Are you where you belong?
As I round the corner on another famous birthday month, I am settling into a quiet space to connect with where I am. Thinking in depth about where I am spiritually, mentally, and physically as I tick through each corner of my life, my people, my things, the way I choose to spend my days and time. I find that the best way to do it without perseverating in any one spot or spinning too deeply over the details, is to write about it. Or even talk about it aloud.
I am hours away from turning 55 years old. I have asked myself a hundred times how I feel about this number and quite honestly, I can’t come up with a feeling at all. I have tried to digest the number, put it in perspective and even rationalize it. Reminding myself that even if I live to be 100, I have less life to live than I have already lived. Yet still, I can’t come up with any feelings attached to that.
It’s just that I thought for sure I would feel old. And I don’t. In fact, I feel completely content, which is not a familiar feeling for me.
“Sometimes the place you are used to is not the place you belong.”
The place I’ve been used to, is a place of perfection. Carefully watching the way the wrinkles were slowly forming around my eyes, noticing the depth of my nose change, aware of the tightness of my skin loosening everywhere. Acknowledging the muscle mass in my arms naturally decline. I haven’t been watching through a passive eye though. I’ve been working out 5 days a week, doing plenty of cardio, light weight-lifting, special oils, creams and lotions for my skin and a conscious effort to prevent further sun damage…
I have done the usual things a woman does as she ages. The things we have watched the women before us do day after day…to protect our shell.
But is that what we were doing? It seemed like it at first, but as I reflect on it now, I can see that it began as an act of caring for my shell, which then transformed into age prevention.
I have literally been trying to prevent my body from aging. As I hear my own words, I feel horrified at the truth and know for sure I am not alone. What is this game we are playing anyway? The one that no one can win. The one that no one should be trying to win…
As I continue to contemplate this concept hours before my birthday, I want to hide in embarrassment. I want to keep the truth covered. I want to carry on pretending I can hide this thing we call aging like the magician with the wand, leaving you to wonder where that rabbit went. I want to stay quiet only to keep the secret most women share. This fear of aging, growing old, letting the wrinkles be seen to reveal what is true.
The Truth.
My mom’s life was cut short by about 20 years when diagnosed with stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Everyone in her family lived into their 90’s…and her life was taken in her early 70’s. But before that, she fought (quite successfully, I would say) this age game. A healthy, lean, marathon runner that looked likely to be the mother of even her grandchildren. But it was a restless and reckless game. The quest to remain young, or anything but old often consumed her, leading her down a life path filled with missed opportunities.
It’s hard to be up close and personal in an authentic way when you are mostly worried about how others are looking at you. About the secret you are keeping that you don’t feel comfortable in your own skin…
It’s a hard place to escape.
However, this years’ birthday has begun to overwhelm me with gratefulness as I watch what is occurring around me. The 21-year old daughter that was murdered. The 24-year old brothers that crashed head on into an Uber killing themselves and 3 other people. The cancer diagnosis of my 30 year old niece…
And I am reminded that there are no guarantees.
We are not given this life with any guarantee. We can’t rely on how long our parents or grandparents lived. We can’t be sure that the cigarettes we do not smoke will lead to longevity. Or that our vegan diet will extend the years we have. There are no guarantees.
Does that mean I don’t take care of myself on a daily basis in hopes of living as long as possible? Not at all. I believe in taking care of myself. But it’s the thought process that surrounds my intentional living that matters most. Am I caring for my skin because I believe I can outrun getting old? Or because it might just avoid other problems that could arise later in life?
I workout because I feel better when I do. I feel strong, able to handle life as it comes to me. I workout because it seems to relieve my stress and anxiety. I do it because it is the one reliable thing for me that always works. Some self-medicate. I go to the gym.
I eat mostly healthy. Avoiding red meats and dairy because they make me feel sick, and I happen to overdose of fruits and vegetables because I truly love everything about them. Do I still eat cake if we are celebrating? Yes! But I do my best to balance it out. That balance used to be as a means to control the things I could. My food. My weight. My look. But today it feels different. I eat all day, filling myself with foods I love that are also good for my body. I feel better when I do it, so I keep doing it. I take care of myself. I sleep when I am tired, surround myself with like-minded people, try to find the lighter side of life and over and over remind myself that today is all I’ve got. It’s all any of us has got.
Lately I have been taking a real look at the wrinkles covering my face and have felt like one of the lucky ones. Not everyone made it to see another day, another wrinkle to prove it, but I did. And maybe the lines on my face are an obvious reminder of what I already know, and others should too. I’ve lived half of my life already.
I’ve made it to my 55th year of life and the place I have been used to is not the place for me. This place, the one where I stand today, happy to be showing signs of life in honor of a life well lived so far…is exactly the place where I belong. And I’m truly looking forward to seeing what my life has to offer tomorrow, with my shell coming along for the ride.