When Everything Felt Like a Big Whoop

A random bus stop encounter that changed my perspective.

Hi, it’s me.

A few years ago while I was waiting for the bus, a gray haired lady in her 70s started making small talk with me at the bus stop. For those of you not in Seattle, people here don’t talk to each other. I forget this is not normal sometimes, until I go somewhere else. One time in Vegas, two women from Wisconsin got more life details out of me in one elevator ride than I’ve shared in this newsletter filled with personal stories.

“Maybe we’ll see you at the Garrison Dairy Queen some day!” they cheerfully said as we exited the elevator on the ground floor. Garrison is a small town on Mille Lacs Lake in Minnesota that I haven’t been to since I was in high school. I have no recollection of how we got to that story in a twenty-three floor descent, other than by midwestern folksy hypnosis.

Anyway, here in Seattle at the bus stop, the woman and I chatted about the sun, the glorious fall day, and other pleasantries. As we went on about it, I was digging through all the pockets of my backpack looking for my sunglasses. I once heard a rumor that Seattle buys the most pairs of sunglasses per capita in the United States. Pretty weird statistic for a city where it rains nine months out of the year, but if it’s true, I imagine it’s because we keep losing them in the long stretches between sunny days.

I finally gave up on finding my shades and said, "Oh well. No big whoop." 

Without missing a beat, this lady says, "I remember when everything was such a big whoop. I'm glad I'm past all that, because in retrospect they weren't such big whoops after all." 

Because I’m weird, I documented the Big Whoop conversation with a photo, taken September 2016.

I think about Bus Stop Lady whenever I start getting worked up over something. I ask myself, is this really a Big Whoop? 

In fact, last year when I first wrote about Bryan’s cancer diagnosis, I invoked The Whoop:

So here’s the news: Bryan had a routine colonoscopy a couple weeks ago, and it wasn’t great. They biopsied a gnarly polyp and found it to be cancerous. At this point we don’t know if it’s a Very Big Deal or No Big Whoop. We won’t know until Bryan has surgery to remove the tumor and they get a good look around in there and do some testing.

In my 30s everything felt like a Big Whoop. The kids were younger, the budget was tighter, and my temper was shorter. If my kids were disrespectful or Bryan loaded the dishwasher the wrong way, IT WAS A BIG WHOOP. 

Over time, things kinda just mellowed out. Thank Gawd for that, because Big Whooping everything is exhausting.

2008: My Big Whoop Era.

Age and life experience has taught me to see beyond the moment and react less. Therapy is also good. And life is objectively easier now than it was in my 30s. We’re more financially stable, the kids are independent-ish young adults, and our marriage is more resilient. I know myself better now than I did twenty years ago, and I treat myself better.

How are you treating yourself?

There’s a small part of me that’s in a hurry to get older. I’m ready for more sleeping in. I’m ready to leave work politics behind. I’m ready to sit on my front porch and complain about how kids these days call everyone “brah.” I have a fantasy that my life might slow down and become less complicated, less stressful — not boring or sedentary, but filled with significantly less whoops.

But in the meantime, I attempt to live in the present and enjoy what is right in front of me - home, family, friends, health, and community.

As you move through different stages of your life, what mindsets or previously-held beliefs are you outgrowing? What are the Big Whoops that don’t feel so big anymore?

Until next time,

Jen

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News + Notes

I read Being Mortal, by Atul Gawande back in 2018, and it continues to inform how I think about my future. The book covers the cultural shift of elder care moving from home to care facilities, the systemic challenges to our culture and economy as Gen-X is poised to be one of the largest elder populations we’ve seen, and how to thoughtfully plan for “aging in place.”

Gawande anchors the book around his personal story of navigating these issues with his own father. This personal narrative together with his expertise as a practicing physician kept the book from feeling clinical and dense.

If your future involves caring for an aging parent or you’re thinking about your own future as an aging adult, this book is a great starting point to begin planning and asking the right questions. Highly recommend.