Our clothes dryer wasn’t working well, and I was irritated. I’d changed out the flexible vent tube behind the dryer and the lint trap. But it was still struggling. The dryer is the hero in this story though. I googled the symptoms of my dilemma and discovered that there was a duct in the wall that could be clogged. I had no idea about this duct winding its way in the wall back there. I assumed the outgoing air went directly to the outside of the house because the outside vent was directly behind the inside vent. I ordered a cleaning kit from Amazon that arrived overnight and then went to work the next morning. Let me say, the amount of wet lint that came out of that duct was disgusting. My boys thought it was gross, so that’s saying something. And it was frightening. We could’ve had a fire, a bad one. The dryer stopped heating to prevent a fire. Thank the Lord. 

I thought, I need to put out a PSA on social media. I’ve been a homeowner for over twenty years and didn’t know! I thought perhaps others needed to know about this potentially dangerous situation. But then I hesitated. What if I was the only one who didn’t know about this? I might look like an idiot. I could embarrass myself by sharing that story. I was spiraling with the what if’s and feeling like a bad mom for not realizing my mistake.

Perhaps my reaction is indicative of a larger problem though. We tend to put our best selves forward, especially on social media. We don’t want anyone to see our foibles, and we don’t want to admit our mistakes. Yet, we end up feeling isolated and alone believing we are the only ones going through whatever situation we face. I recently told a new mom that the newborn stage is emotional and exhausting. That I couldn’t believe I’d been so frustrated, almost angry, with baby Riley when she got her days and nights completely turned upside down. I was so tired and didn’t know what I was doing in those early days. She said no one seemed to understand how hard it was. But that’s because we don’t share our stories. Almost any mom if pressed would confess that those early days can be heaven and hell at the exact same time. When we see a newborn though, especially after our own kids are older, we coo and fawn over the baby and sometimes forget to support the mom who might be struggling. 

It’s the same experience in lots of other circumstances. We aren’t real with one another because that would make us vulnerable and expose our emotions. I try to be real with people so they can be real with me, so we can understand that we are not traveling difficult roads alone. Sometimes, there’s not a bright side on the near horizon and that’s okay. To let others know we will walk with them in the darkness without attempting to fix things or put on a happy face is the best medicine at times. To say, this really sucks and I’m sorry, may be the only thing that helps, so they don’t have to pretend that they’re okay when they aren’t. 

Life can be hard. It can be really hard when we feel alone. Let’s try to be more open and honest so that we can lift each other up. We can be real. We can ask for and give understanding. Our stories can help others avoid the same pitfalls we’ve endured. And maybe, go clean the dryer duct behind your wall so I feel my ignorance served a higher purpose in some small way. 

Next week, I will turn 49 years old. I admit that I was focused on turning the big 5-0 next year, but then my friend pointed out that my fiftieth year actually begins when I turn 49. I realized she was right – my birthday signifies the end of the forty-ninth year and the start of the fiftieth. That got me thinking. What did I want to accomplish before I turn 50? There are a couple of things that I want to complete before my next birthday. But the more I thought about it, the question became: how do I want to feel as I live out my fiftieth year?  

I’ve always looked at my birthday like New Year’s Day, as a time to take stock and set resolutions. My birthday falling close to the mid-year mark also gives me a chance to evaluate the year so far and hit reset in many ways. At the beginning of most years, I pick a word to set the tone for that year. At the start of 2023, I was sick and so I never got around to picking a word. But for the past few months, the word “alignment” has been speaking to me. And when I say that I mean it’s been popping up everywhere, in various books, devotionals, and prayers I’ve read. It’s like the word has been stalking me. Jumping up and down, waving and yelling for me to notice it. And so, as I have so many times before when a word decides to vie for my attention, I looked up the definition. Alignment is defined as (1) arrangement in a straight line, or in correct or appropriate relative positions or (2) a position of agreement or alliance. (Oxford Languages). I can work with these definitions. I’ve decided to make alignment my word as I embark on my fiftieth year.  

I want to make decisions that are arranged in appropriate relative positions to the life I want to lead. I can’t give the same amount of attention to everything. I need to prioritize my commitments so that I invest my energy into the people and communities I hold most important. When I determine whether to say yes or no to a request, I hope to feel that my choices agree with who I am and who I want to be.  That my actions are in sync with my values and beliefs. I’d like to be in an alliance with myself as well instead of acting as my own worst enemy. To support myself by striking a balance so that I feel satisfied. I want to be in right relationship with me. 

When I am in alignment, I know it. I feel it. Sometimes I ignore my need to be in alignment though. I agree to do something because I want others to like me, or I think I “should” do it based on other’s standards. But if I’m not acting authentically, if I’m not being true to myself, I will be out of alignment and open the door for resentment and discontent. A particular quote from Oprah caught my eye during this time of discernment: “The meaning of wisdom for me is recognizing the moment when what you know aligns perfectly with what you feel.” Sounds on point to me.

So, during this upcoming fiftieth year, I will focus on attaining alignment with myself. Not perfection because that’s impossible, just simply seeking more alignment. I’m pretty sure I’m old enough to have earned it. 

