Thirty-Six

I have now, officially, lived for thirty-six earthling years. Thirty-six years older than the day I was born. After this last year, this thirty-sixth, the acknowledgement of that span of time makes me a bit teary-eyed. I’m here. It has been one of the hardest years of my life and yet, it was not even close to the most depressing or frustrating. No, indeed, those acknowledgements belong to my mid-twenties - a common phenomenon, I’ve heard. Those years were full of resentment, disappointment, words and experiences I long to erase, but it would not be fair to the young woman who withstood them. 

No, this year, while humbling and terrifying, was also one of the most loving. It was one of the most gratifying and mesmerizing years I have yet to experience - if not THE. 

Raising a little one to a year old and beyond while grappling with my own perishable reality at the same time as I acknowledge the potential for a kind of strength I was unaware of having… well, that will do a little something to your perspective. It’ll make you a little teary, as mentioned before. 

Surviving and recovering from the lesson that my body is not immortal while sitting in the space that I am required to occupy during that recovery process… priorities shift. 

And so, I have written down some lessons which have seemed most relevant to me this year.

1. Fear of failure or rejection is not so compelling as the regret of dying without an honest attempt. For years, I have kept creative expressions somewhat subdued because I was not sure how they would be received. Would I be made fun of? Would I be called cheesy or childish or incompetent for wanting to do these creative things? For needing practice at them before they are well-done? Or, would someone resent me for it?

And if so, is avoiding that possible rejection worth the inevitable experience of facing my mortality with so much left unfinished?

I have discovered that the answer, for me, is no. I would rather be rejected by others than continue to reject myself. I will follow what I love. 

2. I ought to actually use the nice things I own. I have a dragon-like tendency to accumulate nice things and then leave them unused. Because if I use them, I won’t have them anymore. I know. The last year has slapped me in the face with how goofy that is. If you don’t use it, you might as well not have it! Drink the tea! Use the lotion! Burn the nice candles! Eat the fancy chocolate! What on earth are you waiting on? Life is being lived. Not tomorrow. Today. Right now.  

3. And I can let go of the things I have clung to without liking all that much. Whether that’s shoes I no longer wear, resentment for people I haven’t seen in years, ideas about what I should be doing based on the expectations of others, judgments about my own emotions and experiences, or reservations about trying whatever avenue calls out to me. That shit doesn’t spark joy, you know?

4. Stay. Emotions will come, sensations will come, thoughts will create narratives that feed themselves. Stay here. Don’t doom-scroll or watch something or read any of the accumulated books you’ve got stashed. Stay. Let it happen because it already is. Look. Without judging it or pushing against it or sinking into the mire of it. Just be with it. And then let it go when it’s ready. 

5. I am not alone. This one hit deeply. I have clung to an illusion of needing to be self-reliant and that I must not need emotional support because that will open me up to all kinds of dangerous betrayals. I have been very creative with arguments to convince myself that this has been true. It’s all quite self-absorbed, really (with love). And all the while, I have been loved without break or fail, patiently and willingly. I am not alone. I don’t have to be and I never was. And so I can love openly because it is already being returned. I will not intrude by returning what is already given. I am not alone. I can love. 

6. The baseline of my pre-surgery life - going for a run, picking up my daughter, driving around listening to podcasts, hiking with both eyes open - has become a series of ecstatic milestones, each one eliciting tears and gratitude and a reappreciation for what was already there (and taken for granted) and has now been rediscovered with a far more accurate perspective than what I had before. It is absolutely beautiful. Watching the trees sail by, my gaze lingering overhead at their canopy as my legs stride well and my breath moves in and out… feeling my daughter’s laugh against my hands and ears, watching her grin and bury her face against my chest… the autonomy of a simple drive… It’s all so extraordinary. I am glad to actually know that now. 

So there it is. Life is here! Life is going on. And I’m here, and I’m going on. 

And I’m having a great time doing it. Yes, I get frustrated. Yes, I get insecure and dodgy. Yes! I still get to do that and I will keep doing it for a long while! And I do it in a body that is still my pale, warm home. It hurts sometimes and it’s tired much of the time, but it exists alongside me, and I love it. I love this existence so very much.

So, as you can see, I am quite lucky. I’m thirty-six!