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My grandfather and his wife live in Florida.  My family and I have made a point of visiting at least once a year.  Before my brother and I had our own schedules, we used to all go together.  In May of 1997 my grandfather had just turned 85, and we were all there to celebrate.  There was a hotel and yacht club right on the beach in Del Ray that we stayed at.  It’s not there anymore.  Well, there’s something there, but it’s condos now.  They had family suites with two bedrooms - one with a queen sized bed for my parents and one with two twin sized beds for us.  Once we were in bed and the lights were out Paul and I could talk.  We always seemed to really talk on these trips and say the things we could never say to each other.

I was working as a paralegal before starting law school that fall.  I had spent most of my college years trying to become normal.  I stopped shaving bits of my hair off, and the only color on my head other than brown was blonde.  I had dieted down to the skinniest I have ever been as an adult.  I wanted a career in the corporate world.  I think I saw myself as “passing” as normal.  Weird as ever on the inside, but getting away with normal for public appearances.  I thought I blended, and I was happy about it.  The more I learned to blend the better.  I never wanted to be different again.

My brother Paul and I lay in bed.  He was about to finish his junior year at Exeter, and knew just enough, and experienced just too little, to be dangerous.  He challenged my attempts at normal.  I thought he would be happy to no longer be embarassed of his sister.  I had obviously missed a lot about his perception of me.  He asked “Janet, what’s the difference between Dostoevsky and Michael Crichton?”  Only it wasn’t a true question, it was a challenge.  I said, “Michael Crichton writes good stories, and Dostoevsky sees in to the human soul.”  And then Paul said the single scariest thing anyone has ever said to me.  He said “You used to be Dostoevsky, but now you’re Michael Crichton.”  Whoa.

So who am I now?  I don’t really know.  I see into people as much as ever - maybe more than ever because with every year of age I add that much experience to my understanding.  I can still tell a good story.  For now the only soul I’ll attempt to understand is my own.

I should not be allowed to watch Deal or No Deal.  Every time I watch I wind up yelling at the television.  I also break into tears. For those who do not know this show, you can see clips at http://www.nbc.com. I don’t know that they do justice to how horrible the show is to watch.  They usually just show you the good part - the part where the person takes the deal.  Everything up until then is simply unwatchable.  The premise is 26 cases, each with an amount inside between $.01 and $1,000,000.  When a case is opened, the amount revealed is NOT the amount you will win.  Offers are made to you by the “banker” - an unseen man in a booth - to buy you out of the game.  The trick is to open just enough cases to get the highest amount offered, and not so many cases that all of the “big” numbers are out of play.  Never take the first deal, that should be a rule.  Another rule should be that if there’s only one number over $100,000 left in play, you take whatever is offered to you.  That is the best you can do.  The risk of continuing to play is too high, as the next case you open could be the one that makes your deal go so far south it could visit penguins.

They never put someone like me on the show.  You will never see a nice middle class girl with an education as a contestant on this show.  Everyone they bring on is a single parent, or in debt, or an immigrant who came to this country with nothing but the clothes on his back, or all three.  If the person’s story alone did not elicit sympathy, then your introduction to the person’s family will certainly suffice in that office.  The small child who needs a college fund, the mother who struggled and doesn’t want her child to struggle, and the best friend who’s stuck around through the hard times ALL show up and tell you their backstory.  Cases are opened.  Offers are made by the “banker”.  And host Howie Mandel is telling you what you should do.  His job is to make it as exciting as possible, and to keep the person in the game as long as possible.  But people only want to watch the show for the big win.  When the contestant really “should” take the deal, mathematically speaking, Howie always says so.  He’ll say “you could keep going, your case could be the $500,000 case, but you’ve got $136,000 for sure right now if you take the deal, and you have no safety net”.  People, that is when you take the deal.  When Howie points out that you’re in a dire situation, you TAKE THE DEAL.  This is usually when the person’s parent tells them that “a bird in the hand is better than two in the bush” and the friends tell them to keep going.  Here’s a bit of advice.  Listen to your mother.

 It’s not just that mom is always right.  Mom is looking out for your best interests here.  Also, mom most likely took math back when people could figure out 10% of a number without a calculator.  She knows that the offer is an average of the possible outcomes, and that a change in the average has a big effect on the offer.  Hundreds of thousands of dollars can disappear in seconds.  The difference between $200,000 and $30,000 is the difference between a new house and a new car.  It’s incomparable.  So, I cry.  I cry for what they could have and for how much I know that money could change their lives.  I cry for their children who watch their education funds go up in smoke.  Mostly, I cry for the deadly combination of greed and poor math skills.  Both will be the downfall of my generation.

