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Category: Midlife blogger

Another year older. It’s time to be wiser.

Another year older. It’s time to be wiser.

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This year’s birthday hit differently. So much has happened in the last year and a half and I am flat out tired. I finally came to that breaking point where, to paraphrase a quote by Maya Angelo, I belong everywhere and no where. I’m not looking for belonging in everyone else anymore. Even though I so often feel like I’m standing alone, I know it’s something I have to do. Someone, somewhere will say something to remind me that I’m strong and loving and I’m not alone but I no longer need them to confirm that. I can be surrounded by people I love who love me and yet I’m learning I don’t feel the need to seek validation from them to know that I’m worthy.

This next year I have goals for myself. Things I need to do to live life with a wild open heart.

I’m going to love with no expectations.

I’m going to be fierce but I’ll be kind.

I’m going to be tougher yet I’ll still be tender with everyone I come across.

I’m going to be open to people who come into my life. I will soften my heart and be better to those who choose to stay in my life. I will throw my arms open wide and love wholeheartedly those who return to my life. And I shall guard my heart with cautious optimism but never shutting it off to the love and possibilities of good friends, new experiences, and the hope of second chances.

This is the year I’m going to live as I should’ve been living for a long time now. I’ve lost so much in the past few years. Friends. Opportunities. My sister was obviously the worst to knock me off my feet. I’ve faced loss before. The “they’ve left your life by choice but are still around” loss but I’ve had forever loses too. I know the loss of losing a baby. I know the loss of losing my Mom. And now I know the loss of losing my sister. I’ve always leaned on friends for each of those.

I think the loss of my sister is what opened my eyes to how truly alone I am and threw me into the deepest of depressions. I wasn’t surrounded by friends when she died. I’ve lost most of them. Some because my depression kept me from being better at keeping in touch. Some chose to move on. Some I guess just “weren’t that into me” as they say. I’ve never needed a tight-knit group of friends like I did then. And I didn’t have it anymore. And I broke. I shut down. A year and a half later and my therapist and I are just now beginning to deal with the loss of my sister. I am just that good at shoving trauma down deep enough to not consciously feel it. I’ve never known how to do it alone. I still don’t know how to do it alone but I’m learning how when I have to and also (and this is the hardest) trying to learn how to ask for help. That last one is a bitch when you don’t know who to ask. But it’s time. Picking myself up sucks. It hurts. I will learn how to do this while I keep an open heart. But, damn, pulling yourself out of quicksand without a rope isn’t easy.

But this is my birthday gift to myself. I’m taking this year by the [fill in your word of choice] and remembering not only who I am but what I can and should do to make myself happy. This year I will do what I can to be a better me. Part of that has to do with you.

If I ever told you you’re my friend, you still have a place in my heart. Say hi. Kick me and remind me not to disappear.

If I’ve ever told you I love you, I still love you. I may be afraid that too much time and life has passed to reconnect but know you’re still in my heart and I’d be overjoyed if we did reconnect.

If I’ve ever sat with you and laughed or cried or both, I miss that. Can we do it again?

I suppose in this new year of being older and becoming wiser what I’m trying to say is… I need you. I really do.

And that’s not as scary to say as it used to be but it’s also terrifying.

Here’s what I am going to do. It’s my new project for myself for the year. I’m going to snail mail everyone I hear from at the very least a letter. If you want to reconnect, connect, or just see if I’ll follow through, drop me a comment. Either here or on Instagram. Who knows what else. If only a few reply, I might learn to crochet and make you a whole blanket. (But I really hope more than a few of you do! I am not very good at crocheting.)

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to do this damn thing.

I hope you’ll join me!

It’s an age thing

It’s an age thing

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On Thursday I turn fifty. For those of you looking for a number that is 50! 5-0! The BIG five- zero. Honestly? Bring it on. I have lived through a lot in those 5 decades. I mean, some of the hands I was dealt were pretty freaking hard. Some of them were downright awesome. Someone said I was middle-aged. I’m looking forward to the next 50!

But here’s my question: When do I get to start blaming things on age? You know, situations like when I start searching for my glasses and they are on my head. Or worse? On my face. (For real. I have had them on my face while I have been looking for them.) Or how about when I walk into a room and stand there as if I have never even seen the room before because I have no idea why I walked into that room in the first place. Lets not even get into phones left in the refrigerator, keys left anywhere from an end table to the bathroom, and having to depend on Google to ring my phone so I can find it.

Now let us talk about the telltale signs of “you’re getting older” syndrome. When everyone becomes “that kid” to you. “You wouldn’t believe how that kid at the store was disrespectful.” or “Did you see how those kids were driving?” Everyone just seems young. And what about when your doctors are suddenly becoming younger than you are? When is it okay to call them Doogie Houser? (If you understand that reference, I think you’re with me and can call them that.)

Now, I know you’re with me on this one. Hasn’t the music at the grocery store become so much better than when we were younger? I mean before it was so old and elevator-y. It certainly wasn’t anything you could sing to and you definitely couldn’t get your jam on to it. Now? Well, just recently I was caught singing along to an old tune “…I think we’re alone now. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around…” Yes, I got my hips a-movin’ and my shoulders rollin’ to some Tiffany. Eighties teen pop that toured the malls. Shopping malls. Tiffany and Debbie Gibson. Teen Mall Pop Queens. Why didn’t stores play good music you could move to long before this point in time? During one trip I heard that song, Journey, Belinda Carlise, and Prince. Pretty eclectic. The music has become better. I don’t think that’s a sign of getting older, though. I think it is a sign of the stores finally having better taste.

The visual author of my youth was John Hughes

I am not even sure I want to get into movies but I feel I must. Why do magazines such as People and Us, etc. insist on having “Anniversary” issues? I mean, come on, y’all. I grew up on The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller, and the like. I can recite most of the dialogue in at least half of those. Now? They’re celebrating 30 years here, 30-plus years there. Unnecessary. These movies are not old enough to be called classics, y’all. They are timeless treasures that are ageless. Ageless. Then they tell me their actors are hitting up their 60’s. So? They are just having birthdays every year. Simply celebrating life with cake. Enjoying another journey around the sun. Not getting old in the traditional sense of the word.

Because, baby, we are timeless!