The Glory of 39
Another birthday is here. Hello, 39.
How do I feel about this one? Well, I'm not sure except to say that I don't feel like 39, whatever the "manual" says that particular age is supposed to feel like. Truth is, I don't know what age I feel like, and I guess it doesn't matter much. In a way, I feel happily sandwiched somewhere in between what the manual describes as young and old, a lovely blending of the two that just seems to go together seamlessly like peanut butter and jelly, or peanut butter and chocolate. Or peanut butter and anything, really. Mmm. I do love peanut butter. Always have, even as a small child. I guess some things haven't changed much over the years.
But I digress. Me being me, I have spent a large amount of time recently in awe of the aging process. What can I say? That's just me. I like to analyze things, but not very scientific things. Forget biochemistry or macroeconomics. Instead, I enjoy the intangibles of life, the things that defy a clear-cut definition and are wide open to interpretation. More than mere thinking, I always want to know what something feels like. I like to examine how I feel. I also want to know what others are feeling. Probably nothing grabs my attention or my interest more than this.
Maybe it is just my Piscean nature, but I am at home in the turbulent, often-stormy waters of emotion and feeling, even though it has taken me many years to learn how not to be swept away in the frequent currents and flash-floods arising from everyday life. Sure, I still go under from time to time, but by and large I know how to find the life preserver when the waters begin to swirl uncontrollably.
At 39, I think I have found my center. It's that place where the life jacket hangs just in case of such emergencies.
Now, I don't know what this center is really, or how I ever got around to finding it. (I told you I love intangibles). I just know I have found it, or at the very least caught a glimpse of it, enough of one to know that some solid, dry ground lies there. Having spent a large portion of my adult life searching for this, I must admit that I was stunned to discover that it was always there, all the time. It is sort of like owning a painted-over black bar of gold, never even knowing it was gold until one day out of desperation you start chipping away at its dark facade, only to reveal the shiny precious metal coming out from its hiding place underneath. From that moment when you realize it is a 14-karat gold bar and not just some dull, black worthless brick, everything changes. Cleaning it up entirely becomes of the utmost importance. Seeing the whole thing shine more brightly each day is its own reward. Ah. Finally. There is finally something worthwhile there, something far more beautiful than you could ever have imagined, and so obviously worth all the effort.
I guess this exemplifies how I feel about getting older. At 39, I am just now discovering that it is ok to be exactly who I am. Hold on a minute. It's more than ok, actually. It is very nearly the only thing I know how to do. I no longer feel like apologizing for any of it. I just need to own this entire experience. No more renting the space. I am a buyer now; the mortgage is in my name, and my name only.
So it is. This is my life, in all its glory.
At 39, I revel in uncovering more and more about myself. I am relaxing into my own skin. This is no small feat. Being relaxed in who I am is changing the world I see. Getting to know myself, my own loving, crazy, quirky, sensitive self better with each passing day is allowing me to let go of the way I think everyone else should show up as well. We are all allowed to have our own experiences here. This is what makes the world such a phenomenally interesting place. Each of us has a path to walk. We all have our own unique gifts and talents to share, and we are here to do it in our own individual ways. From that uniqueness comes the realization that we are all connected to one another through the very thing that we thought kept us all separate. It's in this sharing that we learn so much about ourselves and about everyone else, too.
At 39, I am just now getting it. Be true to myself. Live. Experience. Love. Discover my gifts. Share them. Do all of this with an open heart. Listen to that inner voice. Get to know it better. Don't talk about it. Just do it. Amen, Nike!
I must say there is something else at work here. I think somewhere along the way I started paying attention to the giant elephant sitting right in the middle of the room of my existence. There it was, the fear of death and dying, staring at me with its two ugly, beady eyes. I believe this lies at the heart of every single fear I have ever known. Holding on to this body, this life, this whole material world of ours seems to run counter to what I am learning inside to be true. At my center, at my core, I guess I know there is nothing here to hold on to, which probably best explains why every single time I take a so-called risk and follow my heart and intuition, things always turn out better than I could have ever imagined. It never fails. And how could it? Letting go of fear is never, ever a bad thing.
