What I’ve come to realize is that there is literally no perfect time, and most times are very imperfect as a choice.  Right now my daughter has a broken finger that is not healing, my son has the flu, my husband is overwhelmed by work and badly needs a haircut, and I have a sore throat and feel guilty I’m not spending time with my sick child (who just wants to be on his iPad anyway because he feels so lousy.) But my dream is to get my writing and coaching out more fully into the world, as well as relaunch my performing career. I have some important deadlines, so I am at my desk working.  Have I washed my hair?  No.  Have I been to church much in the past few months?  Um nope.  Are dinners starting to look strange again, because they consist of odds and sods from the fridge?  Yes.  But I feel alive in a way that I would not have if I hadn’t insisted that NOW is the time to commit 1,000% to work that matters to me, even if I drop some balls. Now is not the time to rearrange my spices or spends hours on Facebook or offer to volunteer for something.  Just as going to Target is, what my husband calls, “death by 1,000 paper cuts,” since all those cheap items add up to A LOT at the register, all of the little things we do on our “to do” lists add up to a whole lot of nothing unless we’re careful.

It helps me to remember that Mozart wrote beautiful music while mostly broke, and he didn’t wait to get all of his finances in order to compose.  Beethoven wrote while deaf, and he didn’t wait for a cure to get going.  He sawed the legs off his piano to hear the floor vibrations.  Louisa May Alcott didn’t wait until she recovered from mercury poisoning or had found a suitable husband in order to write.  Eleanor Roosevelt didn’t wait until she was pretty or had others’ approval before she became one of the greatest stateswomen of our time. And, great artists ranging from Alvin Ailey to Jackson Pollack to Nina Simone to Frank Sinatra all had bi-polar disorder. But they did their art anyway and the world benefitted from their genius.  Instead of hiding, they did what Carrie Fisher advised: “Take your broken heart and turn it into art.”

The fact is, someday when we die, are people going to comment on how organized your desk was or how detailed your packing lists were?  Or, are they going to remember that your face lit up when you saw your kids and that you took that trip to travel the world and that you started that business and wrote that book and got back onstage and sang? To find your world stage, remember that the time is now, even though nothing is ever perfect about right now.  Grab this moment anyway, in all of its messy imperfection, and don’t let go.  This is your chance to make your mark.  Now go do it.

We tend as humans to imagine that another time in our lives was or will be easier.  When my husband and I were 35, we bought our first home and it needed a lot of renovations.  When we looked at the endless work and costs ahead of us, I do confess that I wished that I was 25 again.  After all, at that age, I didn’t own anything, except a used electric piano and a cheap bed, and I wasn’t married.  I didn’t have to deal with picking out china patterns or pleasing in-laws.  I had a job but it wasn’t a career yet.  It didn’t matter, because I was only 25. And yet, I remember distinctly the year before when I turned 24, I cried off and on through the day, because I realized that the doors of childhood had shut behind me.  I wasn’t in college, I wasn’t living at home, I had to support myself completely, and the world was not the sweet, supportive world of my childhood; I was on my own.

It’s so easy for us to believe that whatever age we are right now or whatever stage of life we’re experiencing is not as easy as a previous time, or maybe a future time. Maybe we wish we were back in school and didn’t have work obligations, or not married and carefree, or with grown kids so we didn’t have the day to day stress of parenting.  I’m fortunate as a parent and life coach to have witnessed most decades at this point, and each has its pluses and minuses.  My kids have loved being kids, but even little kids want to be big kids, until  they are about 12  and then they are desperate to hold on to some of childhood.  Joni Mitchell wrote in her gorgeous song, The Circle Game, “And they tell you take your time, it won’t be long now, before you drag your feet just to slow the circles down.” Among my high school clients, they are desperate to have the simplicity of childhood and to escape all the pressures and expectations of getting into college.  College students feel pressure even more acutely, now that college is so expensive.  The days of lying on the grass and reading old Victorian poems for the fun of it are gone.  Parents want business degrees and results and students are staggering under the weight of student loans and pressure to get a great job to justify their degree.

