I turned 36 earlier this week. I normally don’t actually feel older on my birthday, but something shifted this week that I haven’t been able to quite grasp. That was until the Samantha Jones popped into my head, and her response to Carrie when she turned 35: “Honey, welcome to my box”, she winked at Carrie, referring to the age options on her dating service application. Carrie moved from the 29-34 box to the 35-44 box. And that’s what it feels like to me: I’ve moved boxes. No longer in my youth, not quite old enough to be considered old, I’m somewhere in between. When my older friends discuss possible signs of menopause, I can’t relate to them. And when my younger friends discuss their Friday night plans, I can’t relate to them either. It reminds me of one of my favorite songs, the spoken word track from Baz Luhrmann’s 1999 album, "Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)," aka the Sunscreen Song.
“Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth, oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded.”
The power and beauty of my youth has faded. When my 31-year-old friend discusses her non-existent wrinkles, I laugh, knowing I had the exact same thoughts at her age. I feared aging back then, each night looking in the mirror for evidence. It wasn’t until I turned 35, almost on the exact day, that I started noticing changes in my face that truly confirmed my suspicions: I’m in a new box.
I have a vivid vision of the type of woman I’ll be at 70. She’s a wise woman. The bottom of her feet are always dirty. She paints sunflowers, and knows how to heal everyone and everything. There are large film photos of her adventures and her family hanging all over her wooden house. Her medicine cabinet is made of plants and the earth. She hugs trees daily, celebrates her granddaughters, and laughs like it’s her only currency. I see endless power and beauty in her.
I’m trying to remind myself that there is power and beauty in the in-between as well. I don’t hug trees as much as I should, but I know the power of healing. My feet are always clean, but I touch the earth as often as I can. I don’t have granddaughters, but I celebrate my daughter every day. I don’t laugh nearly as much as I should, but I believe in myself and that alone, has taken a lifetime. I don’t have a wooden cottage, but I have a home. And it’s warm. And I always make tea and cook food for the people I love. I give advice to my peers and those younger than me, and I listen with an open heart to my mentors older than me. I’m not yet a wise woman, but I’m a lot wiser than I used to be. I’m a wise woman in the making — and with it, comes so much power and beauty, the kind society doesn’t celebrate, the kind we have to find within ourselves, and within each other.
Regardless of age, it seems most of my friends are stuck in the in between right now. I spent my birthday week listening to women venting, crying, and frustrated about this confusing place. Some are in between pending separations, in between relationships and jobs, in between waiting to move or making a move. And I can relate for entirely different reasons. I’m in between two kids — I don’t yet have two, but I no longer have just one either. Let this time in our lives remind us of the power and beauty of the in between. Let this phase remind us that we are in a continuous relationship with change and growth — a constant weaning, of letting go, surrendering, and embracing. This too will one day fade. As Baz Lurhman says: “The race is long and in the end, it's only with yourself.”
Maybe this phase can be summed up simply as this: Honey, you’re just moving boxes.
Event Reminder — March 23rd at 9am PST
We’re discussing the Institution of Motherhood. If you’ve ever felt maternal guilt or rage, this workshop will explore its origin (and some solutions). To join, you have to be a paid subscriber to this newsletter (I will email you a Zoom link the day before). My workshops used to be $30-60 each but to make this more accessible to everyone, I’ve lowered my prices to $10 per month instead. You can cancel anytime, and I will comp anyone who asks :) If you have any questions, let me know in the comments. Hope you can make it!
I immediately clicked to read when the notification popped up on my phone- Happy belated! I love your vision for yourself at 70. It made me think of my own grandmother who’s so special to me. I’d love to be just like her.
Happy belated Birthday!!