Reflecting on My Upcoming Birthday
REFLECTING on my Upcoming Birthday
These two photos are of me – the left was taken six years before the right.
So much changes! Hair, hair color, glasses, weight. The one on the left was a professional photo for new author me in 2013. The one on the right was taken by hubby earlier this year (my schnoz is the same size, unfortunately). It is clear that time moves on and takes us with it but what you can’t see in photos is what else is going on. That’s what might surprise you.
I’m sharing because on March 29 I will become 65 years immortal. I feel the need to share some insight into my mind and my reflections as I turn to face an age that was once only a myth. My need to share is unusual since I am an insanely private person, sharing only lighthearted humor and, of course, the light of my profession, writing. I’m not one given to airing my dirty laundry on social media. I don’t moan to Twitter when I have a cold, or beg for hugs when I have trouble. Yes, I will do so immediately for friends and family, but when it comes to me, I feel uncomfortable saying anything about myself that is weak or negative. I guess I want to be remembered as strong and capable, when sometimes I’m anything but a blubbery mass.
Could be why so many peeps think I don’t have issues. My life is not perfect. In fact, I struggle with insecurity to the max. I worry a lot about everything. I cry more than you could imagine. When it comes to my writing and my books, I have countless sleepless nights when I wish a friend sensed my despair and reached out. But there is a problem there — age. Most of the people I like, ones I count as possible friends, are not my age, not my profession or people I don’t have enough “likes” with to be friends. OR People I used to call friends I never hear from or see anymore. OR the people my age who might be friends are old. And don’t laugh at that — I mean it. They may be “living their age” but they think that is all but dead. No thanks.
I have few real friends. In all my years, I lost my childhood friends because we moved away and we were too young to continue. In high school I never fit in. I wanted to be popular and wasn’t. It was a shallow world out there and I didn’t fit. I wasn’t pretty, or a cheerleader, or dating anyone cool, or driving a fast car (not on the highway anyway), or rich and going to the country club. The nerds didn’t want me beyond Beta Club, the drama kids gave me the lead but wouldn’t play after, and so it goes. Even my high school sweetheart belonged to the no-where kids like me. I muddled through and can’t say I was exactly unhappy but I don’t have friends or memories to carry forward. Then I joined the Air Force.
After the military, the people I cared about moved on and away, married, changed, had kids, and I was more afterthought. S’okay, I did the same to some of them.
Today I live in a place where I’m happily married but I lack the surrounds of people my age who do what I do. I miss the company of like minds and like backgrounds. And I miss people who share my background. I do feel alone sometimes. Though I share my writing self with many others, few are my age, many are under 40 and that creates obvious distances. Though I ignore them, they are still there. Instead I seek companions in writers groups and am inspired by my interaction. It is fulfilling if limited.
All right this isn’t a pity party. This is a reflection of where I am. I’ve changed a great deal over 65 years. I’m more mellow. I’m less aggressive (unless I drink too much champagne). I’m quick to give love and encouragement (there was a time when I stopped giving either).
But some key things are different. My parents are gone and so are any aunts and uncles. Also no grandparents. My cousins are many but only a few are there to remember me or want to, I guess. I miss the love of family that bolstered my heart, my ego and my dreams. What remains are the memories and hope that love truly does endure.
Some things are deeper in me now. I am more sentimental because life is much shorter going forward and I’m not sorry how affected I am by people. I am less stoic, more cynical, less angry, more contemplative, more into belief in the magical (by that I mean I know Santa is real and the trees whisper). And I am not completely alone. There are friends.
There are one or two people who seek out my company, who actually like me enough to call or check up with me. You see I have no children and that does place me in a category by myself when so many have families with babies to grandchildren (yes I have grandchildren but only one that I see once in a blue moon). Sometimes I feel the loss of not knowing. But I have gains to fill my life.
