This morning at the hair salon, I took note of the fundraiser box of candy bars in front of me. After cursing its presence, I promptly bought a Twix and felt good about contributing to a junior lifeguard’s efforts to go to New Zealand.

I polished off both cookie bars and decided to check the expiration date. Fortunately for my person, it said, “Best by 12/26/12.” Whew. Note to self, next time check expiration dates prior to consumption.

December 26. The day after Christmas. Yes, I’m best by that date, too, because starting the 26th and going straight through to at least the end of February, I tend to mourn the loss of Christmas. I’m moody (more than usual), I don’t want to do much, and I play Christmas CDs since KOST is no longer playing holiday tunes 24/7.

Truth be told, even if Christmas officially lasted a month instead of a day, it probably wouldn’t be long enough for me. As it is, I start my holiday prep the day after Thanksgiving and late December always comes too soon.

I started thinking about the “best by” advice, and started relating it even more to me. In my last job, was I “best by” a certain date? Yep, most definitely. I feel that date was a good two years before I actually moved on, which is somewhat unfortunate…because just like the Twix, come December 26, all freshness starts to go downhill, and the little tasty offering isn’t as delicious. One of my guity pleasures is watching Metal Mania on VH1 Classic, and so many of the videos I grew up on (think Poison, Whitesnake, Scorpions) are still at my fingertips. Were these guys best by? Sure. I’m sure this particular date is likely debated among many, but the mere idea of “best by” inspires me to make the notion be less about a single day and more about a lifestage.

And I know I haven’t yet hit it.

Tonight I am thankful for my “best by” thoughts in the salon chair which led to more “best by” thoughts throughout the day, which led to the realization that our best doesn’t end in a day like a Twix bar, but instead it can be as long as we have the desire to do our best — at something — each day.

For as much as I love being behind the wheel, one of the biggest bummers about driving is the plethora of other drivers seemingly determined to cut you off.

The ones who gun it and dart across five lanes after only casually glancing towards the fast-moving oncoming traffic that you’re part of.

Or the ones who can’t be bothered to signal, so they do a mini-swerve towards your car in an effort to get you to freak out and slow down, thus creating a gap they can duck into… right before they slam on their brakes to dive into that left turn lane they couldn’t bear to pass, naturally.

There are too many scenarios to list, and while they’re aggravating, in reality it’s less about their supposed determination to cut me off and more about their desire to not pass something by.

Interestingly, it’s like this in life sometimes, too, yes? We see something we want to do or someplace we want to do, and we do it a bit recklessly. We do it without the proper amount of regard — for others, as well as for ourselves. We do it because at that moment in time, it’s what we want, but it’s not necessarily what we need.

Reacting can get us onto a different path, get us onto a destructive path or just get us onto a path that we’re not quite ready for yet.

But isn’t it nice to know that if we do find we’ve gone a bit too far or reacted a bit too quickly, we can still make a U-turn?

Just like on a street, passing the initial must-have, must-do, need-it-now moment may buy us just enough time to re-evaluate. We can do a U-turn and cruise back by. If we still want it, we can stop. Or if we’ve stopped prematurely and found that something isn’t what we want after all, the U-turn is our one-way ticket back to sanity.

Tonight I am thankful for the lesson in a U-turn, and for my fellow motorists who reminded of a better way, a more controlled way and a more sane way.

So I was chatting with a friend earlier this evening over happy hour about the idea of doing something every day for a year or more, e.g. this blog or, in the case of his example, a gentleman who photographed himself — and we’re talking three or four angles on a daily basis — to document the aging process.

Over 10 years.

After the decade, he put the photos together into a time-lapse video.

The question came up as to whether he was a genius for doing this, or just bored.

I don’t think it was either. I certainly don’t think he was bored, nor do I think he was a genius — because time lapse videos aren’t new.

I do, however, think he was just curious. And there’s rarely anything wrong, in situations like this, in exploring one’s curiosity.

He may not have known that he’d start something that he’d ultimately continue for 10 years, but that ounce of curiosity ended up paying off.

He may not have even known that he’d go the time-lapse video route once all was said and done, but again — it’s about the curiosity.

What was semi-interesting about this man’s project was the fact that he wanted to document aging. Not growing up, not some sort of cream or surgery or enhancement to help delay the aging process — no, he wanted to straight-up document aging, wrinkles and graying.

Because of this, I was reminded of my personal belief that there isn’t enough “doing” in the world. Look around you: you probably know that you have a number of talents. And you can probably identify other talents in your friends, your co-workers, your kids, your parents. I think there’s not enough doing because people, in general, think their efforts won’t amount to much. But how often have you had an idea that you think is great, then a year later you see what you deem a “lesser” idea not only brought to life but praised, highlighted and covered in the media by someone else? It’s slightly maddening. But we’ll never know whether what could’ve been if we don’t do.