At 39, letting go makes more sense than holding on.
There is a freedom alive inside of me. I have often been told I am a free spirit, whatever that means to anyone. I have been told alot of things in my life, by alot of different people. All that really matters is what I have found to be true for myself. At 39, identifying such an authentic space is what counts. And as the sole inhabitor of that space, I am constantly learning so much.
I am learning that it is ok that I am a dreamer. More than ok in fact. I love that about myself. It works for me. It is how I operate. If I can't dream it, then I can't be it.
I am learning that I really love my adventurous spirit and my own sense of knowing. I can see the light shining brightly from within. I see it with more clarity all the time. I am learning more and more to appreciate that singular voice that emanates from somewhere deep inside, and to express it freely. I love my quirkiness. I crack up at my own jokes. I love to laugh. I love to cry. I love to feel. This is what being alive is all about. I am starting to embrace my vulnerability like never before.
I am learning how to lighten up and to stop thinking I know everything, because I most certainly don't. I love when I am conscious enough to see myself in others. In those mirrors I see my own grace, my own faults, my own happiness, my own self-deceptions. What a blessing.
I am learning to go easy on myself. I am not perfect, not even close. I am learning to love that fact, or at the very least to be grateful for it.
I am learning that all I am here to do is learn, change, and grow. From this comes the ability to love with more depth, and serve humanity in my own distinct way. At 39, this is what seems to matter above all else. Everyone can do what they have to do for themselves. I know I will. In fact, there is truly nothing else to do. Just smile, breathe, and get to it. Do my thing. Live honestly, and allow others to do the same.
I may love peanut butter, but no one else has to. We are always free to disagree. I am learning that this is just fine, perfect in fact.
It's simple, really. Me being me. Nothing else matters quite so much. In my opinion, that is what 39 feels like in all its glory.
How do I feel about this one? Well, I'm not sure except to say that I don't feel like 39, whatever the "manual" says that particular age is supposed to feel like. Truth is, I don't know what age I feel like, and I guess it doesn't matter much. In a way, I feel happily sandwiched somewhere in between what the manual describes as young and old, a lovely blending of the two that just seems to go together seamlessly like peanut butter and jelly, or peanut butter and chocolate. Or peanut butter and anything, really. Mmm. I do love peanut butter. Always have, even as a small child. I guess some things haven't changed much over the years.
But I digress. Me being me, I have spent a large amount of time recently in awe of the aging process. What can I say? That's just me. I like to analyze things, but not very scientific things. Forget biochemistry or macroeconomics. Instead, I enjoy the intangibles of life, the things that defy a clear-cut definition and are wide open to interpretation. More than mere thinking, I always want to know what something feels like. I like to examine how I feel. I also want to know what others are feeling. Probably nothing grabs my attention or my interest more than this.
Maybe it is just my Piscean nature, but I am at home in the turbulent, often-stormy waters of emotion and feeling, even though it has taken me many years to learn how not to be swept away in the frequent currents and flash-floods arising from everyday life. Sure, I still go under from time to time, but by and large I know how to find the life preserver when the waters begin to swirl uncontrollably.
At 39, I think I have found my center. It's that place where the life jacket hangs just in case of such emergencies.
Now, I don't know what this center is really, or how I ever got around to finding it. (I told you I love intangibles). I just know I have found it, or at the very least caught a glimpse of it, enough of one to know that some solid, dry ground lies there. Having spent a large portion of my adult life searching for this, I must admit that I was stunned to discover that it was always there, all the time. It is sort of like owning a painted-over black bar of gold, never even knowing it was gold until one day out of desperation you start chipping away at its dark facade, only to reveal the shiny precious metal coming out from its hiding place underneath. From that moment when you realize it is a 14-karat gold bar and not just some dull, black worthless brick, everything changes. Cleaning it up entirely becomes of the utmost importance. Seeing the whole thing shine more brightly each day is its own reward. Ah. Finally. There is finally something worthwhile there, something far more beautiful than you could ever have imagined, and so obviously worth all the effort.
