When I was a little girl, I wanted to sing. More precisely, I wanted to be a jazz singer. When I was in second grade, we were given an assignment to study the life of a famous American and to present their life story as that person. Unlike my fellow classmates, who chose the more common American heroes and heroines—George Washington, Florence Nightingale, and Dolley Madison—I chose the great jazz singer Bessie Smith. When American Life Story day rolled around, I showed up to present my chosen famous American dressed in a twenties-style dress, high heels, and with my father in tow, accompanying me on the piano as I told stories to the class about the Empress of Jazz’s life and sang a couple of her biggest hits, including the unlikely elementary school crowd pleaser “Gimme a Pigfoot and a Bottle of Beer.” (Miss Kestenbaum was a very progressive second-grade teacher.) Happily, my report was highly entertaining for the other kids, and I was thrilled at how it turned out. I was doing what felt right—singing, acting, and writing.
As I got older and began acting in films, I lost sight of the other two activities. For some odd reason, I didn’t feel that you could do more than one thing. I don’t know where I got this idea from, but I just stopped singing altogether. Same with the writing. And as much as I love acting, I know that it isn’t all that I do. Acting is my chosen career, it is my livelihood, which gives it a kind of pressure that my other talents don’t have. It took years but I finally got it through to myself that I can sing if I want. A little while back, I put together a jazz group with a few talented guys, and we perform gigs when I can. No publicity, very little money, no expectations; just the joy of singing the music I love.
I know I’m not the only person to have experienced this sort of epiphany. Time and again I’ve spoken to people or known friends who have stopped and looked at what they were doing in their lives and realized that it was not the life they had envisioned for themselves. Sometimes it involves a drastic step—leaving a career, going back to school, even ending a relationship that is deeply unsatisfying. But more often, it’s the little steps that matter; carving out a little time for yourself to pursue something you really love.
My friend Sara is a successful director of publicity for a major publishing house. She is extremely good at her job, but there was always something that seemed to be missing. She started taking classes in shoe making at FIT. Sara has always been a great shoe aficionado (with immaculate taste), so why not learn how to make them? Twice a week, after work, she went to her class at FIT and learned the artisanal skill. A few years after that, she moved on to making jewelry, a skill at which she is extremely gifted. (I try to steer my husband in her direction around Valentine’s Day and anniversaries.) Maybe one day she thinks she will pursue it as a full-time career, but for now it is just enough to remind her that her job is not all she does, it isn’t all she is.
As we get older we have a lifetime to look back on, to observe the different interests associated with the different stages. I’m sure there is a lot that you would love to forget (That goth phase? The nineties grunge? That boyfriend no one liked—for good reason), but there is just as much worth remembering. The time you stayed up all night with a friend who just broke up with her boyfriend, the fearlessness you felt backpacking through Europe. The openness of your heart the first time you fell in love. Take the good and figure out how to incorporate it into your life and leave the rest where it belongs—in the past.
In the future, it’s up to us to decide who we want to be, how we want to live the second act (or third, depending on how we define the different periods of our life). The way I see it, there’s the first act, infancy (we didn’t have a whole lot to say). The second act (we have too much to say). And then there’s the third act, where we realize there’s a lot we don’t know, but thankfully there’s also a lot we do. It’s the act of restraint and of the calculated risk. Hopefully we have enough wisdom to know that we don’t need to prove anything anymore, and enough life history to know when we need to try new things, to be the navigator of our own unforgettable journey.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The temptation here is to thank everyone that I’ve ever known since they have all played a part in providing me with the experiences and inspiration that went into writing this book. So a big global thank-you. That means you.
More specifically, I would like to thank everyone at HarperCollins, particularly Brittany Hamblin for her insightful editorial suggestions, and my copy editor, Shelly Perron, who very kindly forgave my sentence fragments, and my design dream team, Robin Bilardello for the beautiful cover, and Lorie Pagnozzi for the inspired interiors. A special thanks to Carrie Kania for her incredible enthusiasm, and for sharing my vision of the book and making sure that it happened. Even with unforeseen events and all the attendant delays, your support and graciousness never wavered, and I am proud to be one of the It imprint’s flagship books.
Thank you to all of my friends who so generously contributed their humor, advice, and expertise: Mike Albo, Todd Thomas, Dr. David Colbert, Taite Pearson, Brandi Sanger, Steve Lake, Marie Viljoen, and Justin Bond (for the funniest sidebar that I could not include—rest assured, it’s going in the director’s cut).
And also to my dear friends, many who allowed me to include their personal stories, tribulations, and triumphs, and to many more who offered opinions on music, makeup, mothers, wine, cheese, and any of the other various subjects I expounded upon: Victoria Leacock Hoffman, Dr. Jennifer Ozeir, Darcy Cosper, Sara Nichols, Meredith Arthur, Matt Freeman, Dr. Greg Henderson, Will Ryman, Julia Caston, Alex Auder, Kenny Mellman, Jason Weinberg, Greg Clark, David Daley, Colin Dickerman, James Sanders, Ingrid Bernstein, Jessica Leigh Brown, Marisa Bowe, Ilana Levine, Chris Pavone, Todd Simmons, Elizabeth Burdick, Sarah Harden, Sandy Fleischer, Wendy Waddell, Thomas Weems, Hill Solomon, Colin Cunliffe, Julian Fleisher, Kenny Cummings, Deborah Treisman, Stephanie Pearson, Peter Smith, Amy Sparks, Erin Guth, Molly Ryan, Valerie Baugh, Carl Stanley, Valentina Tiurbini, Cindy Sherman, and David Byrne.
