It has been FORever guys!!! Man I have been working hard on my goal for July: no screens after 10, and in bed before 11. Sleep eight hours. No snacking after supper. No TV after supper unless we are having a designated movie night. It’s been not bad. This past week got away on me with VBS, working in the afternoons while parenting and hanging out with friends and family. I did not always achieve my goal of no screens. It seems the more exhausted I am, the more prone I am to watch mindless screen stuff than sleep. And the more screen time I have the more I want to eat. I’ve been reading a lot more which helps me recharge and sleep better. I finished reading a book I’ve had around for three years and never picked up: To Kill a Mockingbird. It was so beautiful. Now I’m reading Scaachi Koul “One Day We’ll All Be Dead And None Of This Will Matter”. Fantastic book!
I have missed reading. It’s so freeing and enriching. There’s nothing like a good book and a mug of tea to make you feel safe, warm, and better about most things.
Another thing that July has brought to my goals is one night a week just for the Hub’s and I. I tend to over plan our life, or at least mine, and don’t always leave room for my partner who has the love language of “quality time”. Hubs did something remarkable about this the last week of June: he said something. He texted something, rather, but same difference. I had gone out for another walk with friends at night (trying to stick to my plan of walking every day, that lasted three days) and left my Hubs at home with very little warning. Now in the past if one of us had overlooked a need of the other we would just stew in it for months and then spew anger all over. Well, therapy is paying off! He expressed his need for time for us to be together, to me, nicely, on my phone, with a plan! I was not very courteous in my initial replies, as I was walking and feeling completely thrown off by this honest, raw, intimate communication. I may have come across as piqued in my response. I called so I could actually talk, and we worked it out. Now we try to spend one night a week with only each other. It’s nice to connect in a sea of busy. I am proud of us.
I decided to write today, mainly because it is my thirty-first birthday. I am now 31. A real adult. Really really. I went to our town’s Summerfest last night and tonight (also known simply as “Beer Tent”) and felt extremely old as I surveyed the, foreign to me, population of youthful faces. For the first time I really began to understand that my time of being young and attractive, agile and adorable, has passed, forever. I am now “experienced”. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still attractive, just not in that way a 25 year old with Bright eyes and soft hands is. I’m really in that stage of life where I treasure my book, my bed, red wine and real friendship. This is my time to set. Like a good paint job, or glue, or pudding. All of the stirring, and pouring, and applying is done, now I need to set. My body agrees. It’s ready to set, or at least to settle into the gravitational pull.
I notice the lines in my neck don’t disappear when I stretch anymore, the skin on my face has found it’s favourite craters and mounds to sit into, and over. My breasts are feeling more soft and settled, my feet find the earth more eagerly than they have ever done. My earlobes, eyelashes, fingers, scalp, belly and smile all seem more my own than before.
I think in my twenties I still viewed my body as being mine, but less so. It was an ornament, a canvas, a work to be admired or praised by others. It was not there for me as much as I find it to be now. It was still confusing and foreign. A thing to be admired, or criticized, for it’s attributes, or lack of them. Now I feel my body and I coming together. My yoga teacher does this thing where she asks us to thank our bodies. I had never thought to do that before yoga. I find the concept very beneficial and helpful to me. I remember my body helps me, it is my vessel, my simbiode. My body is mine, for me. It was for my children, it is a gift I open to my husband, but it is now embraced daily as my own gift from God. A place to call home.
Entering my thirty-second year, I could announce my “older” age, excuse myself from life and check out, or I could embrace this part of my journey and learn from my body. I am allowing myself to mourn my twenties still. It seems odd. I mean thirty-one is NOT old. I’m still in my first half of life. I’m still young, just not in a sexy, popular way. In my thirties I feel I’m supposed to have stuff figured out. Buy a house, own rrsps, have a plan. Nope. But I do have kids, a career, Hubs, and passion. Maybe I’m younger than I think!
Well, I’m pushing myself past my new “responsible person bedtime” and am nodding off. I leave you with this thought: you are never too young too feel old, but you can be too old to still believe it.