Anticipating 42

Where are you?

What's it like there?

Are you happy in your heart?

It's raining here...forecast to do so all weekend...which is a good thing, I suppose. 

It greens everything up and readies me for my birthday month.

In a week, I'll turn 42.  Not 24, not 30, not 35, not 40...forty-two...yikes, I think.

Except, maybe, just maybe, I'm sort of secretly excited about it, for a reason that came to me after a long run at the gym.

My son called from school.  He was emotional, sad and disappointed.  He was in the principal's office with a consequence for poor behavior...unusual for him at school, but not so out-of-the-blue when you think about his crazy shenanigans with his sisters at home.

Instead of reading him the riot act, I paused and said, "I love you.  I'm sorry that this happened.  You're going to be okay.  I'll see you this afternoon."  And then we hung up the phone.

And, I meant it.

I think the beauty of turning a new leaf via a new birthday year is the recognition that you can spend so much of your time worrying about all of the shit that just. does. not. matter.  And if you need lessons in how to do it well, come to my home.  I'm a fucking pro.  I worry about ev-ery-th-ing. I worry about shit you can't even imagine that people could dream up to worry about.  And nearly every single time, it works out.  Usually, in weirdly serendipitous, lovely ways.

So, what does it mean to turn 42 and why am I partially giddy? 

Well, it means that it's okay to lean into the suck.  When life is shitty, it's shitty.  Hopefully, it doesn't last too terribly long.  God knows it isn't fun to live in extended discomfort.  But most of the time, literally nothing is permanent.

It means to redefine beauty.  My best friend sent me a picture from her high school graduation VHS tape along with some prom pictures and said, "You look just the same."  I was flattered and grateful, but then also reminded that I color my hair and have three children's worth of stretch marks and lots of laugh lines (that's what I call them).  So, beauty to me now is a really great joke, a fantastic piece of sushi, an extraordinary conversation with a student where we help each other see something that was vacant before, a fucking good night's sleep, a strong (like really strong) cup of coffee with a friend, an afternoon after school when by the grace of God my kids don't fight, a purple sunset that I watch from my dining room table while sipping something red in a glass that seems to wash away my craziness from the day, a note from a friend reminding me that I am enough and the courage to say no to an offer to volunteer, when the truth is that I just don't want to. 

It means to live in the what is available and present now, not when the job promotion hits, the 10 pounds are shed, the bank account is heftier, the kitchen gets remodeled, the project at work gets done or the fight with your sister-in-law is less fresh.  It means to grab ahold of the people you love and the moments you have, in the body that is presently yours, not giving a shit about what others think or why.

And this is why I feel good about where I am.  Not confident or perfect or accomplished or arrived...but good.  I'm leaning into the joy, the suck, the ambivalence, the heartache, the unknown.  I'm hanging out in the principal's office with my kid saying...this doesn't feel good now, but it doesn't define you...you'll be better for it...you'll learn and grow and make more mistakes and it will be okay.

And as the rain comes down and down and down and down, I drink the coffee, watch the grass and think...May is on its way...and 42 looks promising.