My beloved teacher Irene Brafstein. I miss you.
I would also like to thank:
Mary Oliver, whose magnificent poetry I found myself reading often during the course of writing this book, and whose craftsmanship and graceful mastery alternately astonished, consoled, and inspired me. The poems recalled the sensation of immersing my hands in the loamy earth of my garden—which is to say, of being connected to something greater than myself. You always remind me of how much the right word matters, an invaluable gift to any writer.
Michael Pollan, for making so much sense.
John Cheever, not only for reminding us of the “salvation of prose” but for inadvertently and fortuitously leading me to my husband through the elegance of his prose. I am deeply grateful to the Cheever family for allowing me to include their father’s glorious writing in my book.
Ruben and Isabel Toledo—I remember meeting both of you all those years ago. Elegant Isabel with all of those vintage keys around your neck; Ruben with your inimitable style and moxie. Thank you for illustrating my book and bringing it to life. Having your involvement was a dream come true.
My dear friend Fergus Greer, for helping me find the pretty when I needed to most.
Barbara Foley, for holding the hope.
My family—I know it hasn’t always been easy to be related to me and everything that goes with the whole “celebrity” thing. Thank you for your understanding, love, and shelter.
Beth Ringwald Carnes and Dr. Kenneth Carnes.
Chance Podrasky, Lillie and Jenna Carnes.
Kelly Ringwald and Eileen Descallar Ringwald.
Naomi Burns, you deserve a medal.
Irini and Stylianos Gianopoulos, Katerina, Makis, and Aphrodite Tatsos: thank you for welcoming me into your Greek family.
Robert and Adele Ringwald—the most extraordinary people I know. How blessed I am to have you as parents. This book is in many ways a Valentine to you, Mom, but it’s also about you, Dad, because you were the man who had the good fortune and fo
resight to find her and to hang on to her. Mom, you taught me to be a woman I am proud to be. Dad, you taught me how to sing. Thank you for that and for teaching me to hear the music in everything.
There are certain very important people who were instrumental in helping me get to the finish line during that last month. You will never know how much your intelligence, love, and compassion kept me afloat during this time. You are my chosen family and I value you beyond words. Victoria, Matt, Greg, Brandi, and Meredith—how lucky I am to have you in my life.
Susan Raihofer, every writer should be so lucky to have an agent like you. Your passion and attention to detail are unparalleled—not to mention your patience! Thank you for believing in me and telling me that my book would arrive at the right time. Who would have thought that the idea for this book would have come from lunch in that awful restaurant in the West Village? I look forward to many more lunches and just as many books together.
Thank you, Adele and Roman, for so patiently waiting for me to finish this book before making your wondrous presence known to the world. I can’t wait to get to know you better!
And Mathilda, there is no better muse that a mommy could ask for. You are forever a surprise, a delight, and a bottomless fount of inspiration. Your advice on life is more succinct than anything I could ever write, so as a postscript I will include it here: “None of this matters. All that matters is that you stay alive and that you like your life.” Thank you, my lovely girl.
Finally, I would like to thank the one person without whom this book would never have been written—my husband, Panio Gianopoulos. Your contribution is immeasurable. From putting me on a writing schedule (two hours or five hundred words, whichever comes first) to making me trust my written voice when my confidence faltered. You are my first and finest editor and greatest champion. It is deeply daunting now writing this without your discerning eye and kind judgment. I thank you for making room for two writers in the family (and based on early evidence from Mathilda, I would wager that we’ll have three, if not more, heaven help us…). Most of all, I thank you for helping me learn what it means to love another person completely. To understand, to forgive, and to transcend. To soar and to fall from our invincible heights—toward each other and in love.
S’agapo.
About the Author
Molly Ringwald lives and works in New York City and Los Angeles.
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Credits
Jacket design by Robin Bilardello
Jacket photographs by Fergus Greer
Copyright
Excerpt from “Goodbye, My Brother” from The Stories of John Cheever by John Cheever. Copyright © 1978 by John Cheever. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.
The names and identifying characteristics of some people discussed in this book have been changed to protect their privacy.
GETTING THE PRETTY BACK. Copyright © 2010 by Molly Ringwald. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
EPub Edition © April 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-198772-4
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*Turophile: Pronunciation:
Function: noun
Etymology: irregular from Greek tyros cheese +
English -phile—: a connoisseur of cheese: a cheese fancier
*If you have small prawns or lobster tail, cut into pieces and add these last—it is sinful to overcook them.
*All calories burned are based on an average weight of 145 pounds and are per hour of activity.
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