My father had two favorite sayings that he often shared with us. They set us up for a very healthy outlook.
His first was, “What goes around comes around.” Be kind to others, and we will get kindness back. Whether my dad’s words were meant as an incentive or to remind us that we could lead by example, we got the message.
His second memorable saying was, “My money’s on you.” This was nowhere near as virtuous. Quite the opposite. I imagined a casino table with bets being placed in some seedy basement dwelling.
And yet, every time I heard those words, “My money’s on you,” I felt confident and filled with a go-get-em attitude.
It was our permission to take whatever flyers we wanted, whatever whims we felt a need to live out. My dad’s message was very simple. He believed in us, and so we should, too.
This meant that when I graduated college without a job and moved to Boston without an apartment to join “Kelly Girls” (now called “Kelly Services) and work for pennies as a typist, it was fine. I would find the job that I wanted and would figure out how to support myself.
I did.
My dad’s words rang true, and my scary bet panned out.
I’ve since repeated my dad’s words to our children as they ponder their next move. It only recently occurred to me that by repeating my dad’s second saying, I was living out his first.
“What goes around comes around” was exactly what I was doing.
Why am I now thinking about my dad saying, “My money’s on you,” as I turn the ripe age of 67 this fall?
Now, more than ever, I need to bet on myself, and it’s harder to do so.
It’s natural to feel diminished as we age.
We have new aches and pains that haunt us. We don’t hear as well. Maybe our wisdom helps us to laugh more. That’s what I did when I asked my husband to bring my toothbrush downstairs, thereby saving me another trip up. He brought me a pair of shoes. I’m still not sure how he translated “toothbrush” to “tennis shoes,” but I suspect he leaned heavily on his logic.
“What could Jill be needing now?”
We all want our power and presence to stay intact, which only gets harder as we age. I often say, “I work very hard to stay in the same place.”
Another chuckle. See how humor helps?
This also explains why I’m hearing my dad’s words about betting on myself.
How will I do this?
First, I will remind myself that placing a bet on me is probably in my blood. That’s why I was willing to move to New York, even though I was a quintessential Midwesterner. I felt like an alien with scarce resources in a city that required wealth, but I stayed, adapted, and grew a career.
I recall when my husband and I were raising three young kids. I wanted a flexible schedule, but I was ten years ahead of my time. My employer said, “Sorry, no,” and I said, “I understand,” and placed a bet on myself as I prepared to leave.
Then I heard, “Hold on. We’ll try a short pilot.” The pilot lasted ten years and opened the door for many to follow.
Probably the biggest bet (except the one where I wisely said “yes” to my husband) was starting my own solo consulting practice. We needed two salaries to support our family, and I bet I could make it work. I did, sprinkled with plenty of angst and a reminder that I always liked the rollercoaster.
The rollercoaster makes me think of the movie Parenthood. There was a reason I identified with its lead, Steve Martin. Rollercoasters were me.
Will I continue to place bets on myself?
As they say in any prospectus, “The past is no predictor of the future,” and just because I placed bets on me all my life doesn’t mean I still will.
How could I prove to myself that I was still placing bets? How could I continue to set an example for my kids to follow?
Last week, I hired a trainer who is also a competitive dancer to help me develop faster feet. This would be useful for my tennis game as I’ve noticed I’m slowing down a bit. I don’t know how much faster my feet will be, but we had so much fun as we went from one drill to another. Fred Astaire, I’m not, but I may become a better doubles partner on court.
When I visited my sister in her senior community, I discovered that senior communities have significant activity around Bridge and Mahjong tables. I have a minuscule bridge game and have never played Mahjong. I am going to change that.
I don’t anticipate joining a senior community anytime soon, but I remind myself that it wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark. If I start now, then whenever that fateful moment comes, I will be ready.
The last bet I’m placing is about my writing. I’m in the midst of creating my third novel, which is part of a series, and I believe it will be my best. I won’t feel the pressure of meeting short attention spans or getting something out quickly. The story development will happen at a pace that feels natural.
I am betting that my longer, slower read will hold readers’ attention. I upped my bet by adding a slight romantic angle, which is not my jam. I read a few romantic novels to prepare, only to realize I am in deeper, more foreign waters than ever.
My money is still on me.
The average lifespan of a white woman in the U.S. is 80. If I’m average, that means I have 13 more years to place bets on myself.
I aim for better than average, but there is so much we can’t control.
But there is our attitude. We can control our attitude.
So, in the spirit of sharing an idea with a Medium community that has given me a feeling of connectedness and friendship, I offer a simple idea that I’ve known for many decades and almost forgot.
Place as many bets on yourself as possible. Build a support system of loving people who will see you through the outcome. Show gratitude — to them and to yourself. Finally, walk a dog.
Dogs clear the mind and the soul, putting you in the right mood to place another bet.
I definitely think planning ahead is all…!!!
Love the idea you are planning ahead and learning Mah jong now! Cleverly preparing to face your future--Mah jong or pickleball😁 I'm betting on you, GRRL, now and in your 70s and 80s!