As we get older we sometimes forget what a privilege it is to celebrate a birthday. Another full year of life on this precarious planet of ours.
We rally against our age, lamenting our youth, instead of relishing the fact that we made it through another 365 days of potential pitfalls.
We didn't die this year.
We all will pass eventually (or tomorrow)--so let's blow out our candles with relief, not regret.
We made it.
On January 16th, I celebrate fifty years on earth.
Fifty?!?
Fifty winters, fifty Easters, fifty first days of summer, fifty Thanksgivings.
Fifty Valentines days, fifty spring thaws, fifty 4th of Julys and fifty leaf-turning falls.
What a delight.
What a privilege.
And sure, I begrudge the number, as if the half-century mark tattoos the word "old" across my soul-- and yet what truths do the symbols 5 and 0 truly hold?
50.
Fifty new years, fifty birth days, fifty revolutions around the sun.
I think my biggest struggle with the number is that I don't even feel like a real adult yet, just a kid winging it in my big girl shoes hoping none of the the "real" grownups catch me playing this game called life.
Underneath my Mother/ School Counselor facade is a skinned-kneed, messy-haired, questioning adolescent waiting for someone to give her the answers to the test.
I keep waiting to be as responsible as my Mom. To be organized and efficient and to easily corral my ducks in a row.
I don't even have ducks. Or a place to put them. I hear their wings as they fly past or spot one floating out at sea but the mystery of control and symmetry evades me.
How do true adults do it?
How do folks manage to organize their mail, remember their passwords, keep their fridges stocked, and put the clean laundry away, matching socks and all?
How do real grownups meet the needs of their kids, their employers, their partners, and their own? Let alone try to make a difference in the world.
I'm exhausted thinking about it.
But if I ignore my preconceived notions of adulthood, and just tap into my core, the truth is, I feel pretty damn good.
I love my family, my friends, my community, my work. I love coming home at the end of the day and look forward to going to school in the morning.
When my heart hurts, or overflows, I can count on friends to show up for me, whether they live nearby or thousands of miles away.
I continue to meet people in this small town of mine that I hope to get to know better. And the beauty of Seward never ceases to amaze me, especially when the sun comes out after too many days of cold dark rain.
I live with my best friend and still get butterflies when he looks in my eyes. We laugh easily, trust completely, and give abundantly.
I never planned to make a life in Alaska, but when I drove here for an adventure I fell in love twice in one week. First with this immense wild land and days later with this kind athletic man whom I followed into the woods.
When we made it to the river bed we walked side by side.
And we never stopped.
The children we created (but do not control) keep surprising me as they grow into young humans with unique spirits, so different, and yet entwined, in this funky family of ours.
Our particular road remains rutted, with rocks often falling in our way; sometimes Elias's challenges make so much seem impossible-- even something as simple as inviting new friends over for a meal- and sometimes his disabilities open doors and lead us places we never knew.
Parenthood never stops teaching me about acceptance, humility, and letting go. For these lessons I am forever thankful, despite not asking for this particular script.
And Nick and I keep walking, around the ruts and over the rocks, side by side.
When I take stock of my life as I approach this half century mark, I feel happy and loved, what more could I want?
So instead of resisting this next decade, instead of clinging to my 40's like a tree in a storm, let the wind carry me forward, with turbulence and grace.
Happy (almost) 50th birthday to me.