In the Name of All Things Cliché…

I am 35 years old, eleven days in fact into my thirty-sixth year, which makes me officially, literally closer to 40 than to 30. Closer to 50 than to 20. But, in just the past eleven days, I have accomplished a lot.

• I filled out a form and for the first time, I checked the little box that says 35 to 44 years. I even changed my blogger profile to include my updated age:

  “I am a thirty-FIVE year old mother of two...”



• I witnessed a sudden and tragic loss of life.


• I woke up this morning.

Indeed, I woke up this morning, an adult. Here I am in all my glory. So now that I'm here at thirty-five, and there’s nothing I can do to get out of it, if you know me, you know I’ve got to make me some lemonade. I've been squeezing lemons in this funk of mine for the past nearly eight weeks now. I’ve whined about what I haven't done. And now after being slapped in the face with how quickly it can all disappear, I guess (in the name of all things cliché) I’m ready to look at what I've got going for me.

• I have created two children. They're beautiful, healthy, happy. At the end of every day, they're not bleeding, and they (almost always) are not crying. They go to sleep happy, with full bellies, clean bodies, and overactive imaginations.


• I have incredibly loving and healthy relationships with more people than any one person should lay claim to. My father and my twin sister in particular are pretty freaking cool. We work hard to appreciate each other. We talk nearly daily and know what goes on in our daily lives without imposing on each other's privacy or expecting too much. We love each other and we say it out loud. I’m not saying we’re not dysfunctional at times. Who’s not dysfunctional? But all in all, it’s beyond good fortune.


• I am confident enough to call myself creative and I pursue my muse. I don’t necessarily do anything exceptionally well, but I can say with poise that I create. I can sew, I can cook, I can use my imagination, I have a strong appreciation and affinity for music, and I can write. That feels good.


• My friends are incredible. Incredible. I sometimes worry that I will be outed as someone who’s just been passing. Why did they ever give me the secret handshake? They are intelligent, creative, compassionate, interesting. They are good in the truest sense of the word. If you are reading this, chances are you are one of them. I count myself lucky that you are reading.

Eleven years ago when I was depressed after my grandfather died, all it took was a stranger telling me to smile for me to snap out of it. Today my wake-up call is a much more somber one. But I’m paying attention. You pay attention too.

Carpe diem.