And One to Grow On...

Yesterday marked my 47th year in this beautiful heartbreaking world.

47 years.

I am now in the thick of middle age and yet it is nothing like I predicted half a lifetime ago. I am still waiting to feel like a grow-up, the way I imagined adults felt, back when I prowled the late night bar scene in Portland Maine with a crew of twenty-something women, more interested in dancing with each other than the young men who sat in bar stools with their worn baseball caps and cold mugs of Alygash White.

Actually, truthfully, I'm no longer waiting to feel like a grownup, but instead accept that I will never feel as responsible, organized, mature, and self-directed as I imagined people my age felt, back when I still got carded renting rated R movies.

(Back when we still rented movies.)

The truth is no-one feels this way. We are all that small fallible injured sewn-together person behind the great wizard, pulling strings to create a mirage of adulthood, wondering how in the world we ended up with wrinkled foreheads, mortgages, and these younger people that call us Mom.

No-one holds all the pieces perfectly together without struggle.

Oh, and parenthood is nothing like I imagined either. Who knew I would have to pretend to leave the house this morning, get in my car, drive around the corner, turn off the lights and wait for Nick to leave in the truck with our two children, one of whom is almost 16 and stood on the edge of a frightening meltdown because he thought he HAD to go to Homer with me instead of school.

You see, I took today off to take care of me, to head to Homer to play hockey for the weekend, to put on my helmet for the first time this year and skate into the corners with my elbows out the way my Dad taught me. To sweat and cheer and forget, for the moment, about everything but how to control a small black disc and put it in the net more times than the other team.

This too was not on my radar when I peered ahead to middle age. That I would still love to play--games, sports, outside-- that even after my kids grew tired of sledding on a snowy Sunday afternoon, I'd pull out the runner sled and keep coasting downhill, alone, with the biggest smile on my face.

I never imagined I'd feel so comfortable and happy in this aging body of mine, free to be myself, no longer worried so much about how others perceive me.

I made a New Year's Resolution to dance every day, even if its just 30 seconds of shimmying while sweeping the floor. I'm no longer waiting for a band to come to town and the stars to align, for the kids to be covered and for Nick and I to have enough energy to make it out for a 9pm start on a Saturday night. I'm not waiting for a pack of girlfriends to move our bodies together. I'm not waiting for Nick to lead me to a dance floor. I'm dancing alone, in my house, in my car, whenever I feel like moving.

The other night the kids both ignored me when I asked them to brush their teeth. I wiggled my hips in front of them where they sat on the futon and said, "Its brush your teeth or dance with your mother."

They both headed to the bathroom.

"Someday you are both going to wonder why you didn't dance with your Mom more," I said in jest, as I spun around and danced with my reflection in the window.

I never imagined feeling so content with just me.

Life is one long unexpected ride that follows no script, no preconceived story lines. And that is why I love it, even when it hurts.

I love this life of mine with an almost deranged intensity from falling on my face, getting punched in the gut, hiding out in caves, and emerging every time, battered but better, because of surviving and learning from the pain. 

It is not happily ever after as I imagined. More like setback, trauma, grief, beauty, joy, wonder, repeat, with days in-between of washing dishes, holding hands, driving to school, tucking children in bed, kissing their heads, and saying "I love you," over and over again.

Comments

[Greta]

God, I wish we lived closer! So comforting to read that a friend feels this way. Thanks again for the gift of your writing.

[Jessica]

That's a beautiful post.

"No-one holds all the pieces perfectly together without struggle."

Yup!

[Candice]

Happy birthday!! Taking the day off for yourself is brilliant -- I try to do that most years too, but I forgot to this year...to my detriment.

Love your New Year's resolution and the kids' response!

All the best to you and Nick!
Candice

[Susan]

This is an extremely beautiful - and spot on - piece of writing. It goes so well with your earlier post's hopes for Olive.

[Christy]

Thanks all! I am a big fan of bday gifts of time for myself. Greta I wish we lived closer too. I love AK but I am so far from folks. Hugs all around.

[Kate]

Beautiful as always. Turning 47 on Sunday too. Funny thing this middle age but you have captured all the nuances here.

[Christy]

Happy Bday Kate!