Last night I had my recurring nightmare. This is the only nightmare that has come back again and again throughout my adult life. I should start by saying that school was an endless source of stress for me from ages 2 through 18. Yes, that means I was a stressed out toddler. None of the kids would play with me, and the teachers (who were probably about 22 years old themselves) made fun of me. The situation improved considerably between toddlerhood and high school, but I didn’t figure out how to function normally for those sixteen years. If I had homework or a paper to write, I just didn’t do it. I sat in front of my books wanted to do it, and I didn’t. Yes, okay, I have a learning disability. But it’s still very frustrating for me to imagine that I had the knowledge and materials to complete assignments that remained incomplete.

My dream is always a variation on an assignment forgotten. Last night I dreamt I had a paper due for a class. I didn’t know the paper was assigned as I hadn’t gone to the class for months (another theme from my school days - I loved cutting class). I finally came to class only to discover that I was way behind. I ask for an extension, but it is denied. Then, and this is the first time this has been part of the dream, I say to the instructor “but I’m not a student. I’m an adult, and I’ve been out of school for years.” Still no sympathy is given, and though I am somehow aware of my awake reality it doesn’t snap me out of the dream it just enters into the dialogue.

Gotta love the subconscious. This nightmare usually happens when I have generalized stress in my life. On a totally unrelated note, I am going out to dinner with my mother tonight.

To me, any marriages in which the bride is less than 30 that survive more than 10 years are miracles. I’m not talking about marriages that took place 40 years ago that last through today. I understand why those marriages happened so young. My understanding is that women in that time either didn’t have sex before marriage, or did have sex and took their fun with a huge side helping of judgement. Somewhere after the pill became widely available and before Clinton redefined the word “is”, the sexual standard for women in this country changed. We started to own not only our bodies and ourselves, but discretion over them. Discretion is a beautiful thing. Suddenly it’s not whether I’ve had sex that matters, but that I have determined with whom, when, how often and who’s on top. It leads to good outcomes. Before all this discretion existed women had to wait until marriage or fear for their reputation. I can understand getting married young - I wouldn’t want to wait either. If it’s marriage sex or no sex at all, then marriage liberates a woman.

Once you remove the societal judgement for sexual activity and make the tools of promiscuity readily available, it just makes sense to stay single. Unless you believe in the open marriage, singleness means sexual freedom, and marriage becomes the restrictive state. There is another option, which is marrying someone who thinks there is mutual exclusivity and cheating anyway. That’s foul behavior, and as it involves deception I won’t consider it a real option. So, marrying young is the source of limitation. For some people early marriage still works great - they find a partner they love early in life and work it out from there. For a lot of other people, and for most of the people I know, the resentment in the marriage grows faster than the love. No matter what, both spouses are likely to change dramatically, and will have to work at growing together instead of apart. But that may just be a part of marriage in general that is exaggerated by all the things that naturally take place in your 20’s, like achieving education, starting a career and using the word home to refer to the place where you live - not the house you grew up in.

Before 30 it’s easy to be single. After 30…people start giving you that “there’s still time” bullshit. Time for what? They’ll tell you “I’m not worried about you yet.” Okay, I’m not worried about me either. What’s your point? It’s annoying. Now you’re marriage age, even by today’s standards, and here comes the judgement police. And I love the friend who got married young, and is now on the brink of divorce. She’s always the most charming. “You’ll find your guy, and be blissfully happy just like I am. I just know you’re next.” It’s the sort of call that makes you want to throw up and dial all your friends to see who else has been told their next all in the same motion.

Now that I’m in my early, or really well on my way to mid, 30’s it’s reached a different point. Careers in place, the attractive bit of DC already taken to bed and comfortable living arrangements free of roommates secured, it feels like a good time for a marriage. So, is the guy who comes along now the right guy because it’s a good time for it? Or is it a good time for it because some right guys happen to have come along? A wise woman once told me that first you get ready to be married, and then the man in front of you is the right man to marry. Is it that simple? Was I the problem for 33 years, and Josh just happened to be there? It doesn’t matter for me either way - to worry about the reason I married Josh would be the sort of bellybutton contemplation that leads to nervous breakdowns. It’s an interesting idea though. And, since the guy has to be “ready” too, do you look for guys who are ready or when you’re ready is that just who you find? The reality is that it’s hard to find someone who you want to spend time with forever. It’s even harder when there are so many other options.