier, and more hip* than I gave me Twitter 101 training classes because I was so intimidated in the beginning. It is the most complicated social interaction I've ever come across - with more unwritten rules than my parents - but in my opinion it's the most rewarding. It's a place where ideas connect with no physical form or substance to limit or inhibit them.

So Aaron, I can't tell you how to be social. I've blown off three people in real life this morning just to type this post. But I will say keep trying. If what you're doing isn't working, try something completely different - something off the wall. Write a book that mortifies everyone you know except your lawyer, who's hoping to cash in on your impending divorce. Embarrass your parents on the internet. Write a blog and use it to annoy all your friends. All I know is a year ago I felt completely alone. Now I don't.

* Just the fact that I couldn’t think of another word besides hip means I'm approaching an age where I'm likely to break one.