The new Barbie movie, written and directed by Greta Gerwig, premieres next week on July 21, 2023. Margot Robbie is the perfect real-life Barbie, especially with the spot-on fashions she’s worn to each of the movie media events. When she wore an outfit that transformed from a business suit to a cocktail dress on the red carpet, I was delighted because I had the Day-to Night Barbie who inspired the look. I’ve noticed the “Barbie-core” pink flood of fashion in stores, and I’m here for it. I don’t know if the movie will be good or not, but I already appreciate it because of the sense of nostalgia I’ve experienced. I’ve loved Barbie for virtually my entire life. When I was about four years old, my older cousins asked me what I wanted for Christmas, and “Barbie” popped out of my mouth. They gifted me the Malibu Barbie and Ken complete with dark tans and impressive tan lines, and that was it: I was in love.

Throughout the years, my collection of Barbies grew. My Mom sewed tiny, beautiful clothes for them. One of my most favorite Christmas gifts from my parents was the fabulous Barbie Dreamhouse. My Dad meticulously assembled the impressive structure so that it sat under the Christmas tree ready for play. I cannot count the number of times I dressed my dolls, brushed their hair, and decorated their house. My imagination grew as I weaved stories of their adventures in my head. I posed them in their house and in their remote-control car, which had the remote control attached by an actual wire to the back of the car.

I know that there are body image issues with Barbie. I even used her distorted proportions in a speech I gave in college about skewed portrayals of women’s bodies in the world, which was way before social media created more drastic problems. But I couldn’t help it, I still loved her, and everyone knew it. My law school friends hosted a bridal shower for me complete with a Barbie cake. The cake portion formed a giant ballgown around the doll standing in the center. At the end of my federal clerkship, my co-workers tweaked a Barbie so that she became “Law Clerk Tina.” As an adult, I’ve bought or been given a Bridal Barbie, a Snow White Barbie, an Elvis Ken with a Barbie in a poodle skirt. I bought a President Barbie for my daughter Riley the year she was born. 

Thinking back over my Barbie memories, I’m filled with happiness, comfort, and security. But not just because I enjoyed playing with the toy as a means of entertainment or because it enhanced and strengthened my imagination. I also feel warmth because of the relationships those memories represent. In almost every instance, my family and friends are connected to my recollections. I can still feel their love when I recall my Barbie days. And that is what makes the whole phenomenon more special to me.

The other day, we were at another movie and saw a promotion for the Barbie movie. You could stand in a Barbie box for a photo. I waited in a short line of other middle-aged women who wanted their pictures taken. And then, wearing my “MOM” sweatshirt, I proudly posed for my Barbie moment. Barbie, a beloved part of my core memories – past, present, and forever. 

“Mom, what’s wrong? You look stressed,” my son Alex, who is almost 11, asked from the backseat of the van. He’d arrived back from camp a few days earlier and with that he’d brought his special brand of intuition home. He always knows when I’m feeling off kilter. There’s no point in telling him that nothing is wrong because he won’t buy it. So, I said, “I’m worried about your sister.” Riley is at camp working for ten weeks and doesn’t have access to her phone often. I was worried after my last conversation with her because I didn’t know if and how she’d resolved an issue she’d shared with me. Alex asked if anything had happened. I said, “Sometimes she just gets in her own way.” Alex wisely responded, “We all do sometimes. She’ll figure it out.”    

We all get in our own way sometimes. I know I do. I let my anxiety about what could go wrong in a situation stop me from taking a chance. My fear of failure limits my willingness to risk. Lately, this has played out in my writing. I have a project I’ve started, but I can’t get into a regular rhythm of writing. I’m struggling. But I know deep down, the reason I’ve been hesitant is because I’m afraid that my writing won’t be good enough. That I’m not good enough. I’m blocking my progress. I’m standing in my own way. 

Obviously, this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten into my own head resulting in self-sabotage. And that’s why I worry so much about my kids when I fear that they’re letting their fear stop them from acting courageously. Alex’s confidence that Riley would figure it out made me realize that I don’t always trust others, including my children, to figure it out on their own. Instead, I give my advice whether they want it or not. I think I know what they should do, and don’t hold back.

But it’s often easier to spot the thoughts and actions holding another person back than it is to notice our own behavior. I couldn’t ignore my own blind spot any longer though after Alex pointed out that we all get in our own way. I realized that I’m the only person stopping me from getting to work in earnest on my project. I also came to understand that I don’t necessarily trust myself to figure out what I should do to move forward. Let me say, it’s not a good feeling to realize you don’t have faith in yourself. 

Alex has faith in Riley and me both though. He told me that my worry was a sign that I loved her and that was a good thing. He checked in on me several times that day, reassuring me that Riley would be okay. He even got a tumbler of ice water for me when he thought I needed it. Perhaps one way to move toward confidence in ourselves is to express our lack thereof to someone who loves us and can believe in us until we can believe in ourselves. My backseat Yoda is home from camp just in time to give me the boost I need to get out of my way and trust that others can do the same if I offer them a dose of belief as well.