[This is me in 1968. I was four.]
That was forty years ago, which makes me 44. 44 years today. Can it really be? So hard to grasp even for me the person who has lived each and every one of these 44 years, some more fully than others. It sneaks up on you so fast. You wait and see.
Time to take stock, I think, at 44 years. Apparently -- and not unlike the inability to stop repeating an untimely or inappropriate word, as with a vocal tic or a giggle at a funeral -- my astonishment at the fact requires that I say that foreign number over and again.
Where do things stand at what is typically referred to as "middle age", the "half-way point?" Where things stand is that those terms do not seem to apply to me. I just can't associate with them at all. Is there a crisis, or a calm, or a little of both? Goodness, the latter I hope, because there's nothing like a bit of urgency to keep things interesting. While my life is no longer full of windsurfing, jumping from airplanes, or partying 'til 2AM, I do still like to have some drama in my life and I've turned [back] to art for that.
[I still see myself this way, but that trip to Paris was 5 years ago.]
You'd think that being forty-something would qualify me to dispense certain advice. And while I do think I've learned A LOT (especially in the last 10 years) I still think of myself more as a learner than adviser. I absorb ideas everywhere I can and remain very hopeful and optimistic. I do believe that life is still full of potential and possibility and I don't want to ever see it any other way as long as I'm fortunate enough to be here, fully engaged in this beautiful life.
So -- while I (like so many others) am edging off the last 6 pounds to my goal weight, and considering that (apparently!?!) I am firmly in my 40s -- overall I can say that one of the most noticeable things I've realized is this: I am not hard on myself anymore. Downright forgiving, in fact. I'm thinking too that maybe this might be the summer to try one of those swimsuits with the little skirty bottoms. Is it just me or have they gotten cuter?
[This is me now. An ordinary evening last week with two of my favorite people.]
Life seems more to be about moments to me now than grand gestures. Taking so many photos over the last year, adding words and stories to them has helped put that focus back where it belongs.
Jotting down little notes has helped me better identify who I am. For example, when I make cheesy scrambled eggs, you know those little crusty brown bits of overcooked cheese that stick to the pan -- the likes of which you'd never be served in a restaurant -- that's my favorite part. Tiny thing ... totally me.
These little notes are part of a new art project I'm working on, that I call Inklings. The title is so fitting for these brief, vague notions with words and images. Something I've been contemplating and developing for a while now. Watch for Inklings in my sidebar very soon.
My friend Joan has the sweetest way of celebrating her birthday each year. She sends flowers to her Mom. After all, the memory of this event belongs to the mothers. They remember the nerves, the uncertainty, the joy of new life. They lived that memory; we benefit only from and through them. Birthdays are the real Mother's days. I'll be doing something for my Mom today. Happy day to Mom. Happy day to me.
