This morning, conversing with my husband, I realised my birthday is this coming Saturday, and I will officially be embarking on the last year of my thirties. Curious.
What I find to be curious is the movement of time and how, at the moment, I don't feel like a girl in her late thirties, but, the reality of it is, I am. Things are different, but I don't always feel different, or more like my state of being seems constant throughout the years until I am reminded otherwise.
For example, when I was at the swimming pool with my boys yesterday there were these two young teenage girls in their skimpy, two-piece bathing suits, and, by the way they were walking and sitting and leaning against the side of the pool, I could tell they were more interested in showing off their bodies then actually getting in the pool to swim, which I don't think they ever did anyway. I remember doing that, flaunting what I had to get attention and trying to hide the fact that's what I was doing. And now, I'm more interested in swimming then getting the life guard to goggle at my ass.
Another example, chatting with my boys and telling them stories of "When I was a kid..." When I was a kid there were no cell phones or computers or answering machines (remember the old ones that sat on a side table, and you had to use mini tape cassettes) or internet or cartoons on any day except Saturday or 24-hour television or satellite radio or CDs or DVDs or Blueray or Xbox or Play Station or iPads or texting or any other thing that has made life quicker than it used to be.
I remember riding my bicycle a lot and playing in the dirt and reading books and collecting cassette tapes to play in my boombox and waiting all week for Sunday night to watch the Disney movie of the week and saving up to go the movie because that was the only place to see it, unless I wanted to wait for the hoped-for-day when it would be edited for television.
My boys give me wide eyes and open mouths, like I speak of a world that is inconceivable to imagine, and I see that and remember when I did the same to my parents and aunts and uncles and grandma, well, grandma just came from a time so long ago I couldn't even comprehend how she survived it. It feels odd, them doing it to me, and, yet, there I am, a woman who's in her late thirties with a suitcase full of things that are outdated and most likely collecting more.
When writing the word outdated I thought of attaching the word unusable, but I know that's not true. The things I used to do may be outdated and some of them are not ones I would care to repeat again and don't feel the need to, but some of them are still usable and beneficial to me.
Take cell phones. I have one for emergencies, and I don't use it. I don't answer it unless it's a planned thing, like I'm traveling or I've told my husband I will have it turned on for a particular reason. I used to have the best cell phone and would have had it seared to my hip if it had been feasible and not painful. I thought I needed it, couldn't live without it and there were a lot of "what if" scenarios attached to it. I've found I'm less stressed by utilizing one only rarely, if that. Living like there aren't cell phones is beneficial to me.
Books. I love to read, to get lost in another's world, using my imagination coupled with their words to get there. I remember before my husband and kids, the one possession I had were my books. I'd pack them in blue milk crates that way I had a bookcase in the making, and the moment I stacked the crates up with my books gleaming forth I felt comforted, like the dinky little bedroom could be home to me, if only temporarily.
My boys are more interested in playing with their iPad or getting on the Xbox then reading books, so, of course, it's a constant topic of discussion or argument on their part to convince me that technology is better for them than books. Another thing about books is the feeling of having one in my hand, the smell, the texture, the sound of flipping paper, the tangible essence of creativity, and the benefit of not bothering my eyes or mind with a computer screen's light, even if it's dimmed.
I know there was the benefit of not having everything at my fingertips, of not being able to get a hold of everyone at any moment of the day, of having built in pauses in my day because there was no other way around it except to wait. And now things are fast and demanding, and I have found there is an underlying expectation from people of having to be available because it's possible, and, of course, everyone's doing it.
People look at me odd when I tell them my number is a landline and not a cell phone, and if they want me to call them back, they need to leave a message. I'm not big on checking to see who called me and then feeling obligated to call them even though they didn't tell me they wanted me to call them, plus my caller id light doesn't work.
All in all, regardless of what's different, I'm still here, participating and experiencing my life and the inevitable change that comes with it. I get to pick and choose what fulfills me, and I choose to try and live a little simpler, less consumed with the latest gadgets and whether the life guard's eyes are locked on my ass. Though I do have to say, I did have a moment where I wanted the body I had when I was 20, things stayed where they were meant to.
I am embarking on the last year of my thirties this coming Saturday, and I choose, today, to enter it with gratitude for having more time on this earth to hang with my boys and go swimming and walk my dog, Stella, and laugh with friends and ride motorcycles and hike amazing mountains and so much more. My life takes the hue of my perception, and mine is bright with color and joy, today.
