Welcome to my Kung Fu Panda Era
In which I compare this period of my life to that of a chubby and unmotivated cartoon panda struggling to learn the art of kung fu.
I’ve been thinking a lot about eras lately.
Obviously, this may have something to do with the amount of Taylor Swift concert content the internet has been feeding me for weeks. Her Eras tour is already legend and it breaks my heart a little bit that the only way I’ll ever see her perform live is via some 15-year-old girl’s live feed on TikTok.
My two daughters have never liked her, which is weird because they embrace other, similar types of performers. Demi. Miley. Kacie Musgraves. All Top 40 pop stars. And yet, when all the other moms talked about going to see Taylor Swift with their girls, I could only quietly swipe through their Instagram feeds while lying in bed each night resenting my own girls for denying me the experience.
When Swift was coming to NJ recently to perform for a few nights, I thought, “That’s it. I’m going to splurge and buy two tickets and make one of the girls go with me.” I logged onto Ticketmaster thinking I’d go crazy and spend about $300 for a ticket and was shocked that the worst seat in the house was going for over $1,000.
I told my younger daughter over Facetime what had happened and she got close to the screen and said, “Aw, buddy — you’re a Swiftie. I really love that for you.” But she was not remotely saddened to have missed the concert.
Not that I’m settling, but the girls and I are going to see Beyonce in a few weeks, which is bound to be epic itself and really one of the few performers I’d stay out past 8 p.m. to see.
But Taylor Swift aside, the eras I’ve been thinking about of late are actually my own. Chapters of my life both past and present.
Lately, I’ve been telling people I’m in my Kung Fu Panda Era, which is not the most perfect metaphor for where I am in my life right now — but somehow it feels right. Number one, it’s funny to say “Kung Fu Panda” about anything in regard to a 50-something lady’s life. It’s just good content. Number two, I can really relate to that chubby Disney panda lately.
I made the analogy recently to my 20-year-old son. We were standing in the kitchen and I had just told him I was going to enter my Dating Era, and he asked where I planned on meeting these eligible bachelors. “No offense,” he said, “but you don’t really go out much.”
That’s when I made the Kung Fu Panda analogy to explain to him where my head’s been at lately.
“You know how in the movie the panda has to go with some kung fu master to the top of some mountain and learn the ways of kung fu?” I asked him, rinsing the coffeepot out in the sink. “And there’s, like, a whole training montage of the panda learning how to channel his inner kung fu master?”
And my son, who initially told me he’d just coincidentally watched the Kung Fu Panda trilogy, was like, “Yeah …,” not seeing where I was going, comparing myself to some lazy cartoon panda living in a Disney-fied China.
“It’s like the same sequence that happens in all those movies — like in Kill Bill or the Christian Bale Batman movie,” I told him. “How regular people leave their lives and travel to some remote hideaway and learn to be masters in the art of kung fu and heroes of their own lives?”
My son stopped peeling the clementine he’d been slowly unraveling at the kitchen counter and looked up at me. “Mom,” he said, “you are making absolutely no sense.”
I made my way back to my desk chair in my office to check on a ping I heard on Teams, and said as I moved past him, “Okay, then I’ll say I’m in my Uma Thurman-Kill Bill Era,” and he shook his head and turned away to return to his own remote hideaway upstairs.
Despite these analogies making no sense to my son, I am sticking with them because that is really my vibe lately. Whether you’d like to envision me as a chubby cartoon panda or badass Uma with a machete in a yellow jumpsuit, in the movie of my life, I’ve reached that sequence where you see the protagonist reduced to their most basic selves before beginning the big rebuild and learning the, like, secrets to life.
The top of my own mountain looks a lot like the walls of my beach rental covered in post-it notes and piles of notebooks, legal pads and stacks of my printed-out manuscript covering flat surfaces. In my head, I keep hearing my former therapist’s voice telling me I needed to “clear the decks” of distractions to write my book, and that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I work at my corporate job all week and on the weekends (and super early during the week), I work on my memoir.
So instead of trying to break through a wall with my fingertips or eat a bowl of rice with chopsticks — hands shaking from aforementioned wall bashing — my training montage looks pretty boring. You can find me on a Saturday afternoon sitting on the couch rereading and highlighting sections of a book that breaks down how to break down and structure a story. Or I’m pouring over old journals or standing in my office and staring at the wall of post-it notes, wondering if I should move this blue note over here instead of with all the pink ones. It’s definitely A Beautiful Mind meets Kung Fu Panda situation.
Like the panda and Uma do in their own movies, I find myself filled with a whole lot of doubt about what I am doing and whether this exercise in isolation is even worth it. And also wondering when I’ll be able to leave this self-imposed kung fu writing training camp and return to a normal life. This jumpsuit is starting to feel pretty snug plus yellow is not totally my color.
