I turn forty tomorrow.
I can remember being 9 or 10, sitting on the counter in my bathroom with the mirrored door to the medicine cabinet angled to face the large mirror above the sink. I could stick my face between the two mirrors for a view of me x infinity.
It was there that I first pondered existential questions that led to wondering what I would look like as an adult and who I would become.
Some of my musings weren't far off the mark. I look like my mom (when she wore her hair long). I've worked in the arts and with children for all of my adult life. I did not become a singing missionary, a veterinarian, or the best tap-dancer in all of the Southwest United States.
I had great expectations, as I imagine most young people do. At some point, I was sure I'd be married with children in a nice home close to family and friends with neighbors that went to the same church and had block parties on holidays.
My story is one that has been retold at political rallies, key note addresses, motivational workshops, you name it. But my story is ever-evolving, and parts of it so far removed that it feels as if they belong to someone else.
I was a gold-star kid, academically and socially adept, poised for success. Scholarships to Universities, job offers with major players in my desired profession, opportunities galore. I felt invincible.
With only 3 months left until my High School graduation, I got pregnant. I was dating a boy I'd met while working over the summer with high-risk elementary school kids. I liked him a lot. He was good-looking, fastidious, goal-oriented - strong in the areas I felt weak. We were reckless and careless and had too much time on our hands. Both of our sets of parents were going through divorces at the time and we were left without much supervision. It was a volatile combination.
I was kicked out of the house and my relationship with my parents became truly adversarial. I lost my family, my church family, my scholarship offers and my job prospects in one fell swoop. I gave into the social and religious pressure to get married, and we bought a house and had a second child by the time we were 20.
At 21, we separated. At 22, we divorced. I persevered in my chosen profession and started taking classes again. At 24, I remarried a very sweet man who tried his best to be my partner in every way. It wasn't him - it really was me. We separated when I was 26. I rediscovered my passion for the arts and revisited pursuing a degree. At 27, I fell in love with my leading man in a community theatre play. (I know, it's so cliche. Sorry.) For 13 years, we were a bi-polar, on-again-off-again roller coaster. My focus was primarily on creating a life that was exciting and "fun", my kids grew up, I moved away when they started college, my son moved in with me a year and a half later, and the boyfriend dumped me (for good) last August.
Throughout my life, I've determined my value and worth based on my relationships. Some studies will say that this is because I'm inherently female. Some experts will say I'm co-dependent. My horoscope says I'm a typical Pisces. Whatever the root cause, I understand and accept that part of me. It helps to define who I am, but it does not encompass my fully-realized purpose.
And so it is that I'm here, starting a new blog as part of my rediscovery. Starting a new chapter in my story. I'm redefining relationships and rebuilding ones I've neglected (including my relationship with myself), and not allowing fear of failure to stop me from trying something new.
I also started gardening. So there's that.
Farewell, 39. You were one hell of a year. I'm not sad to see you go.
Hello, 40! I hope you'll be as good to me as I intend to be to you.
Don't let me down.
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