What I find to be curious is the movement of time and how, at the moment, I don't feel like a girl in her late thirties, but, the reality of it is, I am. Things are different, but I don't always feel different, or more like my state of being seems constant throughout the years until I am reminded otherwise.
For example, when I was at the swimming pool with my boys yesterday there were these two young teenage girls in their skimpy, two-piece bathing suits, and, by the way they were walking and sitting and leaning against the side of the pool, I could tell they were more interested in showing off their bodies then actually getting in the pool to swim, which I don't think they ever did anyway. I remember doing that, flaunting what I had to get attention and trying to hide the fact that's what I was doing. And now, I'm more interested in swimming then getting the life guard to goggle at my ass.
Another example, chatting with my boys and telling them stories of "When I was a kid..." When I was a kid there were no cell phones or computers or answering machines (remember the old ones that sat on a side table, and you had to use mini tape cassettes) or internet or cartoons on any day except Saturday or 24-hour television or satellite radio or CDs or DVDs or Blueray or Xbox or Play Station or iPads or texting or any other thing that has made life quicker than it used to be.
I remember riding my bicycle a lot and playing in the dirt and reading books and collecting cassette tapes to play in my boombox and waiting all week for Sunday night to watch the Disney movie of the week and saving up to go the movie because that was the only place to see it, unless I wanted to wait for the hoped-for-day when it would be edited for television.
My boys give me wide eyes and open mouths, like I speak of a world that is inconceivable to imagine, and I see that and remember when I did the same to my parents and aunts and uncles and grandma, well, grandma just came from a time so long ago I couldn't even comprehend how she survived it. It feels odd, them doing it to me, and, yet, there I am, a woman who's in her late thirties with a suitcase full of things that are outdated and most likely collecting more.
When writing the word outdated I thought of attaching the word unusable, but I know that's not true. The things I used to do may be outdated and some of them are not ones I would care to repeat again and don't feel the need to, but some of them are still usable and beneficial to me.
Take cell phones. I have one for emergencies, and I don't use it. I don't answer it unless it's a planned thing, like I'm traveling or I've told my husband I will have it turned on for a particular reason. I used to have the best cell phone and would have had it seared to my hip if it had been feasible and not painful. I thought I needed it, couldn't live without it and there were a lot of "what if" scenarios attached to it. I've found I'm less stressed by utilizing one only rarely, if that. Living like there aren't cell phones is beneficial to me.
Books. I love to read, to get lost in another's world, using my imagination coupled with their words to get there. I remember before my husband and kids, the one possession I had were my books. I'd pack them in blue milk crates that way I had a bookcase in the making, and the moment I stacked the crates up with my books gleaming forth I felt comforted, like the dinky little bedroom could be home to me, if only temporarily.
My boys are more interested in playing with their iPad or getting on the Xbox then reading books, so, of course, it's a constant topic of discussion or argument on their part to convince me that technology is better for them than books. Another thing about books is the feeling of having one in my hand, the smell, the texture, the sound of flipping paper, the tangible essence of creativity, and the benefit of not bothering my eyes or mind with a computer screen's light, even if it's dimmed.
I know there was the benefit of not having everything at my fingertips, of not being able to get a hold of everyone at any moment of the day, of having built in pauses in my day because there was no other way around it except to wait. And now things are fast and demanding, and I have found there is an underlying expectation from people of having to be available because it's possible, and, of course, everyone's doing it.
People look at me odd when I tell them my number is a landline and not a cell phone, and if they want me to call them back, they need to leave a message. I'm not big on checking to see who called me and then feeling obligated to call them even though they didn't tell me they wanted me to call them, plus my caller id light doesn't work.
All in all, regardless of what's different, I'm still here, participating and experiencing my life and the inevitable change that comes with it. I get to pick and choose what fulfills me, and I choose to try and live a little simpler, less consumed with the latest gadgets and whether the life guard's eyes are locked on my ass. Though I do have to say, I did have a moment where I wanted the body I had when I was 20, things stayed where they were meant to.
I am embarking on the last year of my thirties this coming Saturday, and I choose, today, to enter it with gratitude for having more time on this earth to hang with my boys and go swimming and walk my dog, Stella, and laugh with friends and ride motorcycles and hike amazing mountains and so much more. My life takes the hue of my perception, and mine is bright with color and joy, today.
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