Claire's reaction on the left looks like, "Hells to the yes! Let's do this!"
Kate's response on the right is more like, "Oh my goodness, that's a big number."
And sandwiched in the middle, I'm feeling like, well, here I am.
Let's begin by saying that I've been pretty angsty about today...and not because it's 2020 and we're in the middle of a global pandemic, but because well, at 45...I think you're supposed to have your shit together.
But for some reason, I feel like I'm just getting started.
Really, I do.
****
In my 20's, I finished graduate school, got married, bought a house, had a baby. In my 30's, I quit my job, stayed home for a decade, raised my now three babies, ran races, wrote a blog, and wondered if I'd ever see Tuscany and a business suit again. In my 40's, I found myself teaching at a university, starting my own conflict resolution practice, watching my babies turn into big people-one of them much taller than me-and discovered the real meaning of running my own race. I also got to go on date nights without paying for a babysitter, and began having genuine adult-like conversations with my children while writing a book.
So much has changed, and yet, so much is just beginning.
****
Recently, my best friend from college indulged my ramblings on a long walk. It went something like this:
Me: "Grown up 45-year olds live in fancy houses, travel to Fiji, and have cars that aren't vans."
Her: "Grown up people are boring."
Me: "Where did I go wrong? I think it's too late. I'll never be an Olympian or a Pulitzer Prize winning anything. And, well, I think I still own a futon. Fuck."
Her: "But are you happy?"
Me: "That's the thing. I am."
Her: "Well, then, I'd say, you're lucky."
****
And, that's why, firmly planted in gratitude, here is my ode to my new year.
Ode to
the wrinkles
the gray
the I don't care if she likes me...because I like me
to vulnerability and hope
and sushi and matcha green tea lattes with coconut milk
and to writing the fucking book already
to knowing that I am enough
and sinking deeply into my skin
making amends
saying I love you, because I may not get tomorrow
sucking it up, and taking the high road
trusting my gut--it always knows
taking risks
doing the next right thing
believing in the impossible
to God and the extraordinary ordinary
the sunrise, and the chance to try again
the gift of another year
another run
another chance to say
thank you for me
all of me
may I greet this year with all it has to offer
perfectly
imperfect.
Happy Birthday to me...
