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I took a couple of days off from Morning Pages, but it was my birthday and I decided that was okay. Yesterday, to be exact. Another year has ticked by, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I think perhaps because my birthday falls so close to New Year's I am prone to extra degrees of introspection and self-scrutiny, analyzing my successes and failures and judging them rather harshly.
I started but didn't finish a novel. I wrote a lot, but not as much as I feel I should have. I considered and rejected the idea of attending seminary. I wrote several poems I quite like, but again, not as many as I wish I had. I wasted time. I didn't exercise enough and gained weight. I worked on two theatre productions, and remembered both why I'd majored in theatre, and why I'd gotten out of stage management. I joyfully deepened some friendships quite substantially, and watched with regret as others withered. I sang at a dear friend's funeral, and still don't want to believe he's gone. I reconnected with friends I'd not spoken to in years, thanks to Facebook, which I finally learned to stop hating (though I continue to hate Twitter with a purple passion.) I saw several rats through to the ends of their years, and welcomed several more into my life. I faced my mother's cancer. I stood up for myself to my father. I met my ex's girlfriend and all I could feel was mild regret.
I changed the way I dress, the way I think about myself. I'm still changing that.
I don't really know what more to say about it all. Not sure if I have words, yet, to name the changes.
I had an interesting moment, though, driving home from celebrating my birthday last night. I looked at the registration sticker on the license plate of the car ahead of me at a stoplight. 2010. I looked at it and I thought about my childhood goal of living to be at least 109. How I've never let go of that goal, never re-evaluated it. I've been through bouts of suicidal depression and considered aborting the plan altogether, but those were paroxysms, they didn't last. I've always come back to that goal. But last night, driving, thinking about that distant year when I'll be 109, I thought - I'm not sure I really want to live that long."
I was shocked, because where did that thought come from? It wasn't a depressed thought, but a realistic one. One that accepted, for the first time, the notion that I won't and can't live forever. It was tied up with an understanding that it would be unlikely I'd still have all the people I care about with me. I think it was the idea I suddenly had, of being elderly, frail, and alone, that spurred my thought. Maybe it's better, some little voice whispered, to accept that there is a cycle, and you are part of that cycle.
In the light of day, I'm back to my original goal. I want to live to 109. I want to live beyond it. I want to live forever, and I want all my friends to live forever with me. I want the fantasy of healthy, functioning bodies and minds that don't succumb to entropy and aging. So...
Happy birthday to me. I can't wait to see the joys the coming year brings.
I started but didn't finish a novel. I wrote a lot, but not as much as I feel I should have. I considered and rejected the idea of attending seminary. I wrote several poems I quite like, but again, not as many as I wish I had. I wasted time. I didn't exercise enough and gained weight. I worked on two theatre productions, and remembered both why I'd majored in theatre, and why I'd gotten out of stage management. I joyfully deepened some friendships quite substantially, and watched with regret as others withered. I sang at a dear friend's funeral, and still don't want to believe he's gone. I reconnected with friends I'd not spoken to in years, thanks to Facebook, which I finally learned to stop hating (though I continue to hate Twitter with a purple passion.) I saw several rats through to the ends of their years, and welcomed several more into my life. I faced my mother's cancer. I stood up for myself to my father. I met my ex's girlfriend and all I could feel was mild regret.
I changed the way I dress, the way I think about myself. I'm still changing that.
I don't really know what more to say about it all. Not sure if I have words, yet, to name the changes.
I had an interesting moment, though, driving home from celebrating my birthday last night. I looked at the registration sticker on the license plate of the car ahead of me at a stoplight. 2010. I looked at it and I thought about my childhood goal of living to be at least 109. How I've never let go of that goal, never re-evaluated it. I've been through bouts of suicidal depression and considered aborting the plan altogether, but those were paroxysms, they didn't last. I've always come back to that goal. But last night, driving, thinking about that distant year when I'll be 109, I thought - I'm not sure I really want to live that long."
I was shocked, because where did that thought come from? It wasn't a depressed thought, but a realistic one. One that accepted, for the first time, the notion that I won't and can't live forever. It was tied up with an understanding that it would be unlikely I'd still have all the people I care about with me. I think it was the idea I suddenly had, of being elderly, frail, and alone, that spurred my thought. Maybe it's better, some little voice whispered, to accept that there is a cycle, and you are part of that cycle.
In the light of day, I'm back to my original goal. I want to live to 109. I want to live beyond it. I want to live forever, and I want all my friends to live forever with me. I want the fantasy of healthy, functioning bodies and minds that don't succumb to entropy and aging. So...
Happy birthday to me. I can't wait to see the joys the coming year brings.
