As I was getting ready to head into Manhattan tonight, I overheard two folks talking outside my window. They’d run into each other and were catching up, a young-ish man and an older woman. They had a lot of crazy things to say and gossip to pass back and forth. They said their goodbyes and then there was silence as they walked away … then the guy shouts: “I just gotta say, you’re one of those people whose black don’t crack! They both burst out laughing, and I almost did, too.
Today is my birthday. Funny how fast these come around! It’s my birthday, and I’m quite solidly middle aged now. But I’m also one of those “uncracked” people that guy was shouting about outside my window. Sometimes I feel every nanosecond of each one of my 52 years, but mostly not so much, mostly I’m well aware of how much I don’t look whatever people think my age should look like. I stressed out about my age a lot more when I was in my 40s. (Might have had something to do with all those younger men I dated … ahem.) Now, I’m rude enough to tell people my age for no reason other than to make them tell me how not my age I look. My vanity has done no mellowing over time!
Earlier this week, one of my neighbors asked me why she never sees me pregnant or with a baby (really, my neighbors will sometimes just say every damn thing!). I told her that time was past for me, and she said not yet, that I could probably have kids “up till you’re 40 or so.” Um, yeah. That time is p.a.s.t.
So that time is past, but now there’s time for about a bazillion other things. This second half of my life is already shaping up to be very interesting — one knee surgery down, one to go, got fired for the first time in my life and have spent the last three months unemployed for the first time in my adult life, I’ve learned to spin, I’ve discovered a new writing genre to explore, I’ve reconnected with some old friends and started cultivating a gorgeous garden a new friends …
I’ve got work to do. I’m only 52, but I’m already 52. All kinds of clocks are ticking. Think of how many crafts there are still for me to learn. And how long is it going to take me to get over myself and stop hiding my grey hair with henna?
Time to prepare for embracing myself as the Crone, the wise, free, powerful me. This non-working summer has given me a delicious taste of what the “free” can feel like — I have very much enjoyed my long days of reading, writing, strolling, thinking, seeing just how much I enjoy my own company — but I have a ways to go before I can pretend to wisdom or power.
I’ve got work to do.
Hello to everyone who began following the blog after reading my last post. I appreciate the follows and the comments. You intimidated me just a little, I won’t lie. I’ve started and dashed half a dozen posts since that one. I worried about what kind of writing you’d expect each time you saw my blog in your inbox. Well, the fact is, you’re here. Stick around and you’ll see how non-linear and nonsensical I can be one minute, how focused and fierce I can be the next. This is a theme-less space that is often left to grow over with weeds. I’m only today remembering that I should have started a 30 stories in 30 days challenge on the first. Maybe I’ll jump in with that tomorrow. We’ll see. I hope you’ll keep reading. It won’t be praise- or comment-worthy every time, but I’d love to have you jump in and start conversation when you’re moved to do so. Welcome to my tiny little corner of the internet!