My Mission

I have decided to take you on a ride. As I spend the last year of my 30s, I will take you with me. That’s right. This year, I am 39. 3---9. Hard for me to say it without choking up. I hate admitting it, and I’d rather not think about it. But hey, isn’t it the new 29? Yeah right.

Mortified and in deep denial, I realized the best way for me to deal with this crisis is to face it head on. That if I were to grow older gracefully like many of the classy ladies I so admire (Lauren Hutton, Diane Lane, Diane Keaton), I better accept it. And I better hustle.

So I want to relish my 39th year by celebrating it as best as I could every day. I want to make each day purpose-driven. Of course deep down I will be horrified, fearful and depressed from time to time, but I really do want my 39th year to matter. Really matter. I am not discounting that I did manage to improve the last 2 decades. But somehow there was no urgency. I guess the saying, "Youth is wasted on the young" finally makes sense to me. I always thought I'd be that cool older lady...the one that doesn't sweat her age. But now that the big 4-0 is around the corner, I do feel some dampness on my forehead. WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING THE PAST 39 years?!!

Major or minor changes, they are all stuff that I’ve been carrying around with me for a long time. I just don't want that weight on me anymore. Because it's not about growing up and becoming oh so mature for me. What it is, is "me" growing better.

So at least every week, I will candidly share with you my adventures in attempting to become a better version of me. And as my birthday is November 5, I only have 9 months and 4 days left. By the time I am blowing 40 candles, I sure hope that aside from the fire extinguisher, I carry with me that confidence that I am yet to reach my prime.

Wish me luck.

Showing posts with label not being ready. Show all posts
Showing posts with label not being ready. Show all posts

Saturday, February 6, 2010

A Certain Clearing

(8 months and 29 days)
I just found out that my neighbor died. She lived above me. And although in my 2 years in this building, I’ve only seen her come and go and never even seen her face. Hearing that shook me. I knew she was young (possibly my age or even younger) and looked healthy and vibrant. Details of it are unknown, although the handyman said it was during that stormy week a week or so ago. We are guessing it was an accident. All I know is that last weekend shuffling can be heard above me like they were moving stuff and emptying her place. I am still in shock. I wish I had said hello to her even once. Or at least made a stronger effort. I wish I had walked around with an openness about me that invited her conversation.

We just never know do we? We think we have all this time to waste on silly, unimportant-to-the-grand-scheme-of-things preoccupations, and then poof! Mad random thoughts came to my mind: What if time was up?

Am I to leave my family clearing my artful, yet dusty apartment?

Am I to be caught with bad underpants, and a savings that’s hardly there?

Will my friends have to wash my dishes from my messy sink, and rummage through an even messier filing system?

Will people “get” who I am by looking at my stuff? Will they accept me or be mortified?

I don’t want to live in fear of dying only because I am not the neatest person in the world. Or because I don't want to leave a less than perfect life to my loved ones. But I do know that I want to leave a legacy beyond the mess that I have. Whatever that legacy might be.

For now perhaps, I should start by tossing away my holey underwear and socks.

(Farewell, dear neighbor. I am sorry for not having been a better neighbor to you. I pray for your soul's peace. And for your family's comfort.)
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