It’s My Birthday

For years, Chuck told me I’d be a mess about my 50th birthday. And I always laughed at him. I’ve never had an issue with a number or a wrinkle, so why would my 50th be any different? Friday, November 13th, I turn 50-years-old and the last few weeks I’ve been wrestling with a lot of emotions. “I told you so,” Chuck joked when he saw me in tears, albeit he knows it’s not about the number. Maybe he was psychic with the timing of it all, though. Today, Friday, November 13th is my birthday. The big 5-0. A half-century.

The last couple months I’ve found letting go gets easier as I age, especially when I find it brings in joy. Some of the things I’ve worked hard at doing was letting go of things that long expired – hurt feelings, resentments, jealousy, guilt, pride, what-ifs, and even the physical junk like old paperwork, clothing, and this and that’s that I just don’t need. I mean, I don’t need 6 saucepans, 10 frying pans, 12 spatulas, or 24 coffee cups. I went through old costume jewelry and socks that didn’t have matches and purged. The one thing I’m having a hard time ditching is this overall feeling that I’ve not accomplished everything I want to. Not wanted to, but still want to. It’s not imposter syndrome which I know a lot of people have. For those that don’t know what that it is it’s a psychological pattern in which an individual doubts their accomplishments or talents and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a “fraud”. Instead, I just feel like I’m overly busy, spinning even, but accomplishing absolutely nothing. I would tell my own kids and clients to write down all they have accomplished to see that it’s lies they are telling themselves. Yup.

I love to paint and draw, but I’m legit not good at it. My mom and my consistent minus in art class often reminded me of that. I love playing team sports – I try, at least. I love to cook and bake but would never ever want to do that for a living or critique. I love to sing. I love to write songs, but I promise I won’t be moving to Nashville any time soon. I love doing sessions for you all. Every time I end my day of sessions, I feel heaven kiss me on the top of the head. But what I really love to do is write.

I write best in angst – when I’m moody and in deep thought, which is a perpetual Scorpion trait (my poor family). What I really want to continue to do is write more books. I want to turn those books into screenplays. I once had a writer friend tell me not to write too much or I’d burn out and stop writing forever. I told her she must not know me. Writing is in my blood, my soul, and on my heart. I write for me. It’s rarely perfect. My sentence structure and grammar could be better refined, yet I write what’s etched in my heart; my fingers outline in morning, noon and night. Have you watched “The Queen’s Gambit”? If not, I highly recommend. I won’t spoil anything, but in the Netflix show, the main character sees the chess matches on the ceiling when she’s in bed. That’s how writing is for me. Instead of chess on the ceiling it’s me pulling out my phone and writing in the pasta aisle of the grocery store. Or pulling over to the shoulder of the road to find a scrap piece of paper and Sharpie, or jumping out of the shower to record a voice memo of some crazy book title. It’s scraps of paper filled with plot ideas, character names, and the stories they tell me. It’s wandering in the cemeteries and cobblestone streets listening to the whispers of the wind.