C'est La Vie

It's my new catch phrase.

Car breaks down:  that's life.

Dog pees on the floor:  that's life.

Husband leaves you:  that's life.

I know it's cliche, but it's cliche for a reason (another cliche, I'm on a roll).  Somehow, though, when the French say it, it sounds so much more hopeful.  Not, 'that's life' (resigned with a frown), but 'that's the life' with a shrug and a smirk.  What can you do about the car, the dog, your husband?  Nothing - c'est la vie.  You can shrug and smirk, maybe even laugh, and then get on with it.  Notwithstanding the cliche, it sort of puts things in perspective, because that is life.  And life is hard, and life is good, and most of all, life just keeps on going -- despite the hiccups, the speedbumps, the twenty car pileups that leave you mangled.  

Years ago (before I had the experience, the scars, required to understand her wisdom), my mother told me something that (for me) resonates with the French version of the cliche:  you can never control what another person does, you can only control how you respond.  Although she was far more eloquent, she said there is a moment between what happens to you, and what you do about it -- and that in that moment lies your control of your life.

I have found (as have many daughters before me) that my mother was right.  In small moments (second by second) and in longer moments (month by month), there is a time after what happens but before you respond, and in that moment you have a choice.  And in that moment, in that choice (be it seconds or months), you will find the only control you have.  

That's it.  What happens before that moment - that's life.  But what happens after, c'est la vie:  it's entirely up to you.