So, this is 53.
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| Birthday SUP - first time out on the paddleboards this year |
I don’t believe in New
Year’s Resolutions – but if I DID believe in making promises to yourself that
you wanted to keep for a whole year – I would do them on my BIRTHDAY instead of
New Year’s. A birthday is something
personal. It is YOUR day. It is a clean slate. A new beginning. Starting fresh.
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| It's nearly impossible to use a camera timer and get two people in one SUPing photo... That didn't stop up from trying! |
But instead of resolutions
about what I will do going forward, I think it would be wise to take a look
backward and see what 52 (and the years before that) may have taught me.
I have been open and
honest – 2018 SUCKED. It was a very hard
year for my entire family. It started
with David breaking his collar bone, which turned out to be the very least of
our worries and poor David in his arm sling was tossed to the bottom of the care
taking priority pile rather quickly once my sister got diagnosed with brain
cancer. Then came Dad’s heart issues,
heart attack, surgery, and death.
So yeah, age 52 sorta bit
the big one.
But 52 did teach me
some things, and reinforced beliefs I had held previously but not really expressed
to others (or myself perhaps).
At 52, I was an open
book. I have always worn my heart on my
sleeve (oh my, two idioms in one paragraph, I am sorry). But at 52, I realized more than ever that it
was ok to SHARE my story. Whatever was
happening in my life, good or bad, if I was able to write about it, photograph
it, SHARE IT, the burden seemed to not only be on me, but many friends stepped
in to help to lift it. If I communicated
(usually through writing) openly and honestly, people didn’t judge (as a
younger me may have feared). Instead,
they shared that they, too, had thought, felt, experienced, worried about the
same things. Suddenly, I was not
alone. And by sharing my voice I think
I helped others realize that they were not alone, either. Being able to write and post openly and
honestly helped me make it though a difficult year (and saved me thousands in
therapy bills – thank you for reading and being so supportive!).
At 52, I was better at
advocating for myself. Instead of
keeping quiet and letting situations, people, experiences upset me and bring me
down, I was better able to speak up. I still
fear and avoid conflict, but when it comes up now, I am better at taking a
breath and speaking my mind. (Case in
point is the cemetery worker who got an earful (or 2…) from me last week when
he treated me very disrespectfully. A younger
me would have kept quiet and accepted his rudeness, but (sadly for him…) 52
year old me let ‘er rip.)
At 52, I realized that my
house will never be organized or clean. My
house is a reflection of me – messy, full of unfinished ideas and projects, and
well lived in. You won’t find a lot of “fluff”
– no decorative throw pillows and the like.
But you will find piles of papers, half painted paintings, and suitcases
waiting to be unpacked. If that’s not to
your liking, my house is probably not the best place for you to visit. Let’s meet at the coffee shop instead!
And at 52, I was reminded
that life is short. That we should take
every opportunity to hug a friend or loved one.
To call a parent just to chat. To
eat a big ol’ piece of pie. Because tomorrow
is not guaranteed, and if you do not celebrate today, that is 24 hours
that will not come again.
At 53 you will see me
celebrate. You will see me cry. And you will see me love. I am both excited and nervous for what this
year has to bring – but I say – BRING IT ON.
Let’s do this.
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| LET'S DO IT! |
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| Birthday selfie with my love |
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