I love that I live in an area where it gets bloody hot in the summer and frigidly cold in the winter. I truly enjoy each and every season. I don't look at the autumn shades of red, orange, and brown and wish they were the first green and yellow blossoms of spring. I like to take a walk in the icy snow of winter as much as I like to take a swim in the cool ocean during the heat of summer, and when I head out either into the first snow of the season or into the ocean I haven't visited since the summer before, I inwardly (and rather giddily, I might add) think to myself, "Geronimo!"
Right now my jonquils are in bloom, and bless their delicate petals, temperatures have been at or below freezing this week. But still, every day they stand steadfast and tall, reaching for the light. I feel like those jonquils. Last year I turned forty, and while I do NOT consider myself "old," I acknowledge that I've entered a different season of my life. I've been taking stock of all the Goods and Bads and Uglies I've experienced. For a long time -- years, even -- it was easier (so I thought) to hang on to all the bad things. I felt I had more control over that. It was like, yeah, I'm down and sad and depressed, but at least I know what I'm going to get and how I'm going to feel each day. I found a sick form of contentment in choosing to let my depression, self loathing, and lack of confidence lie underneath my civil, and at times cheerful, façade. For if I tried to seek the good in life, I might not reach it, thus opening myself to rejection and disappointment. That kind of outlook can go on only for so long. Either you stay that way and sink, or you change your attitude and climb out. So like those persevering jonquils that lie under the cold, damp earth, I came to a place in my heart, mind, and spirit where I had to brave the cold frost and choose to rise up and stand steadfast and tall, and reach for the light. Now I better appreciate all the good things from my past, and I welcome and even seek out all the good things that surely are to come. There will be bad occasionally mixed in with the good. And that's OK. Hopefully I will take the good things gracefully and the bad things in stride, and somehow give both the respect they need, for such is life. Geronimo...
I'll turn forty tomorrow. FORTY. Holy liver spots, Bat Man! So naturally, while 40 is staring me in the face, I'm taking time today to look at 39.
Here is what I know, in no particular order...
I know that on the inside, I still feel like a 14 year old. I just don't have as much energy.
I know that friendships come and go. You fall out of touch with lifelong friends for various reasons; you make new friends; you rekindle an old friendship -- so on and so forth. I never thought I'd be quoting Will Smith, but I thought this was right on the money: "Don't chase people. Be yourself, do your own thing and work hard. The right people...the ones who really belong in your life, will come to you. And stay."
I know that our time here on earth is damned short. It doesn't matter if you live to be 19 or 99. Life is short. So do what makes you happy and try to be a blessing to those around you. Start with the people that live with you and go from there.
I know that if it won't grow in your yard, you probably shouldn't eat it.
I know there is a God.
I know that marriage is hard and wonderful. I know who my soul mate is.
I know who I belong to and who belongs to me, no matter what. And the institution of marriage is most certainly not *just* a piece of paper.
I know that parenthood is both everything and nothing it's cracked up to be.
I know that it's huge (you've created a life that didn't exist before, and now you have to nurture it), yet it's all about the so-called "little things" that happen every day (bedtime stories, bandaids and boo-boos, bath time, kisses and hugs, bumped noggins, potty training...I could go on all day...). And that thing about living vicariously through your children...don't do that. That's awful. Expose them to as many things as you can, see where their natural talents lie, and, for Pete's sake, let them be who they are.
I know that I'm still learning, and there are times when I wonder if I really know anything for certain at all. But not knowing has its charms. Not knowing can be liberating. Not knowing means I'm still learning, still growing, still evolving. And I don't really want to know everything anyway. I like a good mystery.
I know that The Beatles, for me at least, still reign supreme. Don't misunderstand me. I love all kinds of music. But I ALWAYS go back to The Beatles (referred to in my house as "my boys").
I know that there cannot POSSIBLY be enough time in my life to read all the books I want to read or hear all the music I want to hear. There's just so much! And I want it all -- my lists of books and music is never-ending.
I know that aging is OK. It really is. I have to give credit to my friend Peter for introducing me to what the philosopher, Cicero, said about aging. In his essay, De Senectute, he said, "If you feel I am aging well, it is because I regard nature as the best guide in all things and obey her like God. If she has done such a good job with all the other stages in my life, the final act is unlikely to be an afterthought as though from the hand of an inept scribbler." In other words, we're going to get wrinkles and gray hair. We're going to get sick, gain weight, lose weight, lose hearing, lose sight, lose muscle, gain more weight, sleep less, sleep more. And all those things are natural and we can choose to fight them whitened tooth and manicured nail, or we can choose to experience those things from a place of grace. I'm trying to choose the graceful way.
...but I'm still going to color my hair a while longer...don't judge me.
