by Suzy Hopkins
Q: What if we work as hard as we can and still break up? What if I waste years on the wrong person? I’m scared I’ll look back and cringe at how naive I was.
A: This person came into your life to teach you a lesson: You’ll learn what you want or don’t want in a partner. As for cringing, there’s no need. Everyone is naive starting out.
It’s what helps us say “I do.”
DAY 1,500: Have kids
It’s nice to think you’ll give it this much thought. More likely, though, you will have sex with someone you love (or could grow to love), igniting a new life and rendering all your questions and worries moot.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not criticizing. Even if I’m dead, I’d like to be a grandmother.
DAY 1,775: Do drugs
Drugs can be a beautiful addition to a birthday. The pain you are likely to experience will be mind-bending, unless you are the one in one hundred women who say “I had the baby in ten minutes—I barely had time to finish my sandwich!”
This is a guilt-free zone: Ask for any drugs you are safely entitled to. When you first hold your baby, that pain will soon recede into memory because your future starts crying almost immediately.
DAY 1,800: Sing the lullaby I used to sing to you
Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true
I’m half crazy over the love of you
It won’t be a stylish marriage
I can’t afford a carriage
But you’ll look sweet
Upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two
Ruby, Ruby, give me your answer true
Will you let me pedal along with you
When you and I go cruisin’
You’ll thank me for choosin’
You to come and have some fun
On a bicycle built for two
Billy, Billy, give me your answer true
I love riding, do you love it too
Slow or fast or faster
You lead, I’ll follow after
The path flies by as you and I
Ride a bicycle built for two
A bicycle built for two
DAY 1,900: Make amends
If you have a fight with a sibling, friend, parent, try to mend it. Don’t let little feuds turn into big ones. Let them know that despite what happened, you love and need them.
People need to know that you see them—that they are not invisible to you, taken for granted. Acknowledge what you did. Accept responsibility. Extend a sincere apology.
If you die angry, you’ve waited too long.
DAY 2,000: Enjoy this dream
I’m not prying, and I don’t want to interrupt. I just thought I’d stop by for a visit. Even if you forget what was said or the specifics of the dream, try to hang on to this feeling of reconnection. Assuming I’m not still nagging you to clean your room, I hope my visit reminds you how much I will always love you.
DAY 2,500: Suffer
You’re going to get hurt. It’s part of life. Just know that your sorrow and pain is not unique and not unmatched. There are lots of people who can outdo you on the suffering front. Find them. Take them cookies. You’re in this together, even when it feels like you are the only one on earth dealing with this.
DAY 3,000: Talk to your kids about death
Cleaning and dressing the body, digging the hole, etching the stone. We used to be more connected to death. Now we are shielded from the reality of it, which adds to our unease.
Our culture, our families need to talk much more about death. In the same way you greet a new life you ought to honor a departing life.
DAY 3,500: Make beauty
The world will disappoint you. You’ll be stunned by war, intolerance, hate, greed. You’ll want a quick solution, but there isn’t one.
Try to counter those wrongs by putting forth something positive, however small.
DAY 4,000: Think of me unexpectedly
Memories will come to you in waves, unbidden.
Grief isn’t the only byproduct of a death. And death isn’t just subtraction. You’re left with a treasure of memories that can be triggered by sights, sounds, smells—a record of how my life enriched yours.
DAY 4,500: Pinch yourself
You’re tempted to bail out of your relationship. The challenges outweigh the joys. You’re thinking, “This is too much work. Wouldn’t it be nicer if I had a little apartment where I could make popcorn at 2 a.m., drink a glass of wine, and avoid any and all emotional turmoil?”
Pinch yourself. Is that pain you feel, or just proof that you’re alive?
Strip away sex and other expectations; at the heart of this is friendship. You signed on for a journey. You can’t know how many times the train will stop, the detours, the duration of the trip, or even the destination.
It’s absolutely fine to leave when your partner:
• Doesn’t respect you
• Can’t beat an addiction or won’t try
• Cheats on you (not twice; once is enough)
• Raises a hand to you (end of story)
• Is a serial killer (or even a non-serial killer)
• Kicks a puppy
DAY 5,000: Go to work
If you’re lucky, you will get a life-sucking, stultifyingly horrible job early on. Having a glimpse of something dreadful motivates you to aim higher.
People sometimes think of work as something that they have to do so that their spare time can be devoted to their real life.
But work isn’t just a way to earn a paycheck. It’s integral to your quality of life. Seek out work you’re excited about. Find a way to pursue your interests and be well-compensated for it. It’s no fun to be poor. Earn a bunch of money and spread it around.
