on getting older

A letter about turning 49.

It feels like I just wrote my letter about turning 39. I remember being nervous about my 40s, but also excited because for the first time in my life it felt like I could really become me again. I don’t know how we happen to lose ourselves in the journey, but if I’m honest, I did. I was lost under expectations and boundaries that I felt were unbreakable as well as the fear of rocking the boat.

My 40s changed all of that, honestly.

In some ways, my 40s were where my soul started to become alive again.

It was the first time that instead of worrying about what others thought I began to worry about my own heart. I stopped denying my own dreams and stopped worrying about rocking the boat.

I learned to step out of comfortable and embrace new things. I moved across the country, wrote two books (well three, but the third won’t be published until this fall), got remarried, watched children graduate, fixed my finances, and ran 1000 miles in a year.

But all of that stuff?

That’s the result of a whole bunch of mental work.

It took me admitting I couldn’t do it all myself. So I found an amazing counselor who challenged me and pushed me and worked with me.

It took me realizing no one could make me change other than myself. I know that might sound odd, but the only person that creates change is the person who wants the change. None of my friends could make me change or do hard things — it was me — deciding to take that step, to call the creditor, to write the book, to lace up the shoes, and then to do it.

It meant that talk meant nothing without action. I could no longer say, “Tomorrow I’ll do that….” because somewhere in the middle of my 40s I realized that saying tomorrow is essentially putting things off forever.

I realized, once again, that life is short and fast and wonderful and you better tell those you love that you love them. Many people, peers, friends, and people I knew from afar died during these last ten years. And every time I came face to face with mortality it made me appreciate the breath in my lungs. It made all of the excuses that would slow me down lessen and it would motivate me to live my life with courage, bravery, and intentionality.

So many lessons, honestly. I didn’t even know what to share or how to begin.

Lessons on aging and money and love.

Lessons on letting go and expectations and seeing the good.

Lessons on kindness and hope and speaking up.

Lessons on friendship and family.

All of these lessons go back to the heart, in a way. They go back to living aware and awake and alive and unapologetically myself.

The 40s have been wonderful, honestly. But they’ve also been hard as I’ve had to come face to face with my own preconceived ideas about aging and beauty. I’ve had to be willing to look at the wrinkles that have appeared and to realize they are essentially a gift of getting to live as many years as I have. I’ve learned to not judge and to take care of myself.

The strangest thing is that sometimes I’ll look at my eyes staring back at myself in the mirror and they are the same — the eyes of me when I was nine, nineteen, twenty-nine, thirty-nine, and now forty-nine. And now, for the first time, the wise words of my grandmother, who died a quarter of a century ago, are starting to ring true. She simply said, “I feel so young still inside.”

So now, now in my last year of being in my 40s I just want to fully open the door to my own personal cage and tell myself, “Fly, girl, fly. It’s your time. Your now. Fly.”

So this year, this year where my word is confident, it’s also the year of being willing to fly. To step out and to not have the foundation fully underneath me but to trust that the last decade of work has prepared me to not fall, but to fly.

That’s the lesson of the 40s.

It’s the dedication to self, the chiseling out of the things that don’t serve the heart, the diving into passions, the trying new things, the laying of foundations so that the heart can soar.

For all of you that have stuck with me the last ten years (and some of you have been with me for fifteen – since I started writing) — I’m grateful. And for all of you who are newer, I’m so grateful you are here too. This space is sacred to me and one of my greatest gifts in life is being able to share my heart with so many of you and to be an agent of change. I hope my honesty inspires you to look at your own life, to really see your intrinsic value and to know that you can do hard things.

Fly, my friend, fly.

Life is short. Life is wonderful.

This is your shot.

You are worth living with vibrancy and fully alive.

~Rachel

#findingjoy

ps…perhaps the greatest lesson I learned was I no longer wanted to live life on the sidelines. As many of you know I ran a 5K on the morning of my birthday. I ran a great time for me (9:05/mile) and finished well. But, that didn’t matter, because I made myself embrace uncomfortable. I ran in pouring rain, poor conditions, and ran for everyone I knew who no longer could run. At about mile 2 the tears poured from my eyes – tears of gratitude for another loop around the sun and tears of excitement for all that was to come. This picture was taken seconds after crossing the finish line.

Insights. About aging. Friends. And random stuff.

