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Lisa Quinn gets it.
She gets life. She knows what’s important. And what isn’t. She’s figured out ways to live that work and written about it in a book called “Life’s Too Short to Fold Fitted Sheets.” It’s not deep, esoteric philosophy. It’s straightforward, practical stuff that makes sense.
When I was growing up, a movie was a movie. Now, there’s guy movies and chick flicks. If “Life’s Too Short” was a movie it would scream Chick Flick! There was no way I was going to read it in public. But I read it. I mean, when I was a teenager I’d closet read my sister’s Tiger Beat magazines. I figured the more I knew about what adolescent girls thought was cool, the less stupid I’d act around them. It didn’t work, but that was my thinking.
I had the same sort of motivation to read Lisa’s book. After a friend shared a copy of it with me, I thought it would give me a better understanding of what grown women are up against, and I’d be a better empathizer. But once I got past my own sexist stereotyping, I realized that most of what she wrote about – cooking, cleaning, managing a household, maintaining self-esteem in a negative world, not letting go of our dreams… – is just as applicable to men.
I guess it’s just easier to classify everything and put it into an appropriate box. For example, as soon as books are published, they’re categorized and labeled. “Life’s Too Short is shelved in one of three sections:
1. Home economics
2. Home economics – Social aspects
3. Women – Conduct of life – Humor.
Weird, huh? It makes me mad because when you file “Life’s Too Short” in the Home Ec or Women’s section, guys aren’t going to even see it, let alone read it. Which is a shame because they won’t be introduced to one of Lisa’s primary points – that household management doesn’t mean household perfection. Homemakers don’t have to make everything Martha Stewart worthy. If they (we) focused on three, two or even just one thing that we wanted to do exceptionally well, we’d be better off. It’s OK to be just OK in everything else.
Unfortunately, that’s not the message we convey to kids. We expect them to master five, six, sometimes seven academic classes. Then, after school, they have to perfect a sport, an instrument, acting, dancing, art or scouting. We expect them to be involved in some sort of community service. After all, they have to save the world.
All that’s fine as long as they get to be less than the best at most of those, and put all they have into only three, two or one of them. Kids should be encouraged to try the different foods at a buffet, not devour everything. As Lisa writes, “Here’s the brutal truth, ladies: You can’t have it all. Why would you even want it all?”
“Okay,” she concludes, “so you’re on your deathbed. What are your regrets? That your parties weren’t the toniest? That your home was never clean enough?”
Or that your kids didn’t get an A in every subject and excel in every endeavor?
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