DAY 5,500: Ask questions
We’re put here to look for answers. It’s not that you’re going to find them—it’s that you’re striving to find them.
DAY 6,000: Make a quiche
In the face of calamity, quiche can restore order.
Onions, butter, garlic
Carrots, spinach, broccoli, zucchini, yam
Evaporated milk
Eggs, shredded cheese
Nutmeg, cinnamon, salt, pepper, cayenne
Unbaked pie crusts
Slice onions into thin pieces, sauté in butter or oil with diced garlic over low heat for 5 or 10 minutes.
While those are cooking, cut up the vegetables: shred a couple of carrots, dice a big pile of spinach, cut a head of broccoli into small pieces, shred a zucchini, and dice a semi-cooked yam.
Throw this all into a big bowl.
In a separate bowl, whisk a can of evaporated milk together with four or five eggs, then add a cup or more of shredded cheese. These measurements are approximate—keep in mind that life is a loose mix of odd circumstances that together can sometimes yield great results. Have faith that this will turn out well.
Add some seasonings to the milk-egg mix: a bit of nutmeg, cinnamon, salt and pepper, and cayenne are my favorites.
Dump this into the veggie bowl and stir together, then spoon into unbaked pie crusts. This makes three or four quiches. Salt and pepper the top, then cook at 350 degrees for about an hour—until the middle has set and a toothpick stuck in the center comes out clean.
You’re using oven mitts, right? That pan is hot. Don’t burn yourself. If you do burn yourself, put your hand under cold running water until the pain subsides.
Are you getting enough to eat? Have some quiche.
DAY 7,000: Prioritize
You feel overloaded with work, life, whatever. Time for triage. Write down everything on your “plate,” all the things you are responsible for or feel burdened by; include caring for yourself.
Imagine these are emergency-room patients waiting to be seen. Who should get help first, second, and third? And who shouldn’t even be on the list, because their needs are far less urgent?
Hint: Caring for yourself should be near the top of the list.
DAY 8,000: R
edefine happiness
I used to think happiness was something I would get to at some point, that one day everything would fall into place and stay there.
It’s not as if when you drop twenty pounds the world will be right and will remain right as long as the twenty pounds stay off. You can be fat and happy or thin and happy, and if you’re lucky you’ll have many happy moments and days. Just don’t expect to have nonstop happy decades.
I see happiness as contentment with what you’re doing right now. That may be nothing at all, or something ambitious, or something in between. It’s a sense of not wanting to be anywhere else.
DAY 9,000: Sharpen your pencil
You’ll find yourself in times of transition, waiting for news: for an update, a prognosis, a signal of hope. Drink a cup of coffee and work on a crossword puzzle. The coffee will help you stay awake, and the crossword will keep your brain occupied. Do the Sunday New York Times puzzle only if you will be waiting for more than twenty-four hours and are unfazed by failure.
DAY 10,000: Take a field trip
You screwed up as a parent, it’s true. Thankfully you have been given a second chance with your grandchildren. You can screw them up in an entirely different way.
Or not. Keep in mind that they will be paying close attention when you least expect it. Take time to play and to see the world through their eyes.
DAY 11,000: Climb out of a rut
Try to keep moving forward toward something—in both your work and personal life. Not backward to something you’ve done before, or standing still. Imagine that you aren’t afraid of anyone or anything. Where would you go? What would you do?
Then get started.
DAY 12,000: Watch a funny movie
Because we are hardwired for survival, our brains are always looking for threats—and there are plenty to be found. You may have to rush a sick baby to the hospital. You might get an EKG that shows your heart misfiring, or hear the word “cancer” from someone in a white coat.
Fear is useful when it causes you to avoid an oncoming train or motivates you to make positive changes. Otherwise it’s a life suck. When you’re terrified, ask yourself: Is this helping? If not, laugh in fear’s face.
DAY 13,000: Step lively
When you start saying and thinking that the world has gone to hell in a handbasket, you are officially old, whether you are thirty-four or ninety-five. Every generation probably thinks this, decrying the sad state of affairs, the dreadful mess politicians have made, the younger generation’s sins, and so much more.
You are not the first to be in this position, and you do not know everything, and you are probably not in charge. Absent a nuclear war or global pandemic, you are in a more privileged position than any generation in history.
Instead of just complaining, do something to try to make things better.
DAY 14,000: Make a duck-it list
People who have bucket lists are often the type of people who want to tell you all about themselves all the time. I don’t want to hear it, any more than I want to hear about their trip to Peru.