I am a writer. An author and moderately successful (though not famous, alas). I wrote for magazines, newspapers, literary presses, journals and did commission work but didn’t become an author until 2013. Then ZOOM WHAM BANG, I met all sorts of people, fascinating people who are talented, funny, amazing, smart and making a difference. Gems. I’m lucky in that regard. The rich diversity of knowing them gave me a different kind of fulfillment.
These are the folks who share their lives with me, who give me the gift of them, who lift me up just by their company and who remind me that we all have worth. I have learned from these people who have given patience and kindness. I have been trusted with secrets and I keep them tight to my heart. I have blossomed under faith and shared laughter and joy. All isn’t lost.
I’m going to be 65. I remember when I turned 40. That was the birthday that was hard for me (30 didn’t bother me). I wondered how it was going to be growing old. I wondered how I would be when I was eligible for Social Security. I wondered who I would become when I was “Old.”
And 25 years later here I am. I have my Social Security card, almost all my family is gone (bless my sister and a few dear cousins), a loving husband, nine books of mine and I share places in others. I have one grandchild I know and adore, and nine others I’ve never seen. I have four great-grandchildren! I have two dear friends who live away from me who remember me “when,” and I love them dearly because they know and remember the “real me” and bless me with real acceptance, no matter how stupid I get or behave. This is love.
I have aches and pains with surgeries to prove the cause. I’ve been married and divorced, married and divorced which led me to becoming happily married. I’ve traveled across wide spaces many places overseas. I’ve known joy and fear, anger and grief. And my eyes still sparkle at Christmas. That’s called faith.
Finally, I feel that life is fleeting and passing swiftly by. I want to be sure my legacy is in my writing, is in the love I’ve given along this journey, is in the laughter I shared with many others and in whatever kindnesses I could give or bring.
credit to L.E. Perez for graphic
I’m not sure when it happened, but I eventually realized that it’s good to be me and there are those who still won’t get me, don’t want to, and have already forgotten me. I’m busy being me and I hope that as I welcome this latest birthday (for I don’t imagine I have a big bucket of them left), that I will grasp joy, laughter, and love with open arms. Sure, I’m going to get insecure and cry again. I’m going to doubt and worry like crazy. I’m going to be silent and I’m going to laugh. Undoubtedly there is more grief to come and more uncertainty. I’m old enough now to handle it. I’m settled with me, for all my foibles.
So, this is me reflecting. I’ve obviously skipped a bunch of stuff, but I will share a little-known secret. I always wanted to be immortal. I had a librarian tell me that everyone on all those shelves was immortal and their names would live on long after the people where gone. I wanted to be THAT. I wanted to be immortal. And now I am. My books are in the Library of Congress, catalogued. I am forever. Even without high school cliques or childhood besties. No matter what else, I did what I thought was impossible. That’s called cool.
And I have to thank my beloved, my husband who shows me every single day how to love, to be loved, and how true love really endures. He is a prince among men. That is blessed.
I’m just over here being me. Drop by once in a while. Don’t let too much time go by before we connect, or reconnect. Bring a smile. I have one for you, too. And when you get to be 65, I hope you think of me and this bit of advice:
Do as much or as little as your heart demands. Do what makes you happy and laugh. Love hard. Give often. It’s okay to cry. And most of all, remember you make life what it is. Only you. And if there’s no one but you to share your days, be at peace. Time goes by very fast. Enjoy your life now and don’t wait on others. Live without regret. Don’t wait to make memories. Chin up, buttercup, this is your life and it is everything you jam into it. It DOES NOT MATTER what others want, think, or say. I wish I’d learned that earlier. Remember, this is your life, not theirs. Be you. In the end, that is the only thing that will make you happy whether in a crowd or alone. Be your best friend. Cut a path and leave a positive trail for others who come after you.
I’m going to do that. For whatever time I have left, let every day be a celebration. Happy Birthday (and don’t forget to take pictures!).
Thanks for coming by.
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,
Sherry
PS. Come back on Friday March 29. I’ll have birthday thoughts and a surprise.
