I am 36 years old. I do not wish I was 26. I do not wish I was 16. I have already been there. That is not where I am, nor where I am going.
I think it might be nice to someday welcome and reflect on 46, maybe even 76 or 86. If that is my path. If I have the time. I do not wish this moment or day away to get there. I am in no hurry.
There are more fine lines on my skin. Every one tells my stories. I have no intention of erasing or disguising them through any means… but I also don’t judge or begrudge my future self or any other person using additional “help” to feel happy and beautiful in their own skin (as long as they are not hurting themselves or anyone else to do so). I have more softness around the edges, not just physically. I know now: that is a strength, not a weakness. I repeat: that is a strength, not a weakness.
I have more patience in general. And yet, less patience for things that are not meant for me. I am still trying to figure out how out to know those as soon as possible when I see them. Recognizing things that Are meant for me helps.
The stuff that lights you up is worth your attention.
Life is not always full of things that light you up. I have more patience and respect for the in-between, the neutral, and the harmless drudgery in life, too. I know how to breathe, how to move, how to be still (and understand how that nourishes), how to daydream, learn, reflect, and how to meditate, among other things: so there is no such thing as wasted time.
I have given up (or am at least in the process of giving up) demanding that my life looks a certain way. My Self at 16 or even 26 could not have guessed at so much of this life since then.
I am recovering from some well-meaning lies I think many of us believe(d). Like “acceptance is giving up, or settling.”
Acceptance is not giving up. Acceptance is not settling.
I still have goals. I don’t have to forego Accepting – maybe even (radically) Loving – myself right now to have goals and hopes for the future. Not all hopes and goals will come true. I have accomplished some of my past goals, and I take pride in that. And some of them melted, shifted, or disintegrated along the way, because they no longer mattered when I learned new things, or because I shifted the person I am, or simply stayed open to other possibilities I could never have imagined or come up with on my own. Some of them just didn’t work out. That’s ok. As a recovering perfectionist, I’ll say it louder: it’s ok when things don’t work out. Especially if I am trying my best. But also, seeing myself right now – as I am, and Accepting that despite the goals and things I want to change, has a quiet strength I didn’t know when I was younger. It’s also really challenging. Acceptance is trying to love myself as I am. In this moment, my dog is not a perfect creature (who among us is?) and yet I love her without limit, without condition, and with both fierceness and tenderness that might save the world if I could bottle them. It’s a work in progress for many of us to not think, “ok, but I’ll be better, more able or more worthy of my own love when…”
Maybe Acceptance is trying to love myself right now, in this moment, at least half as much and as unconditionally and fiercely and tenderly as I love my dog. How could that possibly be settling or giving up?
What does that say about any of my goals or hopes or dreams? Nothing.
I am letting go of the (maybe/maybe not) well-meaning lie that our worth and purpose might boil down to a single defining thing. That that thing must be: a specific job, a family or specific relationship, a degree, a certain salary, or any other label. It doesn’t mean those things are meaningless – that couldn’t be further from the truth. Many of those and other things can add great meaning, comfort, and joy to life. We can also find plenty of joy and meaning in life beyond or without those things. Maybe the point of all of this is even more than those things – something I bring to all those things, that knits them together, and even transcends them. Something I am, that continues even when any of those labels change or become no longer true. Because those labels are part of the many constant changes in life.
Why do we tie our self-worth to things that change?
Why not let self-worth rest in the unchanging part of your Self? The Truth of who I am. The Truth of who you are. I don’t have words for that (yet) and maybe that Truth doesn’t need words.
Because that Truth is already Enough.
I didn’t know that at 26. I certainly didn’t know that at 16. Maybe I knew at 6; I don’t remember. But at 36, I know it. And more often than not, I Feel the truth of it. The gravity, and yet the lightness of it.
I’ve read and heard that women are supposed to dread getting older. I do not. Or maybe I just can not, because it’s happening anyway. One might hear that some time after 35, women become, or at least feel: invisible. I have learned I cannot control other people’s actions or thoughts. So my work is on my own.
For women (or anyone) older than me: I see you, and often, I learn from you. I have lived things and experiences that are uniquely mine, and other experiences that are in community with many other humans. Please don’t discount what I might know, offer, or say simply because I am younger. Some of what I have lived might surprise you.
For women (or anyone) younger than me: I do not dismiss your experience, knowledge or worth just because you are younger (I know what that feels like). Just because I have been your age does not mean I have lived your life. And you have not lived my life. Please don’t discount me (or anyone) just because I am older. Some of what I have lived might surprise you.
Maybe we can learn to give that simple grace to anyone, of any age: Don’t rush to dismiss, or discount someone – some of what they have lived might surprise you.
My point, or at least one of them, is: I am not going to joke that I’m turning 29 again (no shame or judgment for anyone who does). I am going to own every second I have spent on this Earth.
I am a 36 year old woman. I am not going to lie to you – I am not always comfortable in my own skin. And yet. I acknowledge and I honor the space and time I take up. I can look at my own age without flinching, without looking away. From where I’m standing, that kind of Acceptance feels radical. And Fantastic.
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