The worst that can happen is that someone will say no. The best that can happen is that one person will say yes, and land you in the hands of someone who takes that yes and runs with it.

Maybe fame and fortune isn’t your thing. I’m pretty sure it’s not mine, although I have nothing against using a faux name and donning a wig if that day ever came (there’s a lot to be said for anonymity). But in the meantime, I think we should all do more.

Tackle that wood carving.

Make something, whether it’s a desk, a batch of cupcakes or a new connection with someone. Then share what you’ve learned through those things. Share with people, share with your kids, share with neighbors, share via a blog, or share through a song.

So many people think they can’t hack it. But the ones who end up striking gold aren’t always the ones who thought they could — but they ARE always the ones who said, “Why not try?”

Tonight I am thankful for the reminder to give myself credit, to believe in my dreams and to be open to where this long, crazy journey might take me.

I don’t know how it happened, but it did.

It was almost like magic, with perhaps a dash of time travel thrown in for good measure.

The same way you fall asleep some nights and wake up what feels like seconds later with the alarm clock going off is what’s going on here.

It’s like starting summer vacation, then immediately having someone tap you on the shoulder to tell you to get ready for the first day of the next school year.

What is it? It’s August.

How did it get to be August 8th?

Wasn’t it Easter just yesterday? And Christmas the day before that? In fact, last summer was last month.

…wasn’t it?

Sometimes it seems no matter how hard I try to slow down and savor each day, they speed by more quickly. And when I want time to pass so I can get to my next big thing, time drags on. But mostly I’m continually amazed at how the years pass without regard for our wishes to linger during the good times, during the special times, or just during the times that I know I’ll want to remember in my later years when my memories are fuzzy and when loved ones aren’t around to remind me.

Even before I wish to draw on them, I find sometimes that I wish I could stockpile my memories and save them up in a bank. I could take them out and have each minute, each laugh, each detail from a conversation and each smell come back instantly.

But we can’t literally do this, so in the meantime we need to bring the memories to life in something that can be a vehicle for years to come.

A song. A recipe. A weekend trip, a photo album or a painting.

Even a blog post.

Why? They’re the various accounts that we’ll draw from in years to come to bring it all back, because time will continue passing quickly, and we’ll continue to be amazed at its speed.

Tonight I am thankful for another reminder that time passes too quickly, but also for the little magical savings accounts that we can utilize all through life to keep them safely tucked away, until we wish to walk down that particular road and dust the memories off again.

Someone today said that there are no missed opportunities — they’re simply passed on to other people.

How true this is.

The person said this was a Greek thing to say, but in reality, perhaps they’re just the ones who are most realistic in this case. So often we tell ourselves it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t the right time or anything similar. We spent a while licking our wounds and soothing ourselves when, in reality, we didn’t spent enough time preparing.

We didn’t spend enough time charting our course.

We didn’t spend enough time tracking down the very thing that would make the heart sing.

Then, before we know it, we’re hearing of someone else who caught a break, who is going places, or who is living the dream that we — once upon a time — called our own.

This isn’t to say that all the planning in the world will bring a dream to fruition, but it is to say that if a dream doesn’t happen for us, if will surely happen — in some iteration or another — to someone else.

So tonight I am thankful for the reminder that preparing is a good thing, that honing one’s craft takes time and that all things happen when they should for us — so long as we prepare. For even if we prepare, we may only get a simple lesson out of it all…but that’s more than we had going in, and such a lesson may be the most valuable thing for us to keep in mind as we’re pursuing another dream.

During the evenings when I’m watering in the backyard, I’ll often hear the distant sound of a passing airplane overhead. Not a small two or four-seater, but instead the kind that speaks of some sort of great journey ahead — the ones that hold a few hundred people.

The few times I’ve flown to Vegas out of LAX, I’ve come to know the large, sweeping left-hand turn that happens once the plane reaches the shoreline. It keeps the Palos Verdes Peninsula in its view, loops back across southern Los Angeles county, over Orange County and comes up diagonally across Anaheim. I don’t know for sure where the planes are going, as I only have Vegas as a point of reference for the route that I see above. I’m quite sure they could be going beyond — or maybe they’re just skirting around a storm or other weather instead of flying in a more direct, due-easterly manner to some other city.

Tonight, I watched one fly overhead and continue in that familiar northeastern arc. I watched one last week, but looked away for a bit too long during watering and lost view of it entirely. This evening, I kept an eye on it and at one point couldn’t tell whether I was still watching it, or if the twinkle of the plane’s white, flashing lights was instead a star coming out to play and readying itself for its nightly twinkling. The now speck-of-a-plane was the faintest gray or pale blue you can imagine, depending on which color the brain wanted to see; the sky was playing that same game.

