Around the sun
This week I celebrate another turn around the sun. The magnitude of that blessing is not lost on me. It’s been 20 years this summer since the lights flickered for me, when my body waged war on an illness that took me all the way down, until we won, and then fought to get all the way back up.
I’m stronger than I look. I’m tougher than I speak. I’m braver than you know. But I know. And when I speak of gratitude, it’s louder than you hear.
That’s the quiet power within that anchors me through all the twists and turns. But don’t let me fool you. What I know to be true, fundamentally at my core, doesn’t always translate into how I proceed day to day. I think this column is a sincere documentation of that truth. Flawed, freaky and fun, but also anxious, over-thinking and solitary.
Birthdays may not be as big of a deal as I’d like them to be (like the budgets I dream of to celebrate them), but I feel it’s important to reflect on the year that has moved me forward to this place in time.
This July has landed softly for me, which I couldn’t have predicted, but I now understand it is the ultimate birthday gift. A pause. Rest that doesn’t need to be earned, but absolutely has been. Slowing down to map my next steps. Think it through, but don’t over-think it. Trust the timing. Make time for myself. Make time for the people who cherish mine.
And like all those years ago (without the medical drama), I’m being shown that for a little bit of time, I need to lean into the faith that it will all work out. Surely you know I don’t love this idea, because my inner-pessimist can present a detailed timeline of when things didn’t work out.
Fortunately, the survivor of all those times remembers that something unexpectedly better usually happened to heal it, or at the very least, gave me the momentum to put the situation behind me where it belonged. Life isn’t fair, but it’s easier if you accept that.
I’ve spent much of this year feeling lonely, disconnected. Too busy to see close friends, too tired to make new ones, and feeling foreign in the midst of the ones who’ve been around the longest. Did I change? Did they? My circle gets smaller. And smaller. And smaller. It’s foreign to an extroverted person with an introverted soul. I crave meaningful connection, but I feel disconnected.
I woke up one morning, somewhere in the haze between dream state and consciousness with this thought: what if you just try making friends with yourself? What if you do things you like to do without needing someone to participate?
What if you actually get quiet enough to listen to your own thoughts, to figure out what’s next for you without a committee? What if your only agenda is reconnecting with who you are now? You are the deadline. It’s not selfish. No, self-invested. Huh.
That’s the quiet power of another trip around the sun: understanding that aging is a privilege.
Knowing what I need now and having the courage to give it to myself, even if it means shedding who I’m not anymore. Giving grace to the past and present versions of myself. The next trip around the sun, I’ll have my SPF ready.