My clients in their twenties struggle with finding love in an era of Tinder, which is a “dating” app– you swipe right or left, depending on whether you want to meet that stranger.  (Note:  this is not the path to long term love, but rather short term sex.) They are trying to find themselves, pay off debt, deal with roommates, adjust to the stress of their first real job with demanding bosses and travel, and learning all the boring rites of adulthood, like insurance and mortgages and investment strategies.  Clients in their thirties realize that the minute they turn 30, people expect them to be married.  And for women, their ovaries are open for discussion, since the pressure is now on for having kids before it’s too late. For clients in their forties and fifties, as well as many friends, it’s a mad dash against the clock to attend to work, kids, home repairs, and investing.  For those who are single still, the pressure is even greater, because they feel that maybe it’s too late.  And for those in their sixties and beyond, there’s a freedom for a lot of people that they didn’t have when they were younger– the kids are grown and dogs are dead– but they are dealing with health issues and money concerns and a lot more logisitics. The fact is that none of it is easy and all of it is wonderful.  Turning 7 is as magical and stressful as turning 87.

We tend also to think there might be a perfect age in history that was somehow easier.  But I’m reminded of the pioneer women who bore and raised children while traveling in a covered wagon, or women who were burned at the stake for being too powerful in the middle ages, or leaders like Queen Victoria, who weren’t afraid to rule, but were terrified of childbirth since so many women didn’t get through it alive. As we Americans accept, for better or worse, the passing of the guard today of American presidents, let us remember that this time in history is no easier or harder than other times.  Just like personal ages we experience, it’s the same yin and yang.

As my grandfather used to say, “This too shall pass.” When we are in a particularly hard time in our lives or in history, it’s important to remember that all things change, some things for the better and some for the worse.  As you connect with what your world stage is, remember to accept the age you’re in, both how old you are and where in history you are.  It’s important to honor all the stages of our lives and to be present in the moment of history in which we find ourselves. And if you feel stuck or afraid, find one small way to celebrate your current age.  Remember the great poet Rumi’s words:  “There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”

We live in a society in which so many of us are made to feel invisible.  Victims of date rape on college campuses are shamed into silence, while rapists like the Stanford swimmer get out off with 3 months of prison time. Presidential candidates are allowed to body shame and demean women repeatedly, even during the debates, and the victims are criticized for speaking up. People on the margins, from the homeless, to the drug addicted, to the abused, are not valued because they broke the rules for how to behave, and therefore they have no voice.  Older women, who no longer turn heads, are made to feel invisible, as though their looks is all they have to offer the world.  And women like Hillary Clinton, who dare to run (and possibly win) for president are made to feel shame for campaigning rough and dirty like a man.  She is not just a pretty face– and in fact never was– but she is smart and she is tough and she is very threatening to a lot of people, because she is daring not to be invisible.  At all.

As a woman raising kids, I often feel invisible.  Somehow my kids’ doctors and nurses feel comfortable calling me “Mom.”  I have had to remind many nurses in many offices that the only people allowed to call me that are my kids, and to remember that I have a name, which is Melinda. It is demeaning not to call someone you regularly see by their name.  Before Civil Rights, white people felt entitled to call a black man “boy”, which is thankfully no longer acceptable.  For the years that I was pushing a double stroller with two young kids, I was invisible, because nobody wanted to deal with the hassle and the noise that two babies bring.  I was kicked out of the library multiple times for my baby crying, even though libraries are for kids.  So I wrote letters reminding the library staff that I paid taxes for access to children’s books that my kids wanted to read.  I refused to be invisible.

But on the small things, it’s so easy to remain invisible.  If someone says something that hurts us, how many of us actually speak up?  How many of us share with people that we are religious or passionate about art or care about politics or are struggling with something in our lives?  Or do we instead post happy pictures on Facebook and let everyone think that our lives are perfect?  That’s making yourself invisible by playing small.  To be honest, many of us are so scared about fitting in and being liked, even as adults, that we don’t really show who we are.  I have noticed over the years that since most people know me as a mother and a life and vocal coach, I haven’t talked a lot about my music, even though I have two albums out and I’ve been a professional musician since my late teens. (You can check out my music at www.melindastanford.com.) The fact is I got busy with raising kids and I was surrounded by busy people who didn’t have time to listen to my CD’s so I gradually stopped talking about it.  I became invisible.