I likened the dance between the plane and the sky to that of my goals, my hopes, my dreams. Last week, I took my eyes off it and it all but vanished. I couldn’t remember the exact point in the sky where I last saw it, and finding its location once again was impossible. It was gone.

Tonight, I kept my eyes on it and followed it until I could no longer — the very thing I know that I have to do with anything I want to undertake in life but which, lately, is trying my patience. Avert my eyes, let my focus lapse and I risk losing the dream forever. Follow it relentlessly and, in the end, the result will be what it should — but without following it non-stop, the dream stands little chance of becoming reality.

Tonight I am thankful for the airplane’s reminder that if I want a great journey ahead, I just need to maintain my focus. If I wonder where my dream is going, the first thing is to confirm it’s still squarely on my radar. Sure, my ultimate end point may be different than the one I see in my mind’s eye, but regardless of where I end up, it’s sure to be an adventure along the way.

A friend of mine is looking to get back into the dating game, and lately I’ve been offering up suggestions of things to do:

Maybe an online dating site? Perhaps a Meetup group? Or perhaps he and I could hit up some area establishments for some good old-fashioned “Hi, haven’t I seen you before?”-ness. It’s the age-old question that’s rarely genuine, but generally elicits a few words of a reply which, more often than not, turn into a brief discussion and — thus — the path is paved.

We chilled on the patio with our wine, and then he said he’d been thinking about going to the Foxfire.

For those who aren’t aware, it’s a location that I’m sure used to be the “it” spot of Anaheim Hills, and maybe one of the better places in OC. I really don’t know, so I’m speculating. But it’s been around for a while, although in recent years I’ve heard it mentioned each time in the same breath as “Cougar Den.”

Yes, the Foxfire is apparently a place where the ladies can be adored by the younger man.

My friend is not old, nor is he 21. He’s 37, so I instantly imagined him cornered by a feisty and voracious 45+ year old woman. It was an amusing notion, but I thought that it might be wise for him to ultimately have a chaperone.

“I can totally go with you — it’d be fun,” I said. “I could be your wingman…er, wingwoman.”

“But wouldn’t that look like we’re together?” he asked.

My opinion on this is that it would have to do with our body language. If I’m not fawning, then no — we wouldn’t be mistaken for being “together.” And if I make a concerted effort to seem distant or put off, all the more cougars for him.

The other side of things is that even if we were together, my gut was telling me that I’d be no match for a determined cougar and he’d probably get some attention either way.

I started to imagine the night playing out (OK, not ALLLLL the way out) in my mind, and then got to wondering what I’d be doing if he hit it off with someone. Would I stir my drink absent-mindedly, getting some sort of amusement from the connection in front of me? Would I go home and leave them to themselves?

Then it hit me: if this place was really a cougar den and the men who flocked there were in the market for some, well, “maturity,” it’s feasible that I — at 35 — may find myself being engaged in conversation by a 21 year old…maybe on his 21st birthday, maybe not. Or maybe a 22 or 23 year old fresh out of college (yikes) would be chatting me up. The point is that I could suddenly be considered a cougar by those younger than me, despite the fact that I’ve heard it’s a term reserved for the 40+ crowd. It really doesn’t matter though…because if not “cougar,” then “cradle-robber” would be another fine choice in this situation.

And what would I say if I actually partnered up with someone from the den? “Hi, so-and-so. I want you to meet [insert youngster’s name here]. He and I met at the Foxfire.”

Yikes.

I was instantly weirded out by the whole idea, and mentally reneged on my wingwoman offer.

Trying to rid myself of the dirty feeling all over my person, I sipped on my wine some more and was comforted by the fact that the comfort of my patio was our location — not the dark den of discreet (or not so discreet) delights of age-gappery. Yes, tonight I was thankful for just enough of the cougar den situation playing out in my mind to remind me that I, too, could be a young man’s cougar.

But not this year. The Foxfire will have to wait.

At least until my 40th birthday.

On Iron Chef America, it’s a question you’ll hear often during the course of the hour-long program.

How much time?

Time left to chop. To dice. To grill, to boil, to mix, to puree.

Time left to render, to reduce, to marinate.

Time left to build, to create, to craft.

There’s a steady pulse and constant drive in Kitchen Stadium, because the end point is known. The delivery is expected. The quality is assumed.

Five courses in 60 minutes. They do it for the challenge, for fun and for entertainment. But we do it usually without even realizing it. What are our courses?

Unlike the Iron Chef and the challenger on the show who are acutely aware of the end point, we take things day by day and procrastinate here and there. We hem, we haw, we postpone, we wait.

We know there’s an end point, but it’s generally not 60 minutes away.

We know we need to deliver something, but it doesn’t have to be five courses and we won’t face any penalty or similar loss at the end.

