Thirty-four

I spent my thirty-second year in great misery, and my thirty-third digging myself out in unglorious determination.

I have a gift for feeling sorry for myself. That I lived in a house alone, that was never meant for one person. That I didn't know how to turn on the damn water to the second hose, or that I had to ice my wrists after mowing my modest yard due to carpal tunnel. I devoted a lot of self-absorption to my one smoke detector that was flukey and weird and just needed to be replaced, but was a hard-wired model that had gone out of business, and I did not have the time to figure this ish out. 

A former Buddhist monk told me once, years ago, during one of my darkest hours, that my whole life would settle in at thirty-three. I would arrive then. I held on to his promise like I was diving in the ocean, and this was all I had left in my tank. He had to be right. And that was still years to wait. But I would do it, with grace, because my time was coming. I mean, I'm good at most things, but somehow my life never seems to look how I expect it to. Thirty three. The Jesus Year. I could out-wait anything.

The most beautiful thing about thirty-three is that it got so hard, all of my old excuses, complaints and patterns stopped working. Feeling sorry for myself wasn't going to water the plants. Feeling sorry for myself definitely didn't pay the mortgage. And I want to be clear -- I have never been so lonely in my life. Because, I would never be Mormon. Because, everyone else was posting pictures of their kids on Facebook, and I didn't know if I'd ever see mine again. And the only voices in my house have been the ones in my head. Thirty-three was basically like having a water bucket dumped on my head over and over. And the only variation was not knowing if it was ice cold or burning. But you see, this is why this past year was better than the one before.

I finally had to learn how to stop complaining and fix the things I could fix. Like the smoke detector. I finally had to stop complaining, and accept the things I couldn't fix. Like every other human who sees the world differently and wants to do things their way. I finally had to stop complaining because I couldn't sleep, or I was sad, or things didn't look right, because those things, it turns out, are totally fine to have in your life sometimes!

I had to face down my darkest fear: losing my family. Well, I did! I had to face down my most nagging doubts: eff everybody. I moved across the country by myself, I take care of my entire house by myself, and for the record, I have gone toe-to-toe with men way above my pay grade who aren't sure what to do with me, and I have found the courage to speak up. There is nothing that scares me anymore, because I lost everything I cared about, and it turned out, I still woke up again and started the next day. And the next day. And the next day. So all of those little every day things that seemed insurmountable? Well. Anthills can certainly be climbed. If they're even big enough to worry about.

Perhaps my life has looked courageous from afar all along. And maybe it was that, once. But, this was the year I faced fears and actually came out on any kind of other side. I didn't just survive a confrontation, but walked away feeling better able to handle one the next time. I became a landlord, a director and a woman who sleeps through the night.

I began to make choices that better reflected me. Which is why I'm sitting on a folding chair in a one-bedroom apartment, miles from my American Dream Home with a white vinyl fence and a mountain view, writing on my laptop before work.

My life didn't go how I planned. I am not surrounded by little feet. I don't have a partner I can count on for a ride to the airport. And I am not sure, precisely, why the heck I am in Utah. Maybe your life hasn't gone how you thought it would either. Maybe that's actually totally and completely normal.

The only thing I know is, I didn't find my courage on purpose. And sometimes I still need to check underneath my pillow for where I've left it. But I know it is there. I know I am there. I know just one ounce of what I am capable of now. And I am so grateful.

I feel like that monk lied to me. And also, was perversely, totally, and utterly correct. I still have insecurities and doubts and worries; what has changed is my certainty that I can face them.

This year? I am going to do things more on purpose. I'm spending this week making a list of things I have meant to do, but have talked myself out of. I'm writing down the dreams that have been deferred. I am going to choose at least one thing that has terrified me, and this year, I'm going to do it.

If your life isn't 100% what you thought it would be, or could be, I hope you'll join me, too. If we all chose to face one thing that we have avoided, what would this world look like in a year?