I want to quit my job, move to Aruba, and never wear shoes or real clothes again. Midlife crisis? Probably. I’m turning 49 in two months. My periods are getting irregular and so are my moods - hello menopause. A midlife crisis would be right on schedule. I’ve been resisting falling into this. I wanted to be someone who just glided gracefully through this stage of life without a bump like a gorgeously lit and cropped filtered photo, glide into being a silver-haired gorgeous knowing glowing wise woman but you know what? Let’s just get real about it. Show the uncropped unfiltered mess.
I am tired of holding space, being present, actively listening to others stories so much that I can’t remember what my own is anymore. Or if I ever actually had one in the first place. I did, I think. It’s still there somewhere. I hope.
First as an eldest daughter and sister, empath, then as wife, mother, customer service worker transformed into crisis counselor and social worker, (“a noble calling,” my husband says and he truly means it as a compliment) now as stepmom too - so much of my life has been spent being there for other people. Hearing them out, providing clarity and encouragement, helping them find their own voices, supporting them as they struggle and tantrum and scream into the void and stretch and morph and finally sprout butterfly wings and fly away. Holding them as they heal and grow and move on. Being left empty handed over and over and over. Being the vessel, the channel, the way finder, the way through.
48, almost 49 years of this. It’s fucking exhausting.
Which is why going barefoot and half naked on a tropical beach sounds so wonderful. Stepping away from it all and letting someone else handle it. Filling the emptiness with the salt smell of the sea and the soothing sound of wave and after wave after wave rolling in. Crashing in. Wading in to the waves. Letting mama ocean hold me. Support me. Soaking the sun in, down to my bones. Warming my marrow.
Remembering my own story buried deep in there somewhere, digging it out from the dark and holding it up in the light of a bright afternoon. Remembering it’s beautiful too. Remembering who I really down am at the core, yes, connected to others always, but still just me. My own heart drumming its own rhythm, my own breath keeping its own time.
This is my story today. I am in love with this orange and this golden green, with the way they ripple in this wave pattern into each other, flowing together but each keeping their own time.