Figuring out 50: Work in Progress

Yes, 50 was a pretty good year. My heart is full as I reflect on the wonderful year I have nearly completed. I’d like to name a list of fun adventures I experienced, but the truth is the whole year was one big adventure. This past year, I walked boldly down the path of choosing myself fully and unapologetically for the first time in my life. It’s almost as if the emotional weight of others and choices made for others physically weighed me down to the point where I was resigned to believe the mediocrity and melancholy were my only constant companions. What a sad existence of blah blah blah.

Recently I received some feedback from someone I once took care of for too many years. When you are a caretaker, you come to realize that no matter what good you do in a person’s life, once you decide to change your situation, you will be demonized, criticized and blamed. Ultimately the feedback I received was probably cathartic for the individual, definitely passive aggressive, but mostly oppressive. It was yet another person telling me to silence myself, to make myself smaller because my truth and the expression of my truth was uncomfortable to read. If what I write is uncomfortable for readers, I encourage them to embrace the freedom of not reading what I write. I write for me. If people enjoy reading it, that’s wonderful. If not, that’s just fine.

I credit yoga as a major catalyst for change and growth. The movement that yoga encourages enabled me to access a freedom that does not exist outside of asanas and yogic expression. When I’m bent over in wide stance forward fold, inhaling and exhaling, barefoot on the mat in the warm yoga studio, I am free. Add some stacked blocks upon which my head can rest, and I’m in heaven. The seemingly simple act of breathing in and out, focused solely on the rise and fall of my breath, takes me to peace that has not existed in my world for some years.

I have made many choices based on others, based on what I perceived would be acceptable, based on what other people needed or wanted or decided. I’m done with that. For 15 years, I was spending a small fortune to color my hair every other month to cover the grey. And let me tell you, grey hair is strong and determined, and my grey would appear within a week of coloring. It was a maddeningly expensive cycle. Eight months ago, I decided it was time to stop because I was coloring the grey so that I didn’t look too old for potential suitors. It took some time for me to realize that was the reason, but when I did, it was so freeing. I have beautiful grey hair, and it’s healthy. Hopefully, by this time next year, I’ll be fully grey and gorgeous.

I don’t know what the future holds, what 51 holds for me. I will continue to reflect on how people and experiences in my life have contributed to the work in progress that I am. Self analysis is an important part of growth and change, and I seek to evolve into the person that I was created to be. I cannot imagine that my God chose misery and regret for me. I am certain that my life was meant for joy and freedom and peace and love for me.

 

Figuring out 50: And So I Begin…

It’s eve of the big 5-0 for me. I haven’t really focused on the significance of turning 50 for most of the past 365 days. Getting through year 1 of the pandemic took so much of my focus that I didn’t even get the chance to gear up for 50. Now, 50 is almost here, and I have an adventure in mind for the next 365 days. It’s time for me to figure out what 50 means for me.

The ideas for blogs, articles, posts, etc. come and go for me on a daily basis. There are a multitude of subjects that I want to explore. For one thing, I have so much about my marriage and divorce that I want to share, dissect, process and move beyond. I’m still trying to come to terms with those 10 years that seem like a waste of a good decade at this point.

It’s funny, my birthday is a reminder of the worst relationship of my life when it was always the best day of every year up until the green came in. My parents have always made a big deal out of my birthday. None of those audacious gatherings parents throw their children these days. No, just my parents, my siblings, and a homemade lemon cake with lemon icing, candles from the grocery store that were used for all of our birthdays for what seemed like years, lights off with my aunt singing Stevie Wonder’s Happy Birthday song, and me smiling like it was the best day of my life. And every year, it actually felt like the best day.

When I started dating him, we bonded over having birthdays so close together. Before him, I hadn’t really had a birthday with a sig-ot, so as our relationship progressed, and we made it to my birthday, I was excited to see how he would celebrate me. He was big on over the top gestures, so I just knew I was going to finally be celebrated by a non-relative. And then I learned that his sons were starting football on my birthday, and that was that. I told myself that I understood, and that it was no big deal, and we would celebrate another day. We didn’t.

The next year, the same sort of thing happened, by then I was used to where I stood in relations to the children’s schedules, and we ended up doing a joint celebration that focused mostly on his birthday. I was still celebrating with my family, so I didn’t really allow myself to get down on the fact that my birthday was not that big of a deal to him.

After we got married, we would travel around our birthdays at first, but eventually the business or the children would require his attention, so I stopped expecting an acknowledgement of my birthday by him. The last birthday I endured with him ended up in the police being called, and me barricading in my room out of fear. The next 2 birthdays were spent going through the rigors of divorce.

Now, I’m so happy when I get to be around people that care about me on my birthday. And I make a point to only spend time with the people that genuinely care for me. That’s a small but mighty group that has walked with me through the toughest and brightest times in my life. They remind me of what I mean to them, of what I am worth to them, and they celebrate my quirks. They are my family, some by birth and some by choice, and I am deeply grateful for them.

And so I begin year 50 as a grateful to be loved and grateful to be free adventurer. Let’s see what’s in store.