Spice of Life: Humorist columnist, Loralyn, turns 60! And Natalie shares her powerful artwork on "reparenting."
In this issue: Our humorist columnist turns 60 and struggles with who’s in charge. Artist, Natalie Allgyer, ponders the idea of “reparenting” and shares a piece of art that says it all.
Spice Of Life
by Loralyn Elizabeth
Hi. I’m Loralyn Elizabeth. Usually, in this column, I talk about herbs, spices, spells, and cooking. But this month, I’m turning sixty. So I thought I would do a look-back, a Loralyn Introspective, if you will.
If you’ve already hit sixty, you know. If not, imagine your body and brain arguing over who’s in charge. In an oven. Neither is winning. Then there is the mystery ache—did I just pull my back out opening a window? Yes. Yes I did.
Anyway, milestone birthdays make you reflect. You look back at the highs and lows and wonder if there will ever be a point. So, I made a short list of things that seemed to work for me.
1. Laugh at Yourself
You have messed up. No one makes it this long without an embarrassing story or two. You will mess up again. You’ll say something dumb or spill food on yourself or the dreaded reply-all email. When that happens, be the first one to laugh. It takes the pressure off. Sure, you might remember an embarrassing moment from a friend, but that’s not the movie playing in your head at 3 a.m., right? Nope. That reel is all you. So zoom out. No one is thinking about you, and that time that joke failed. No one. We don’t care. If someone brings it up, they are trying to use it to manipulate you. Respond accordingly.
2. Quit (If you must)
The next thing is about jobs. Here are the Cliff Notes. You can always change. Seriously! You are never stuck! Get used to changing what you don’t like. And if you make a mistake, change again. I’ve had about 400 jobs.
Hotel reservations person
Art teacher
Community Educator
Computer Teacher
Volunteer coordinator
Emergency worker
Awful salesperson
Awesome actor
Academic advisor
Instructional designer (twice)
Editor
Curriculum assessment manager
I probably left some out; they blur together.
When you are at your job, work hard and don’t complain about it. Paying your dues is not a cool thing anymore, but necessary. You don’t get the best jobs immediately. Sometimes, you have to work for less until you can prove yourself. You will put up with jerks and have to do tedious work. Encourage yourself by thinking about where you want to go next. Then, make your plan. Meet people, take classes, attend conferences, and decide you love learning.
Don’t be afraid to ask someone about their path. I have never met someone who shied away from that conversation. People love to talk about their career highlights.
3. Everything
Many writers smarter than me write about brain plasticity and how you can say sharp by using your noodle.
I take on hobbies like I’m preparing for a very confusing apocalypse. I’ve been into home decor, painting, gardening, cooking, crypto mining, reading, investing, and staring at birds. None of these made me rich or famous. Shocking! I know! The point is to be curious. Try things. Be bad at them. It keeps your ego in check.
4. Everyone
I love talking to people who are obsessed with weird stuff. Like trains, types of sea salt, or mushroom hunting. It’s like getting a backstage pass to a world you didn’t know existed. But you have to leave the house. That part is non-negotiable. Reading on Reddit is fun but not enough for mind-expanding.
So yeah, 60 years coming soon, and that’s what I got. Dream. Curiosity counts. Try. Fail. Repeat. It’s cheaper than Botox and better for your brain. Need ideas? Maybe you’d like to dip your toe in the newest fad, Artificial Intelligence. It’s not just for plagiarism! To wit. Here is a poem me and AI wrote for you.
Sixty Shades of Loralyn
by Loralyn Elizabeth, wearing readers
At sixty years, I took a look,
Not in the mirror (I’m not that shook.)
But deep within, where wisdom grows,
And back pain flares from opening windows.
I’ve danced with herbs, brewed up some spells,
And had some jobs that felt like... wells.
But through it all, I laughed and learned,
And sometimes, yes, I slightly burned.
Mistakes? Oh friend, I’ve got a pile.
I’ve hit “reply-all” with a fart joke file.
I’ve shown up late, I’ve missed my cue,
I once wore slippers to an interview.
But here’s the trick (don’t tell the youth):
It’s not the wins,it’s loving truth.
Truth that you can always pivot,
Even when your knees say, “Let’s not risk it.”
Take up a hobby, paint a gnome,
Adopt a chicken, rearrange your home.
Try crypto once (then cry alone),
And find strange joy in moss and stone.
Speak to that stranger who loves sea glass,
Or trains, or stamps, or vintage brass.
Let their weird joy rub off on you,
It’s cheaper than therapy (and Botox, too).
So here’s to sixty, loud and clear,
With laughter, blunders, and thrift-store gear.
Be curious, kind, and slightly odd,
You’re not a mess. You’re a gift from God.
(And if your joints should creak and moan,
Just say they’re singing in baritone.)
Reparented
by Natalie Allgyer
Wikipedia defines reparenting as:
“A form of psychotherapy in which the therapist actively assumes the role of a new or surrogate parental figure for the client, in order to treat psychological disturbances caused by defective, even abusive, parenting.”
While I find this to be true, I believe there’s more to it than that. I see reparenting as a deeply personal process—one that doesn’t always require a therapist, though their guidance can be invaluable. In my experience, we each have distinct parts within us that, when working together, help us navigate pain, loss, and healing. But learning to access these parts on demand takes practice, and often, support.
I am no doctor, but I have had the privilege of working with incredible therapists and guides who have helped me understand how to wield these tools. The parts of us I’ve come to recognize are:
The Child / Maiden – the vulnerable, feeling, instinctual self
The Adult / Mother – the nurturing, protective, guiding self
The Elder / Crone – the wise, knowing, expansive self
Here’s a more magical story about one of the times I experienced self-healing.
Years ago, when I hit one of my lowest points, my Adult / Mother
self visited me.
The days leading up to this moment had been awful. I had just discovered my boyfriend was cheating on me, and mere hours later, I had to board a plane for a work conference in Las Vegas. The entire trip, I felt like I was suffocating—I ached to be home, to be wrapped in the safety of my support system in New Jersey.
But the universe had other plans.
A brutal snowstorm on the East Coast grounded my flight in Charlotte, North Carolina, on Valentine’s Day of all days. Every nearby hotel was booked. The airline sent me to a run-down trucker motel, the kind that smelled of stale cigarettes and lost time. I barricaded the door with a chair, covered the bed with towels, and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, raw and exhausted, I called a friend. This was the early 2000s, the era of ringback tones, and when he picked up, I heard “Keep Holding On” by Avril Lavigne.
Something in that song soothed me in a way I still can’t fully explain. It wrapped around me like a warm embrace, like someone telling me I would be okay. When I asked my friend about it, he was just as confused. He swore he had never set that as his ringback tone. A glitch, he called it.
But I wasn’t so sure.
Fast forward nearly two decades.
One random afternoon, that same Avril Lavigne song shuffled into my earbuds. The moment it started playing, a powerful wave of emotion washed over me—like I was standing in two places at once. I knew instantly what was happening.
I was connecting with her. The younger me, alone in that motel room, feeling lost and unmoored.
I sat still, letting the song loop over and over, sending love and strength back through time to that girl who had needed it so desperately. And I realized: maybe that’s exactly what I had felt all those years ago—the future me, mothering the past me. Holding her. Comforting her. Letting her know she wasn’t alone.
That, I believe, is reparenting.
It isn’t always magical. More often than not, it’s messy, painful, and slow. But when we show up for ourselves in this way, we become the very thing we once longed for. We learn to give ourselves the love, protection, and reassurance we never received.
And in doing so, we begin to heal.
Discover more of her work here on Substack or at her Instagram page:
@natalieallgyer