It’s probably safe to say that wherever I land after this phase, it will usher in a whole new era in my life. There have been so many that came before the Kung Fu Panda Era. There was my Beyonce Era, where I dropped everything to fly off to St. Barth’s at a moment’s notice and party like an absolute rockstar for five days. Or my 10 Days of Fun Era, which saw me going out HARD 10 nights in a row one divorced lady summer and waking up with sore feet from dancing. Way back when there was the Swim Team Era, which swallowed many Julys during my children’s youth that is a blur of swimcaps and little arms covered in Sharpie marker. That Era coincided with the Mother of Four Era, in which I played the part of matriarch to a big happy crew and pretended that everything was just perfect.
As I move through this era, I get up early every day and try to move my book forward. I work all week at my corporate job which brings me more satisfaction than I ever thought hawking HR software could possibly achieve. I walk my dog around town listening to Taylor Swift anthems, singing about karma being my boyfriend and all that because that is just where I am right now. A woman of a certain age trying really hard to make the impossible possible, like punching through a plank of wood with my bare hand.
Sunday shares: read + watch + cook + buy
My Housecoat Era: Maybe the better label for this would be my Coastal Grandma Era because I am embracing the idea of dressing like the Diane Keaton character in her entire film canon over the last 30 years. The caveat to all this is that while I love the idea of year-round turtlenecks, I live in a home with no air conditioning where I work three days a week. There may be window units but it’s … warm-ish. Thus, I have decided to embrace shapeless dresses as my summer uniform. TBD on how that works out. Here are a few I’ve purchased.
Instagram kept feeding me this dress from Nordstrom Rack until I finally succumbed and bought it recently. The small is a little longer on me (I’m 5’4”) and it’s pretty roomy. But it has side pockets! Also: do you ever wonder how Instagram determines that, say, a shapeless bag dress would be perfect for you?
I have embraced linen shirtdresses in particular. I nabbed one roomy number from Old Navy in May, which is no longer available. This one from BR Factory has a handful of colors and sizes still available.
I bought this faux “linen” dress from Amazon in a few sizes and colors and #1: it is definitely not linen and #2: one of the dresses arrived in the mail in a clear plastic bag with the label cut out from the neck. Weird. I kept the small in blue and let’s see how it goes.
Not sure how I feel about this one from Athleta. It runs super big and the small is kind of swimming on me. And the fabric is kind of thick. But the side pockets might balance that out? Also, it is nowhere near this short on me.
Then there’s stupid Frank & Eileen who make all the things I want at this stage of my life. I actually own two of their button-downs and they really are perfect. Maybe I return all the other dresses and buy this one instead and wear it on repeat all summer?
I rediscovered a fashion blogger I always liked to read a while back who has moved her blog over to Substack (where you are reading me right now!). She comes from the fashion world so often, her picks are $$ but I get good ideas for trends and try to find knockoffs. She recently wrote about the struggle to find summer dresses with sleeves, which I wholeheartedly salute. I like this one she showed from Nordstrom.
My Martha Era: I listened to an interview this week that tech journalist and one of my current listening faves, Kara Swisher, did with Martha Stewart. While I’m still not sure about her appearance in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, I find Martha’s endless curiosity and innovation really inspiring. Also, she gives zero fucks.
My Crepey Underarm Era: You know how a few weeks ago I wanted to discuss whether we’re wearing shorts anymore? Well, now I’d like to talk about crepey underarms/undercarriage. Like, I know that I have been an asshole about sunscreen for, like, ever — and now I am REALLY seeing it in that thin underarm skin coming off my armpits. The internet says I can get involved in laser and injectibles, but I’d rather just let that ship sail. Does anyone have thoughts on this? Please discuss.
My Eyebrow Renaissance Era: Not only have I combined Beyonce and Taylor Swift in that little heading, but I have managed to reverse eyebrow aging with Revitabrow. It’s super expensive but worth it. I had no — I repeat, NO — hair at the ends of my brows, thanks to menopause. But after faithfully applying the Revitabrow for a few months via a sponge applicator akin to a mascara wand, I have eyebrows that could rival Brooke Shields, circa 1985. Hopefully you will be so mesmerized looking at them you will fail to glance down any further and notice the old lady arms.
See you in a few weeks!
xoAmy
New phone, who ‘dis?
You may or may not have noticed that today’s email looks a little different than usual. That is because I have moved over to Substack and I have brought all of you subscribers along with me. This platform will allow us to interact more and gives me more of a web presence, so I don’t have to rely on just emails to get my writing out into the world. Readers also now have an opportunity to pledge their support for my work, which is nice because this is a really time-consuming hobby.