Even if you did accomplish everything on the list, you set yourself up for failure. Let’s say you finish the list but you’re still not dead. Is it time to die? What do you do with all that time? Make another bucket list?
What about people who can’t afford to have a good bucket list? Do they just make do with a mediocre one? “I’d like to go to Beaverton someday.”
Sitting and reading a good book, drinking tea, taking a walk with you. For me, those were life’s best moments. Better even than seeing the Taj Mahal or sailing the fjords or skiing in Switzerland. Sitting around just talking about . . . stuff. That’s what I really miss.
DAY 15,000: Drop a crutch
There will come a time when you understand that you don’t need alcohol (despite earlier recipes) or drugs (despite childbirth advice). Don’t worry, something will come along to replace it—endorphin rushes, whatever. Trust me, there will be other crutches.
DAY 17,000: Get a cane
If you’re lucky enough to get old, it’s probably going to hurt.
You’ll fall and break something. Doctors will have to cut things out of you, then they’ll put fake stuff back in. At some point you may have trouble walking. And sitting. And eating. And hearing. And sleeping. You get the idea.
If legislation were passed that required everyone in their twenties to be confined to a wheelchair for six months, they might gain lifelong empathy for the elderly and disabled. But like you, most people have had to learn patience and acceptance in other ways over the course of their lifetimes.
Trust me, you have the tools you will need to cope with these new challenges.
Except for the cane, which you need to buy. Make it a flashy one.
DAY 18,000: Show compassion
When part of your body falls apart—heart, bones, brain, whatever—you will suddenly realize you are not invincible. Until now, you probably thought you were exempt. These things are supposed to happen to other people, not you. Time to show yourself some serious compassion. Be kind to yourself. No matter your age, you deserve clean clothes and a hot meal and good company.
Don’t go it alone: Accept help and friendship when it’s offered. And if it isn’t offered, ask for it. Allow extra time and be patient with yourself. Ask other people to be patient, too. They may need to be reminded.
DAY 20,000: Plan your dream death
We spend our lives planning weddings, birthday parties, brunches, births, surprise parties, anniversaries, shopping trips, vacations, family reunions, romantic weekends. But why stop there? Spend some time thinking about how you’d really like to die.
Where are you? What are you wearing? Who are you with? Is there music? What happens next? What do you hope happens next?
Keep in mind that no matter how many people you’re surrounded by, you die alone. This is really your show.
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to our agent, Kate McKean, for her belief in this book, her support, and her encouragement. And much gratitude to Nancy Miller and her incredible staff at Bloomsbury for thoughtful editing, kind guidance, and for making this such a happy and memorable experience.
From Hallie
Many thanks to Jack Sjogren—your encouragement and hugs at the end of so many long workdays kept me going. To Alice Medland, for being my best friend and for bringing me joy and flowers on a regular basis. To Ariana Lenarsky, for pulling me away from the desk to hike each Sunday, always returning me more inspired and eager to work. To Nick and Ben for many long, life-sustaining phone calls and for always making me laugh. To my dad, Chris Bateman, for his humor, generosity, and for patiently waiting his turn. (Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve got some ideas for how to immortalize your wisdom.)
And to my mom, for being utterly irreplaceable but willing to try to replace herself anyway.
From Suzy
I’m grateful to the many elders I’ve interviewed over the past decade for helping me understand the depth and duration of love and loss. To Ben, Hallie, and Nick, for three decades of action-packed training on being a mom. To my sister, Ann Gosman, for her friendship and insights during and after our mother’s death. To Chris Bateman, the funniest writer I know, for reading draft after draft and still laughing out loud, and for joining me thirty years ago on this grand experiment called parenthood.
And to Hallie, again, for our long talks that are the heart of this book, and for illustrations that reach so far beyond words.
A Note on the Author and the Illustrator
Hallie Bateman is an illustrator and writer whose work has appeared in the New Yorker, the New York Times Magazine, Lenny, BuzzFeed, the Awl, and elsewhere. Her creative journal, Brave New Work, was published by MoMA in 2017. She lives in Los Angeles.
Suzy Hopkins is a former newspaper reporter who since 2008 has published a quarterly magazine (Friends and Neighbors, www.seniorfan.com) for boomers and seniors in California’s Central Sierra. She is als
o Hallie’s mom. She lives in Columbia, California.
BLOOMSBURY PUBLISHING
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This electronic edition published in 2018 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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First published in the United States 2018
Copyright © Suzy Hopkins and Hallie Bateman, 2018