Or will we? It feels like we all have dreams. Sometimes people live them out and fulfill them. Others spend a life working towards them, and while they may never reach the pinnacle, they relish the journey and take pride in their effort. Still others may remember having their own dreams, but over time they’ve been shelved, tabled or discarded for various reasons. In this case, the penalty may only come in the form of looking back over one’s life with a bit of disappointment, or it may be greater than that. Perhaps it’s sadness that there wasn’t more time, or that the time wasn’t spent better. None of us knows how much time we have, but hopefully we’re all always in the process of delivering a course or five. Tonight I am thankful for the reminder given to me by that simple line repeatedly called out on Iron Chef America. To live each day is not enough, but to try, to do, to create and to hopefully deliver is my goal.

Sometimes my heart breaks for trees.

The ones in a forest, a field or anyplace where their roots have room to expand and their branches can stretch out are fine by me. I love a giant tree that’s so tall it almost appears proud and all-knowing, observing of everything around it.

Other times, I want to dig trees up under the cover of darkness and re-plant them in a better location. I think you know the ones I’m talking about.

They’re the ones planted in a 4×4 foot patch of “land” which, in this case, means a hole cut out of a sidewalk with a little tree growing out of it. But in a few years when its trunk is strong, its roots are trying their best to break free of their confines and the sidewalk starts to buckle, the tree doesn’t have any rescuers come to its aid.

Instead, city workers patch the concrete or smooth things over with a lovely coat of asphalt. If it’s at someone’s home, it may be cut down and ripped out without a chance of ever reaching its full potential.

Isn’t this sort of like us in some ways? We all have a beginning. We call a certain place home, and we usually do our best to play by the rules, know our place and grow up tall. But sometimes we need to move beyond the box and break out. Some will cut us down and tell us we can’t. Others will let us keep growing, but instead of helping us break out and tear down the walls, the asphalt gets poured and our surroundings get patched up — a reminder that some want us to grow, but only up to a certain point.

In times like these, we have to realize what’s happening and push back on them. Push through, break out, and give people a reason to realize your beauty can’t be tamed, nor be cut back. Give them the only logical option: to let you go. To let you set down roots where it’s best for you, not for them.

Some people do this without thinking. Others don’t. And tonight I am thankful for the former, for the people that know we all start out as little trees, but who help some become the little tree that could.

I can’t remember the last time I carried cash in my wallet.

It was probably for a business trip, but I can’t be sure.

I don’t know whether my lack of tangible dinero is because I feel I’m more efficient with a card, or whether I’m just lazy. It’s probably the latter, as there have been numerous studies I’ve read about how people who deal in cash-only tend to spend less than debit or credit users.

All that aside, however, tonight I wished I was one of those die-hard, cash-carrying people.

A great meal at Fleming’s ended with agita on my part. I had parked in a parking deck. The last time I checked my wallet, I had a $5 on me — and only because it was too much “change” that a friend gave me because that’s all they had on their person.

Even with the validation, I was more than an hour over and the parking deck charged $1.50 per 15 minutes. Do the math: $6 minimum is what I’d owe, although they’d probably be less than flexible and stick me for $7.50 at the 61-minute mark. With only $5 in my purse and no bank in walking distance, I crossed my fingers that they took credit cards. As I passed by the posted fee sign, my heart sunk. No credit cards.

I have to tell you that consuming a rib-eye, red wine, delicious sides and a creme brulee is borderline not worth it if you realize that your parking sitch my be an issue. A knot formed in my stomach. Or perhaps that was just the insane amount of beef I’d ingested.

I decided to go for it. Surely I had change that I could scrape together to diffuse an angry parking attendant who would allow me to exit the parking deck, right?

When I got in my car, the $5 was nowhere to be found.

Nothing.

Nada.

To boot, my change supply was meager, at best. Sheesh.

I motored toward the parking attendant’s booth, all the while fumbling in my purse for extra change or anything that could be used to barter my way out of the deck.

My hand landed on a paper, and I assumed it was my dental appointment reminder. Their papers are small, semi-thick and they crinkle nicely.

Instead, my hand took hold of the paper and pulled it out. It was a $10.

What? How?

While I concede that my purse is a massive black hole that probably harbors a small child or three, I swear that I have no idea where that $10 came from.

Feeling quite pleased with myself and anxious to start enjoying my food coma again, I pulled up behind the car ahead of me at the exit booth.

It drove through after zero interaction with the person inside. Zero because… there was no person.

I thought for a moment that all my fretting was for nothing, but then realized that the way the universe works for me is that if I’d not have found the $10, the cashier at the gate would’ve been a grumpy cashier.

Instead, I found extra cashola and no parking attendant.

How fortunate

Tonight I am thankful for luck, for fortune and for a universe that’s got a watchful eye over all — even when we think it doesn’t.