Back when I turned 30 I read a book called thirty-nothing about the drama of turning 30, and of course getting the guy. My thirties FLEW by, and life didn’t change much in the process… okay, wrinkles started a bit, and the dark circles under my eyes got worse, but I wasn’t phased by the passing of time so much. I continued with optimism. Then something predictable and inevitable happened. Forty. Last year I wrote my manifesto on forty, attempting to let go of all the false ideas I’d had about where my life would be by the big four oh.
Now, on my 41st, what do I write about? What do I reflect on? How I want to be more me? How I want to make “life begin at 40,” as my mum lovingly said today? How I have more autonomy about what life will be for me… I am not bound to as many cultural rules, as I have already broken so many? OR… How I still feel like the 20 year old young woman who isn’t sure what she wants? How when I make decisions now, they’re just as impulsive, and have the same (or more intense) ramifications? How I still look at the world around me, and struggle with comparison and inadequacy?
So, you see where I am. This is 41. All the “over the hill” glitz and glamour of 40 is over. All the “Lordy Lordy, look who’s forty” banter complete… And I am left with what feels like a pile of clothes on the floor after getting ready for a date… I feel like the helium balloon on the third day, not quite deflated, but not what it once was. I am feeling the results of past mistakes and wondering how I can really make things better, and then I’m wondering if that’s really the right thing to focus on. I’m sorting through who I have been, who I am at this moment and who I want to choose to be tomorrow and the next day and the next… but then I wonder if all that sorting and thinking (overthinking, more like) is worth it. Why not just be? Why do I have to apologize to myself for the folly I have chosen? Why do I worry more than I should? I know worry doesn’t make things better; quite the opposite.
This idea of having our crap sorted by a certain age is perhaps what makes us feel like we are less together than we really are. That being “together” is perhaps an unattainable goal? Perhaps 99 year olds would say that they never really had everything figured out either. My Besta died at 99 in the fall of 2015. I wish I’d asked her if she felt like she’d figured life out.
If I ask you what the meaning of your life is (not the meaning of life in the Monty Python Every Sperm is Sacred kind of way) what would you say? What have you figured out recently about life?
Here’s what I’ve learned in the past year: It’s better to be busy, yes… but enjoy the quiet moments more. Pets are great and bring laughter and joy, but there is heartache and stress there too. Friends are more important than you know. Family is the most important. Love your family as they age. Work can be fulfilling and maddening, on the same day… at the same moment. A clean house maybe is overrated, but a made bed and a clean sink makes going to sleep easier. Swimming is really good for my soul. Being outside everyday is vital. Getting up on time and not having to rush out of the house makes things easier in the morning. Stressing out over things might not work at solving the issue, but giving myself grief about stressing out makes it worse. Trusting that things will fall into place is smart. Money doesn’t grown on trees. It’s okay to love someone, even if it’s difficult… love is not something we do, but something that happens to us. I don’t want to place my value on what people think, but I don’t know how not to. I HAVE A LOT STILL TO LEARN.
So, what is the point of all this? We learn, we grow, we screw up, we get hurt, we hurt others, we are ambitious, we are lazy, we forget stuff… and we do it again, or we don’t.
That’s all (for now).
karlamarlablog 