Tomorrow I will have the great displeasure of saying that I have been on this planet for three entire decades. I feel as though I am now having a quarter life crisis or something! If I live to be one hundred, that means that a whole quarter of my life is gone. What a scary thought! And, even though there have been a number of strong and resilient women in my family who have lived well into their eighties, nineties and hundreds, there have also been a great deal of them who have lived only a fraction of that. My great grandmother died at an amazing 103, but my dear mother was only 38, and I have an aunt who passed in her early forties. This means I could have already lived the majority of my life, or I have 70 some odd years to go. I'm voting for the latter, but honestly, you never know!
I'm not meaning to be morbid or depressing, just merely expressing a sad reality. We don't know how long we have on this earth. One thing I have taken from my family history is that whether I live until tomorrow, or until I'm too old to function, I have to live every single day like it counts for something. I can so easily get caught up in the things around me that I find depressing or frustrating (I actually started to write a post the other night about how sad my professional life - or lack thereof - makes me, but stopped), but is it really worth it? I mean, if I have the unfortunate circumstance to pass away early, shouldn't I have lived every single day? Should my kids remember me as the sad mommy whose life dreams were dashed, or the mom who did everything in her power to be there for them, love them and give them happiness? What is more important? I don't know about you, but when I take a step back and really think about my life, instead of seeing the things I wish I had, or the things I get impatient waiting for, or the things I have lost, I think of all the wonderful things I have today, at this moment.
Taking stock of my life right now, here is what I have achieved in thirty years of existence. I have overcome amazing obstacles and odds as a child and teenager to be a happy, whole woman with strength, faith and intelligence. I have put myself through five years of university, with no one's help. I have married the most amazing man I could ever meet, and he has given me two beautiful, miraculous, amazing children. I have taught and inspired teens who were unsure, low in self esteem, or merely didn't recognize their abilities. I have mentored young women, and young writers. I have survived the difficult first years of my teaching career, and I now run a successful day home where kids are happy and thriving. Do I have bad days and difficult moments? Yes, I do. Do I get down and find myself becoming hopeless sometimes? Absolutely. Do I struggle? Every single day. But when I think about three decades of life, I feel as though I have truly lived, and that's what I intend to keep on doing.
I am anxious about turning thirty. I am scared of aging. I look in the mirror and every day I find more wrinkles, gray hairs and signs of my body beginning to decline. I hate it! I despise the fact that I will not be young forever, and though it may seem superficial, it is rooted in the fact that I don't want to miss a single moment of life, and I know all too well how short it will be.
Another reason I approach my birthday tomorrow with trepidation is that it is also my mom's birthday. She would be fifty four years young - and she's been gone for sixteen years already. That's more than half of my life, and I think on the fact that the past sixteen years has held the most important and joyous things in my life thus far. So, tomorrow is a bittersweet day for me, as always. I approach a new decade with no small amount of anxiety, but much hope. I mourn the loss of a beautiful and vibrant woman who should be celebrating her glorious fifties. Most of all though, I am so happy about what I have come from, where I have gone, the lives I have touched and the possibilities for the future. Talk about a mixed bag!
Happy birthday to me.
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