1. I used to describe myself as an extrovert. But, now, as I get older I find myself needing just a bit of “quiet” during the day. Then that reminds me of my mother (who is great) and then it makes me think, “I’m becoming my mother.” And then that reminds me of my grandmother who needed just a bit of “quiet” every day. Then all of that makes me freak out and I actually think, “Am I really that old now?”

2. The other day my husband and I walked on our deck and he was feeding the birds and I was watering plants. All of that further solidified my question in point one. Also, in case my mother is reading this, it would be an honor to be considered like her – she truly has the patience of a saint AND she was a goal-getter. You know those working women of the 80s who broke the mold? My mom was one of them.

3. To further solidify the truth about aging – I don’t get most of the memes my kids show me. I just smile, nod, and they say, “you don’t get it, do you?” And I tell them, “Nope.” But bless them, they still try. Or maybe they’re trying to actually see if they can find the one that I ACTUALLY get. So I show them memes about the show Friends or Seinfeld. Then they tell me that technically those aren’t actually memes.

4. I’m horrible at texting and messenger. My friends send me notes. I see them, then forget to respond. And then it becomes awkward because I haven’t responded and I should have responded. Then they call. Or I call. And then, there I am, the friend who tries, but just is horrible at messaging. I still love them. I’m trying. I’ll get better. But sometimes, get this, my inbox is giant.

5. I have certain people in my life who I know are LONG texters. They are wonderful, great, and valuable. That being said, I also know that if I engage in a text conversation with them it will not be short. It will be LONG. And it will involve a creative exit. Again, I love them. I just am, again, really bad at texting.

6. I buy clothes that are fun. They are colorful. I have good intentions. And then when it is time to get dressed I choose one of probably six pairs of black yoga leggings, capri length, to wear. And a teeshirt and maybe a jacket. I mix it up with the jacket color. If I come down wearing jeans my husband is like, “wow! You look great!” And then I still wear the yoga pants. My kids, if I’m wearing something different, either ask me if I’m going out or have a zoom call.

7. I have my grocery store memorized in my head. And the price of bananas per pound at all stores. Except for Target which sells them by the banana.

8. I cry at strange things. The sunrise. Family watching a movie. Survival shows where the cast calls their families. I also cry when my adult kids leave the house. They all know it. When they come to visit they often tell me on the way to the airport that they are prepared for my tears. I tell them how I can’t help it and they tell me they love that about me.

9. I’m a busy person. But sometimes I use busy to avoid doing the things I should be doing. In fact, if you come over and you see me showing off my alphabetized spices or pantry or a bag of weeds I picked from the yard please know I’m probably avoiding writing and email (or looking at texts because I’m overwhelmed). So that being said, I’ve learned to look at my busy and wonder if there is something I’m avoiding instead. We do have a rather weed-free yard. Just saying.

10. My kids clean the house as a present for me. And I love them even more. They’ve learned that is my love language. The fact that they know this is my love language makes me love them even more. I tell them I have infinity love for them.

11. I love brilliant writing. As a writer, I guess that makes sense. But, my goodness, I love a good movie, book, or podcast. And, as always, would love recommendations.

12. Coffee is a fave. My one daughter worked for over three years at Starbucks and it was a gift. Plus I now think that I’m a bit more knowledgeable about the difference between drinks and what is good ordering etiquette. Beyond that she told me how grateful she was for kind people and for patience. We are all human, and truly the greatest gift is the gift of kindness❤

13. I love people. I want us to love each other. I believe in people. I believe in you. I believe in our dreams and our hopes and how we are stronger when we are united. I believe in speaking up and helping out. I believe in community. That’s why I write. Or at least one of the reasons.

14. I’ve discovered kids grow fast and yet there are some days where it is exceptionally slow. I have memories where time seemed to feel like it was moving backward and then there are moments where I am wondering, “how in the world is my oldest going to turn 25 in June?” And that, that, my friends, makes me realize that despite feeling super young at heart that I’m not really that young anymore. And you know what? That’s okay. I’m grateful for each trip around the sun, each breath, each day.

15. I’m grateful for each of you.

~Rachel

ps. oh yes, and black and white pictures are my absolute favorite. #findingjoy

And one last thing – I now realize that I am an extroverted introvert. Which is perfectly perfect for me.