I guess this exemplifies how I feel about getting older. At 39, I am just now discovering that it is ok to be exactly who I am. Hold on a minute. It's more than ok, actually. It is very nearly the only thing I know how to do. I no longer feel like apologizing for any of it. I just need to own this entire experience. No more renting the space. I am a buyer now; the mortgage is in my name, and my name only.
So it is. This is my life, in all its glory.
At 39, I revel in uncovering more and more about myself. I am relaxing into my own skin. This is no small feat. Being relaxed in who I am is changing the world I see. Getting to know myself, my own loving, crazy, quirky, sensitive self better with each passing day is allowing me to let go of the way I think everyone else should show up as well. We are all allowed to have our own experiences here. This is what makes the world such a phenomenally interesting place. Each of us has a path to walk. We all have our own unique gifts and talents to share, and we are here to do it in our own individual ways. From that uniqueness comes the realization that we are all connected to one another through the very thing that we thought kept us all separate. It's in this sharing that we learn so much about ourselves and about everyone else, too.
At 39, I am just now getting it. Be true to myself. Live. Experience. Love. Discover my gifts. Share them. Do all of this with an open heart. Listen to that inner voice. Get to know it better. Don't talk about it. Just do it. Amen, Nike!
I must say there is something else at work here. I think somewhere along the way I started paying attention to the giant elephant sitting right in the middle of the room of my existence. There it was, the fear of death and dying, staring at me with its two ugly, beady eyes. I believe this lies at the heart of every single fear I have ever known. Holding on to this body, this life, this whole material world of ours seems to run counter to what I am learning inside to be true. At my center, at my core, I guess I know there is nothing here to hold on to, which probably best explains why every single time I take a so-called risk and follow my heart and intuition, things always turn out better than I could have ever imagined. It never fails. And how could it? Letting go of fear is never, ever a bad thing.
At 39, letting go makes more sense than holding on.
There is a freedom alive inside of me. I have often been told I am a free spirit, whatever that means to anyone. I have been told alot of things in my life, by alot of different people. All that really matters is what I have found to be true for myself. At 39, identifying such an authentic space is what counts. And as the sole inhabitor of that space, I am constantly learning so much.
I am learning that it is ok that I am a dreamer. More than ok in fact. I love that about myself. It works for me. It is how I operate. If I can't dream it, then I can't be it.
I am learning that I really love my adventurous spirit and my own sense of knowing. I can see the light shining brightly from within. I see it with more clarity all the time. I am learning more and more to appreciate that singular voice that emanates from somewhere deep inside, and to express it freely. I love my quirkiness. I crack up at my own jokes. I love to laugh. I love to cry. I love to feel. This is what being alive is all about. I am starting to embrace my vulnerability like never before.
I am learning how to lighten up and to stop thinking I know everything, because I most certainly don't. I love when I am conscious enough to see myself in others. In those mirrors I see my own grace, my own faults, my own happiness, my own self-deceptions. What a blessing.
I am learning to go easy on myself. I am not perfect, not even close. I am learning to love that fact, or at the very least to be grateful for it.
I am learning that all I am here to do is learn, change, and grow. From this comes the ability to love with more depth, and serve humanity in my own distinct way. At 39, this is what seems to matter above all else. Everyone can do what they have to do for themselves. I know I will. In fact, there is truly nothing else to do. Just smile, breathe, and get to it. Do my thing. Live honestly, and allow others to do the same.
I may love peanut butter, but no one else has to. We are always free to disagree. I am learning that this is just fine, perfect in fact.
It's simple, really. Me being me. Nothing else matters quite so much. In my opinion, that is what 39 feels like in all its glory.
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