Potential
Potential
A couple weeks ago, I found this photo of my mother, probably from before I was born. I’d never seen it before. I stared at it for half an hour.
Last week, as I was leaving group tennis class, the instructor started shouting at me (he communicates mostly by shouting; I don’t take it personally) that I’m the only one in the class with real “potential.” The implication being that I'm not trying hard enough.
I stared at him, confused. And because I had no idea how to respond to his declaration, I took out my phone and showed him that photo of my mother. He was impressed with her form. And said he would keep pushing me.
All these old photos of my mother from the 1950s and 1960s (I'm digging though family photo albums for my 100-day project) exude unlimited potential. A smart, beautiful, athletic woman with a PhD, an academic career, a hotshot husband, and perfect clothes, who could play the piano, speak French, cook a fancy meal for 30 people, and even water ski. I mean, this is some Camelot-looking shit, if you take the photos at face value. She seemed so HAPPY.
And then it all went to hell. Ungrateful children, shit marriage, a profound lack of self-awareness, a Catholic martyr complex, a cultural and generational refusal to recognize and articulate feelings. Yes, she loved her work and had a hell of a career. But work was how she escaped dealing with anything and everything else.
As for my so-called potential? I never wanted the graduate degree, the marriage, the kids, or the career. I’m trying to decide if that’s because I saw how miserable some of those things made my mother, or because I could never live up to the examples she set in the first part of her life.
If I have any potential, it is to (try to) be a good aunt, a good friend, a good sister-in-law. To take care of myself physically and mentally, to contribute to the world around me, to establish healthy boundaries, and to keep pushing myself to try new things, even if they’re intimidating or if the experts shout at me. I’m 90% convinced this is enough.
And I’ve rented a practice tennis court this weekend with one of those machines that fires tennis balls at you.
Links
I don't look at who subscribes to this. On the off chance you are a 1990s Midwest ska person, you're welcome. (Milwaukee Record)
This song, Don't Hate Me, by someone named Lola Young. Her voice, her lyrics, her attitude. I want to go get drinks with her. (YouTube)
TikTok anthem: iCandy’s Keep Dat. How soon before an engineer bleeps out or changes a few words and this is all over top 40 radio? End of the week? One reason it’s so catchy is that 2-note Motown (?) horn sample. There’s something so mindlessly satisfying about songs with basically two notes or chords. Old go-go example: The bass in Junkyard Band's Sardines. Old reggae example: Alton Ellis’ Big News. (all YouTube)
Hari Kondabolu on comedy, race, and being a Queens kid in Maine. (LitHub) I did not know his brother was in Das Racist and now I love him even more. (YouTube)
Also didn't realize how huge tapirs are. (Boing Boing)
Study suggests body odor can reveal if a person is single. (My Modern Met)
Daily diary entries by famous people. (Diaries of Note)
When I grow up I want to be half as cool as Cate Blanchett. (YouTube)
How to write a Depeche Mode song. (The Awesomer)
"Rockabilly is the true sound of real American rebellion, the greasy-haired, reverb-heavy music that makes you want to ignore all the bad things about the 1950s like segregation and constant fear of nuclear annihilation and just have a good time." (Hard Times)
Related: Tiki bar just the right amount of racist. (Onion)