I'm a self-aware person--as is evident with this blog where I am always way too much in my head and have a tendency to analyze everything to death. So when I say I get into a funk, it's more of a warning to others than an excuse. I'm a thinker. I'm sensitive. Now that I'm in my 40s, that's not going to change and, quite frankly, I don't want it to.
That's another thing that's changed with age: I like what I like and make sure I get what I want.
Along with age comes a sense of I-simply-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-what-you-think mentality that is either going to work for or against me in the coming year. You see, I told someone about this funk I was in by way of explanation of why I didn't want to chat and was told "you're too real for me, too complex."
Um...what? Too real? Want me to dumb it down for you maybe? Want me to fake being enamored with you so your ego feels a bit more inflated? Want me to smile when I'm really not in the mood? Hmm...I thought being authentic was a good thing.
Yes, I am real. (seems like the dumbest thing in the world to write) My life is messy. I am complicated. I'm running a business--yes, being a professional author is a real job with real commitments. I'm a solo parent of two brilliant teenagers. I own an older house that picked 2012 to fall apart so home repair bills are stacking up faster than I can write, which brings me back to that running a business bit. I'm thinking of relocating to make life simpler. My daughter's going to college in 2 years and I'm freaking out about paying for it. (Yet am constantly criticized for promoting my books...strange...why is self-promotion bad for an author but not, for example, a Pampered Chef rep?) I'm in my 40s, not my 20s, and look it whether I want to or not. I don't have time to exercise multiple hours a day--some days it takes all of my extra energy just to do the laundry. That's real. I refuse to jump through hoops to date because I simply don't feel I need to prove myself to anyone, especially some middle-aged man with delusions of grandeur. I am who I am--and am often disheveled. I'm confusing to most people who know me--but those who are close to me seem okay with my unpredictable and forthcoming nature. I'm entertaining. I'm difficult. I'm evolving.
I am not the same person I was a year ago, let alone a decade ago. Thank God. I'm thrilled that I'm flexible enough to change my mind, that I crave studying new things, that I lead a chaotic life that's constantly in flux. I'm happy that I'm not the same me who existed a year ago. I'm better...and I anticipate that next year I'll say the same thing. Like a fine wine, I'll keep improving with age.
Isn't that the beauty of aging? The acceptance of who you are, the ability to embrace your so-called faults as assets? I think so.
My funk has dissipated, as it always does. I've learned to embrace the pre-birthday funk for what it is...a time for me to go inside myself, sit in silence, and connect with my Higher Self. This is my way--it may not be your way or your family's way--don't judge it as right or wrong or good or bad. It's not your place to do so, neither is it mine. We're all different. I'm emotional. I'm sensitive. (I'm a writer AND an Aries, hello!)
|Blurry self-portrait of the now 44 year old me.|
That's how I like it.
Embrace your age, no matter what it may be. If you're in your 20s, live in that moment. If you're in your 60s, relish it. Right now I'm in my 40s and...so far so good. Be complex. Be fascinating. Be irreverent! Above all things...be real.