I’m kind of in this weird spot of motherhood. Let’s just call it the not so glamorous, but still stressful, but now I’m trying to find myself place. In other words, I don’t have cute toddlers or fun preschoolers. My youngest is nine, my oldest twenty-three and I have a collection of kids in the middle.

It’s the mid-life crisis place that I saw on television growing up. Typically the dad would get a fancy red car and the mom would be in some room crying or she’d cut her hair crazy while the kids were fighting downstairs. My space is exempt the fancy car and my hair, much to my dismay has lost it’s fullness and I find myself scouring Target for conditioners that add extra body. And speaking of body, somehow in this middle crazy space my own body has decided to have a resurgence of those teenage hormones so while I’m purchasing the thickening shampoo I’m also over in the acne aisle wondering if Neutrogena still works. Oh yeah, and at Crossfit, I get called “ma’am” by the new people. That never happened when I was in my twenties….just saying.

There aren’t that many books and articles about existing in this space. This purgatory, stuck in the middle but still feeling so young, while still not getting much sleep of parenting. In fact, that’s me, in the agony of hours known as homework – where you can’t do anything but wait for the next question which happens every 32 seconds and lasts for thirty minutes.

Yeah, I’ve written about being brave and changing your life. That all matters too. But this? This is a constant crazy existence. Get this – the other day I pulled my teenage son’s bed out and found a whole graveyard of Capri-sun containers. His wastebasket is in his room, two feet away, and there I was wanting to pull out my remaining hair out over the littering. That’s what I texted him at school, in all caps for emphasis – IN OUR HOUSE WE DO NOT LITTER.

Parenting in these ages can’t so quickly be redeemed by a cute photo on instagram. I mean, come on, do you really want to see the before and after of a teenage boys room? Or me sitting in the van AGAIN waiting. Or my shopping bill at Kroger? Sometimes I go through the line and she’s like, “you’re here again?” and I just say one thing, “teenagers.” She gives me that empathetic nod and then the mom behind me with the toddler trying to convince her to buy the M&M’S looks at me and I know she’s either hoping for these years or hugging that little one who still likes to hug her.

So yeah, this space, these non glamorous years of motherhood. I know there is a bunch of you in here too with me. I know, I see you at Kroger and Target and in the school line. I see you cheering them on or waiting to talk to teachers. I see you. And I know it can be lonely and frustrating and tiring. And I want to tell you, just like I told you when we had little kids, that you matter. You are enough.

You are enough if you get frustrated or are chill.

You are enough if you feel a bit lost in this space.

Because at the end of the day, and it’s going to be the same, our kids, your kids – they just need you. Now granted, they aren’t as cute or as endearing about the ways they tell it to you. And sometimes you might be met with silence. Which, take a moment and think about, is what we all craved years ago and now, now somedays I would give anything for words beyond “I’m fine” and “it’s okay” and “uh-huh.” But that’s what these  years are about and that’s why you matter.

You are their constant. You are the one who loves them behind slammed doors. You are the one helping with 3D cell projects. You are the one pressing the hypothetical brake in the passenger side of the car as your teenager drives. You are also the one saying prayers over and over that you make it to Target while they drive. You are the one who will show up for them if they are sick EVEN if they said nothing to you in the morning. You are the one adding money to the lunch account. You are the one meeting the boyfriend. You are the one with the tracking app on your phone. You matter. You are their mom.

They still need you. Trust me, they do.

So today hold your head high. You may be in these years of motherhood with those older kids, but sweet sweet mom – holy moly – these YEARS COUNT. Trust me, I know. My daughter is graduating high school next week. That’s a new space in motherhood, but on that day, I am going to breathe a sigh of relief. I made it.

Yes, that.

You are making a difference. One Capri Sun container, one car pool line, one homework help, one “I’m here for you”, one day at a time. And for that, I say this – thank you.

From me, another mom in the crazy unpredictable just as challenging middle and letting go years, to all of you.

~Rachel

ps…. and they still make Neutrogena. And coverup. And maybe someday I’ll just buy myself that red car.

So, I’m going to be totally real.

This might seem silly, but today, after I had my hair cut and colored I booked a follow up visit. My stylist and I have become good friends (as it should be – holy moly – those that touch the hair should be trusted) and we joked about the next time I came. She then told me she had another client coming that was going to “embrace the gray” because she decided to stop fighting it but simply go there.

I said, “I’m mentally not there yet.”