Not anymore.  Now that my kids are older and I’m finally coming up for air, I’m making myself heard and known in a way that I haven’t been able and willing to before. The fact is, the greatest gift we can give our kids, other than our time, is the example of putting ourselves out in the world again and again, even if it means stumbling and falling over and over. What other choice do we have? Giving up should not be an option.

Here is one of my favorite quotes from Marianne Williamson, which I’ve written about before:  “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure… We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?” To claim your world stage, notice where you are invisible and take one step to change that.

This is a giraffe hiding, but animals do it for the right reasons

Since I was pregnant with my first child in 2002, I have been criticized for the following:  gaining too much weight in pregnancy (um, I was hungry); not carrying my daughter around in a Snuggli so that we could bond (it hurt my back); not giving her enough educational stimulation in the form of books and videos (she was happy sucking on a spoon); and feeding her too much food for a baby (given that she dropped a lot, we had to start with more).  For my son two years later, it was that I shouldn’t have let him cry himself to sleep (I needed to sleep!);  that he was too aggressive in school (he was 2 and he liked to hug people!) and on and on.  The stay-at-home moms thought I worked too much, at 10-20 hours per week, and the working moms were sure that I didn’t work enough, since I clearly had time to eat Bon Bons in between raising kids and working part-time.

Even now that my kids are older, the criticism continues in a form of micro-aggressive comments from mostly other moms who feel that they are competing with me for the one Great Mom! prize.  (As if.) All these jibes become a buzz in your head that never goes away, even when you’re camping in the woods as I was last weekend.  I’ve had moms in the past at the Mom’s Weekend at my daughter’s camp tell me that I was doing the origami project wrong and that I needed to listen better (really?), and that I should climb to the top of the 40 foot tower since other moms were doing it, even though I have a genetic and paralyzing fear of heights.  But this weekend, with insane weather patterns, alternating between 95 degree blazing heat and intense rainstorms with thunder and lightening, I had to let all the shoulds go.  I just accepted that I wouldn’t be on time or even participate in all the classes, because we had to get our tent up, or I had to sit in the shade because I couldn’t handle any more than three hours playing in the lake by the afternoon.  I had to be ok with not being like most of the moms, running like crazy people from one impossible activity to the next.  I was more concerned frankly about getting hit by lightening, staying in a soaked tent all weekend, or collapsing from heat exhaustion, so I listened to what I needed and what worked for me, even if the chorus of judges didn’t approve.

The result?  A magical weekend and none of the magic was planned:  ditching yoga class in the middle of it to run with my daughter in a rain storm and get our tent put together with another mom’s help (who came out of nowhere and disappeared almost like an angel); making up a rap song about broccoli with my girl with drum and kazoo that brought down the house; getting up really early the next morning (which was easy to do because I hadn’t slept at all) and finally do the Polar Swim together, going down the water slide and playing with inter tubes and splashing and laughing; jumping on the water trampoline and then  capsizing again and again on the paddle boards since we both tried to stand up together; sitting in the cabin with teens listening to the sounds of thunder and singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to them to cheers, and seeing my kid’s proud smile; eating snacks and giggling outside till way too late, glad about having fun and being alive.

None of that magic was on the schedule, and most of it would have been missed if we had had the perfect weather and if I had rushed around sticking to the perfect schedule, like so many exhausted moms.  How many of us miss a chance to lie on the grass and look up at clouds with our kids because we’re rushing to the next activity?  How many of us insist on our idea of what a perfect day should be, possibly missing the magic that happens when we let go of trying to be perfect and do everything and control the unexpected, like the weather?

To find your world stage, try to let go of the reins of perfection and control and realize that the best moments occur when we’re not looking and have other plans. This week, try to do less and plan less and be less perfect in all things, knowing that magic just might creep up on you.