WYFP is our community's Saturday evening gathering to talk about our problems, empathize with one another, and share advice, pootie and doggie pictures, favorite adult beverages, and anything else that we think might help. Everyone and all sorts of troubles are welcome. May we find peace and healing here. Won't you please share the joy of WYFP by recommending?
This past Wednesday, I turned 50.
That in itself is not a WYFP, especially when considering the alternative. And I haven't yet been offered the "senior menu" at Denny's or found the membership offers from AARP in my mailbox. But it's a significant enough number to cause one to reflect.
Follow me if you will...
Many years ago, Boston Globe columnist (and person I would love to meet) Ellen Goodman wrote a column: "At the Age At Which Mozart Was Dead Already". Unfortunately I was unable to find it online (being from the era of dead tree journalism) or I'd link to it. Dredging my aging memory, the column was about aging, and reflecting on one's life and accomplishments, especially when compared to others.
When Goodman wrote the column, she had just turned 36, I think. Mozart was only 35 when he died in 1791, and packed a lot into that short life. But what the (bleep) have I done, at this age at which Mozart's bones had been mouldering for 15 years?
I've yet to figure out what the hell I want to be when I grow up. In a sense, I was the "black sheep" of the family, in that I took forever to actually get married (32 -- Mom had actually given up hope that I ever would marry), and then when I finally did get married I didn't produce more grandchildren for my mother's quiver. (Those kids would have been more screwed up than me -- I would have had to put a shrink on retainer, trust me.) Since my mom's death in 2005, though, my siblings seem to be more accepting of my quirks and idiosyncrasies, so perhaps I've gone from "black sheep" to varying shades of grey. (I'm a little pissed at Mom for not being around to see me turn 50 as she was for my siblings, but I'm coping with that.)
I did hold employment for quite a few years -- even worked at one job for almost 12 (was laid off a week before my anniversary date), then worked a variety of temporary and short-term jobs till the stress of corporate life took its toll on my health. Sure, if I'd kept working we could have probably afforded a house, and I'm sure the urn with my ashes would have looked lovely on the fireplace mantle. But we're relatively content with renting -- though part of me still longs for Crosby, Stills & Nash's "very very very fine house, with two cats in the yard." (Maybe next time we apartment hunt, we'll find a place that allows pooties.)
My interests have zig-zagged more than Rush Limbaugh at a Hometown Buffet. I've gone from music to writing to crafting back to writing to photography to who knows what else. I'm still trying to write the Great American Novel, but like a novice homeowner painting the floor, seem to wind up in corners I can't get out of. I do hope once we get a run of decent weather to get out and do some photography...but worry that what looks interesting to the naked eye will look bland and blah to the camera lens. And I've got a crochet project I need to finish in two weeks, before a dear friend comes down to visit for a weekend of fun, frivolity, and hopefully hockey wins.
But my life hasn't all been loss and failure and Charlie Brown getting the kite stuck in the tree for the millionth time. A few weeks ago my beloved mother-in-law brought me to tears when she complimented me on how level-headed I was in the face of a family crisis, and how glad she was to have me in the family especially with her and my dad-in-law getting up there in years. I've managed to stay married to the same dude for (almost) 18 years, a grand accomplishment for someone who could barely manage to date the same guy for 6 months back in my single days. I've still got way too much weight on my body, but I'm eating healthier food and trying to move my fat ass more, so even if I don't lose much I at least don't add to what I've already got. My siblings and I are not in open warfare, as is too often the case in families -- heck, I think one of my Republican sisters was even a closet Obamacan last fall.
And despite everything else, I'm reasonably content with my life. Sure, I've got too much clutter, whether it's in my apartment, in my hard drive (I remember when 10GB seemed like a lot of storage space!), or in my brain...but I'm still standing:
So, whuzzup with you?