Lemonading

What can I say about lemons?

One (spelled Lemmon) was a fine actor.

Lululemon is an activewear brand that I’d wear (if I was ever active).

Then there’s my orange Gremlin (first car--a total lemon, its color notwithstanding)

I used to think that putting lemon juice on my face would help get rid of my freckles. Nope!

Lemons perk up the flavor of fish, and make a dandy meringue pie as well.

I know someone who has a lemon tree in their house that actually produces lemons.

I also know that Peter, Paul and Mary had a hit song about a lemon tree. Not my friend’s lemon tree, though. Another one.

Then there’s the sage advice: “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.”

I admit, I struggle with that suggestion. I mean, wouldn’t it make more sense to just give those lemons right back to life? “No thanks, and please don’t hand me any more of these. I’ll take some Godiva chocolates though, or some pricey jewelry—as long as you’re handing me stuff.”

But no. Apparently THOSE lemons are non-returnables, and I am now supposed to do something wonderful with them. Which is sometimes possible, but often not really. How to make lemonade out of your dire medical diagnosis, or a death in the family? Don’t have that recipe, alas. You’re fired from your job a week before you can receive retirement benefits? Wait a sec—let me whip up some tasty lemony beverage and we’ll toast that incorrigible ex-boss of yours!

I realize that it’s the attitude adjustment that is the point. Such as: always look on the bright side/it could be worse/at least you still have (fill in the blank). Chin up, cheer up, turn that frown upside down!

Here’s the problem, though. My personal attitude doesn’t adjust all that well. When things are horrible, they just ARE, and I feel horrible about those horrible things. Why is that so…horrible? For instance, while I try to find a silver lining in my bipolar disorder, a lot of the time I just hate that I have it. It is not a “blessing,” in or out of disguise. When I give myself permission to grieve about my mental illness, paradoxically, I usually feel much better.

Toxic positivity is real. It’s born of society’s unwillingness to deal with pain, an inability to empathize. Far better to live in La La Land (the magical place where everyone covers their ears and sings “lalala” to drown out sadness and difficulty). And honestly? I think it’s a reason we’re in such a pickle right now—too many just refuse to see our country falling apart (making it tough to do anything about it).

My sage advice? The next time life hands you a lemon, recognize it for the sour tasting thing it is. Cry if you need to. Feel those sad feelings. They are the beginning of wisdom, and compassion. And they will make the better times ahead, all the sweeter.

Promise.