lay miz

This past week Brennan took a sick day from school. At the end of the day, he was obviously feeling better (as evidenced from his incessant talking and kicking a balloon in the living room) so Lori told him that the next day he would be going to school, and that he could only stay home if he were feeling miserable. Unbeknownst to us at the time, Lori's use of the word miserable provided an epiphany for Brennan--he had received a priceless insight into the world of grown up vernacular. This word 'miserable' must be some kind of code word, recognized universally by grown ups as the term to use when wanting to escape some unfortunate situation. I shall surely use this choice word...soon. "Soon" was the next day when the school nurse called our home at 10 am. She had Brennan in her office, and although he didn't have a high temperature, he explained to her that he was feeling miserable. Although it became beknownst (hehe) to Lori and I what was going on, after a good chuckle, I decided to go to Brennan's school to a) explain misery and b) congratulate him on his craftiness. As Brennan walked out of his classroom to meet me in the hallway, he walked with his head down, trying to hide his uncontainable smirk. When he finally reached me, the following conversation took place:

• Me: So, I hear you are feeling miserable. What does that feel like?
• Brennan: Just kind of warm. And bored.
• Me: I'm not sure that qualifies as miserable.
• Brennan: Oh, ok. So what is miserable?
• Me: Miserable means you can't smile, and just want to lay on the floor.
• Brennan: Ok, I don't feel like that, I can probably stay at school. Mommy told me that if I feel...
• Me: Yes, I know what mommy told you. Well done on that one by the way...you cashed in a recently found linguistic token.
• Brennan: What does that mean?
• Me: That means I'm happy you're so smart and resourceful. Have a great rest of the day...Cosette.
• Brennan: Who is Cosette?
• Me: It's a good thing.

With my 30th birthday approaching, I have waxed reflective on life stages recently. When I was younger, stages beyond the previous stage always seemed a bit mysterious ("what will it be like when..."). I had preconceptions of what I'd "know" in the future, what things would no longer be concerns, and much like Brennan I thought that those ahead of me were speaking a special code to which I would become privy once I had arrived. I tried my hand at occasionally using the code prematurely, only to fail miserably. However, as Brennan learned this week, it wasn't necessarily failure, it's that the code doesn't exist; and actually, we are always 6. With age we accumulate more words in our vocabularies, more clothes/shoes in our closets, and more credit/debt to enjoy/regret, but does anything actually change with age? We continue to have situations we could do without (grade school becomes puberty becomes midterms becomes difficult relationships becomes economic uncertainty becomes tragedy) and circumstances we treasure (gym class becomes first armpit hair becomes graduation becomes beautiful relationships becomes success becomes newness); however, there is never a silver bullet (nor a golden grammatical nugget) to be found in the future which will release us from the bad or guarantee the good. The life stages may change, but the general experience does not. In light of these realizations (or rather, my assumptions for now), I have traded in my silver bullet for silver lining and accepted hope as a worthy alternative to control. It's not necessarily about the abstractly defined "next life stage," but the passages within each stage that define how we will proceed, how we will grow and who we will become. As Victor Hugo penned, "All extreme situations have their flashes that sometimes blind us, sometimes illuminate us." Life will never grant the get-out-of-school-early-pass with a claim of misery. Rather, life will come to check on us, to see whether or not we can still smile and stand up. And even when we're frowning and laid out on the floor, there is no guarantee we'll get out of school early. And I suppose that's ok, and the way it ought to be. But surely when I enter the world of 40 year olds it will be different...