I will be 40 years old in 6 months.
I still remember my mother's 40th birthday party. Well, the small portion that us girls were allowed to stay for before they sent us off with our aunt. Although, not before a very short man, with a Magnum PI mustache came out in a blue thong. Ah the memories.
What makes 40 such a milestone?
My life has been anything but usual. I remember my milestones by memories. I have life changing events that help to divide up the decades. Divorced at 23, I found strength. September 11, at 25, I became patriotic. Beetle dog at 28 made me the closest thing to a mother I may ever get. My first prescription for anti-depressants also at 28, because I just couldn't snap out of it. Ran a marathon at 30 which gave me confidence to tackle all sorts of things. Bought a house and got married again at 32, after I had experienced my first major depressive episode- and this was the first time I had my own family. At 34, I lived through my first bout of suicidal thoughts and divorced just months later- this had made me cynical. My nephew was born while I was closing in on 35 and this is when I began my soul searching about my own options of being a mother. If it was to be, it would be. 2012- at 36- I moved back to Indiana, I felt like a failure because debilitating depression had struck again. 2013 brought 37 and my niece that has brought my heart down to rest on her and her brother's souls- I became a protector. At 38- I had effectively drank my way through a few years of numbness, straight into the grips of suicide again- I could not have gotten any lower. At 38, on the floor of my walk-in closet, I cursed at God. 3 hours later- He had saved me. Dengue Fever got a hold of me, after I had let go of some of the demons I had been carrying around. I gave a piece of my heart to Beetle as she made her way over the rainbow bridge and on my 39th birthday, I was born again. 39 has been hard. I've lost a few people very close to me and I'm unable to say if they will ever return. I've gained a brother, he's a Syrian refugee, and 2 children (I sponsor them- Rejan from Bali and Christine from Africa).
It isn't about the car I leased, the degree I finished, or the death of a beloved celebrity. In every instance, it was about how I grew or crumbled in the wake of great emotion. Who I am at this moment is no less than all of my experiences leaving their prints on my soul. Experiences that we have shared together, and tomorrow, I will be different still. Age is a number marked only by the flipping of calendar pages, and emotion is the sculptor of our souls.
I still remember my mother's 40th birthday party. Well, the small portion that us girls were allowed to stay for before they sent us off with our aunt. Although, not before a very short man, with a Magnum PI mustache came out in a blue thong. Ah the memories.
What makes 40 such a milestone?
My life has been anything but usual. I remember my milestones by memories. I have life changing events that help to divide up the decades. Divorced at 23, I found strength. September 11, at 25, I became patriotic. Beetle dog at 28 made me the closest thing to a mother I may ever get. My first prescription for anti-depressants also at 28, because I just couldn't snap out of it. Ran a marathon at 30 which gave me confidence to tackle all sorts of things. Bought a house and got married again at 32, after I had experienced my first major depressive episode- and this was the first time I had my own family. At 34, I lived through my first bout of suicidal thoughts and divorced just months later- this had made me cynical. My nephew was born while I was closing in on 35 and this is when I began my soul searching about my own options of being a mother. If it was to be, it would be. 2012- at 36- I moved back to Indiana, I felt like a failure because debilitating depression had struck again. 2013 brought 37 and my niece that has brought my heart down to rest on her and her brother's souls- I became a protector. At 38- I had effectively drank my way through a few years of numbness, straight into the grips of suicide again- I could not have gotten any lower. At 38, on the floor of my walk-in closet, I cursed at God. 3 hours later- He had saved me. Dengue Fever got a hold of me, after I had let go of some of the demons I had been carrying around. I gave a piece of my heart to Beetle as she made her way over the rainbow bridge and on my 39th birthday, I was born again. 39 has been hard. I've lost a few people very close to me and I'm unable to say if they will ever return. I've gained a brother, he's a Syrian refugee, and 2 children (I sponsor them- Rejan from Bali and Christine from Africa).
It isn't about the car I leased, the degree I finished, or the death of a beloved celebrity. In every instance, it was about how I grew or crumbled in the wake of great emotion. Who I am at this moment is no less than all of my experiences leaving their prints on my soul. Experiences that we have shared together, and tomorrow, I will be different still. Age is a number marked only by the flipping of calendar pages, and emotion is the sculptor of our souls.
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