Life and What-Not

“The problem with adulthood,” I began my conversation with Victoria, “is that by the time you realize what you want to do, what you are good at, it’s often too late to go back for a do-over. Take this quantitative management class I’m in right now. I love it. It’s just straightforward mathematical statistics for the purpose of solving business problems, and it energizes me. I really like this stuff.” (Eye roll from the daughter.)

“I knew this, of course, back when I was in college, but I didn’t pursue the field. I met with one tiny obstacle and – meh – I moved on to an easier path. I was young and dumb and though I don’t have many regrets about my past – other than superficially wishing I could go back in time and give the young Lori a few Gibbs’ head-slaps – I regret not pushing through for the degree I wanted and a career that might have provided more material resources. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do now and I don’t believe material resources would serve me any better than the spiritual resources I have access to, but I often find myself wondering what it would be like if I had been ‘adult-enough’ to insist on more effort from myself at a younger age.

“And so that is what kicks me in the head as an adult – knowing that we cannot change the past, we can only direct the future. We can change what we do today for the benefit of tomorrow, and no more. But when you’re over the proverbial hill, and you see it all this clearly, and you know – absolutely know in your heart – that you could have done better, or more, or whatever with your energy and resources…all you really can do is let your children know the pitfalls. You want to make sure that your kids understand what mistakes not to make, what obstacles to push through.

“And that brings me to the fallacy of youth, in that when I was young and dumb – as so you shall be, too – I was not interested in older people’s advice of the pitfalls. I had my whole life ahead of me, and that’s all that I saw. My future was a blank page, and I was selecting the pen with which to write it. Don’t dare tell me what pen I should use; that’s my decision! And so, when we are young we make the easy choices, the fun choices, the choices that bring us pleasure, even if it is fleeting. It’s only when we are older that we think, what if??? What if I had chased that dream? What if I had studied harder? What if I had actually attended that Business Law class instead of deciding that Dominic might be hanging out in the student center and surely I HAD to be there too? But Business Law, while a really interesting class, at the time paled in comparison to the interest I held for my social life and your father’s whereabouts. (Cue head-slap). Surely I could have pursued your father after my work was done??? But, as I said, I can’t change the past. Our choices, our actions, make us who we are and I do love this life. What I can do now is hand you the information and hope that you choose to make good decisions. That’s the goal of every parent…to make sure our kids don’t have any regrets.”

Victoria seems to consider this for a moment, then says, “I watched this movie last night where this guy walked outside and got struck by lightning. For no reason at all! He just walked out, got struck by lightning, and died right there on the spot.”

Nobody listens to me.

Poca Voglia

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home names, little wishes

I’ve always wanted to name my house – ever since the days of my childhood when I would watch Dallas and marvel at the majesty of Southfork.  Of course, I knew I would not likely have anything as vast as a Southfork of my own, but the thought of a place with a name – a distinct identity – was intriguing.

Our old house was warm and friendly, but never quite name-worthy.  The name would come some day when I fulfilled the dream of building my own house.

That day is now.

Any appropriate name would need to be Italian (duh), and so I spent weeks in my “spare” time google-translating phrases that were personal, yet meaningful.  Stately, yet modest.

Weeks, I tell ya.  Weeks.

(By the way, this is exactly why I don’t have a tattoo.  Such a permanent item would need to be, in my estimation, an all-encompassing graphic rendition of my personality, beliefs and ideals.  Its meaning and message would need to stand the test of time.  I mean, really…how would I ever decide on one?)

I also had standards for not only what the name would mean, but for how it sounded when spoken.  It couldn’t be cumbersome.  It needed to sound lyrical.  It needed to roll. Google Translate and that little Italian voice inside my phone had their work cut out for them.

I won’t bore you with all the details of the names I tried and cast aside.  In the end, one name won out because of its meaning and its melody.  Poca Voglia (pronounced POKE-a VOHL-e-yah) means “little wish.”   This house began as a little wish twenty years ago when Dom and I sat in the student center at our university and he drew me an abstract picture on a napkin of the home we would someday build together.It’s probably hard to see on this scanned and faded napkin, but that’s the house in the foreground with a pond in the back.  And a dog.  No house is a home without a dog.  😉

I am full of little wishes.  But I am also full of gratitude and contentment.  Poca Voglia.  Welcome home.