Hitting Fifty: A Review of Five Blog Years and Life Lessons Learned

"FIFTY IS THE NEW THIRTY."

This is what I have been telling myself since the day after my 49th birthday. I have been looking forward to this milestone birthday, because, well, it's a milestone birthday AND I remember years ago seeing an Oprah show and hearing her say that "Fifty was wonderful, and she felt wiser and better than ever before." (This, of course, is not a direct quote). I remember thinking, "Well, that's good to know for when I get there." 

Fast forward to now. I received my AARP card in the mail about three days before my impending 50th, and it killed my whole "Can't wait to be 50" attitude. I might have been jumping for joy if I were actually RETIRING, but no, I only qualify for that card strictly because of my A G E, not retirement status. (Which I thought, by the way, you were offered AARP membership when you were 55 or 60. I wouldn't be ready to retire then, either, anyway, so what the hell). Let's just say that I paid my $16 membership fee, and can't wait for the big bag that comes along as a "free gift" that says "AARP" on it. I swear to God, I'm going to use it to store cat food or something of that nature in it in my house. I'm happy to tell you I'm 50, but I won't be put in a certain "category" because I don't feel 50. I'm still maybe 18 in my brain with the body of a 75 year old; but I'm not 50, dammit. I certainly am not using the AARP bag to carry my books to the beach. No way.

Five years ago, in the bottom floor bedroom of my house that I was not sharing with my then-husband (as we were in the throes of a very nasty divorce and he was still there); I found my writing "niche" in essays. I felt like the water in a tea kettle that was getting ready to boil over. I was three thousand miles from most everyone I loved, with two newly adopted children, and getting a divorce from someone I'd known for 20 years. I had just moved to Washington, and had no idea what had hit me. I won't go in to detail; (it's a matter of court record, LOL), but it wasn't pretty. My life had fallen apart at 45, and I had little kids I had to think about and a legal battle I had that ended up lasting some 18 months and more money that I could imagine (or had). I think my brain was a bit fractured, putting whatever priority task that needed completion at that moment first, and then just trying to breathe until the next thing came up. So what did I do with my stress? I started a blog before that kettle boiled over; it was the only way to get my stress out. I verbally vomited self-depricating life lessons and observations. I found solace in trying to be funny because my life was not funny at all.

It's an odd thing to have your life change overnight; I realize I am not the first person to have experienced this lovely phenomena, so I know I am not alone. I learned that it is what you do in these life situations that either makes you or breaks you. 

I wrote like a maniac when I was most stressed out. Words flowed out of me as I learned how to be single with children with no back up. I never gave away how horribly fearful I was of the legal battle for custody or the fact that I just needed someone, anyone, from my past life to come give me a huge hug and tell me that it would all be okay. I didn't have that. I stopped being able to cry, and let me tell you, I am the biggest sap there is. I kept feeling that if I cried, I'd open a well that would never run out of water and I'd break down and not be able to be a mom to my kids. So I compartmentalized. Everything. When my kids went to be with their dad, I staged crying sessions. I'd play Enya on the CD player, light a candle, and climb in to a dark, hot tub, and get ready to cry. I'd start the moaning as Enya's haunting music played in the background  (because I know tears are good), but there were none. In thirty seconds, I was done. Just a wail, like the call of the Banshee, then nothing.

Somehow my writing got me through. It got me through court, lawyers, bills. My emails and phone calls with close family and friends lifted me up. Facebook was my only connection to the outside world as people outside my circle had no idea how I was suffering.

My kettle never boiled over; I kept it at the brim by releasing all my steam by writing funny things, like how I hit myself in the face with a hammer by trying to take a nail out of the wall at face level, or how I thought I was cool rocking out to tunes in my car, but then realized I was just a mom in a freaking mini van, looking like a dork. I was not a mini-van kind of girl, so I dumped that vehicle as soon as I could.

I knew if my ex was here, I had to stay. So I bought a house, my own safe haven, and knew that Washington had to be my home as long as he was here. I enrolled in school to become a massage therapist. My kids helped me study muscles with flash cards. I'd be a student by day studying kinesiology, pathology, ethics, then switch on a dime to become mom at night with homework, dinner, housecleaning, bedtime stories, then up til 1:00am or 2:00 am studying for the next day. I don't know how I did it, but I did. In the middle of it, I got very ill. Very ill. I thought I was going to die. I went through drills with my kids on what to do if mommy "fell over" or "passed out." I had an emergency phone list hung inside a cabinet door. I told my friends where my healthcare proxy was and got my will in order. I got my diagnosis, though help of a dear friend who happened to have the same strange and rare condition I did, and thankfully, got a fantastic doctor who promised me she would not send me home to collapse on the floor in front of my children without an answer. She held true to her promise.

I lost some 45 pounds very quickly; I was slowly wasting away, but still went to college. At one point, I considered stopping school to get well, but just felt intuitively if I did that, I might not go back. My fellow students supported me and helped me study. My instructors gave me everything I needed to succeed. If I had to run from class because I was going to be sick, they said nothing. I got extra tutoring from everyone who knew I missed class. When I felt I couldn't make it through one more test, people egged me on, SHOWED me how to memorize the specific muscle's origins and attachments, and told me, "You got this!"  Their sheer belief in me kept me going, and I graduated, fifty pounds lighter than when I started, and while waiting for my license to come after I took my state boards, I played with my kids in the summer, trying to make up for lost time. When I got the right medicine to make me feel better and heal the problem (unfixable, by the way, just a "disease to live with"), I knew it would be like this for the rest of my life, so I ate like it was my last supper every day.

I worked for one jerk, then got another job, and decided, with a classmate, to start a business of my own. While doing so, I learned a lot of lessons, as anyone does starting a new business. My goal was to some day be successful so that I could work my schedule around that of my kids and be present for their school functions and not be a slave to someone else. I wanted to participate in their life. What I found in the long run was that being a business owner, in a new business, took up too much of my home time, and my kids were missing out. But I had to do it to learn it.

Through these last five years, I've written less. Oh, the stress wasn't less, but I didn't really feel funny anymore. I was trying to find myself. I am someone who hasn't stayed in one place for more than three years for the last 27 years. My house now is the first house in my whole life that I've lived in a consecutive thirty-six months. Longest EVER. 

Here's what I know about myself at now at 50. 

I don't know anything for sure. (Except maybe that we all get sentenced to taxes and will also eventually die).

I've found that life is not fair, but no one promised it was. I just ASSUMED that because didn't teachers always try to give everyone the same pencil, didn't moms and dads try to give you and your siblings the same amount of popcorn in your bowl?. 

I've learned that I spent a long life ASSUMING a lot of stuff. As Felix Unger of "The Odd Couple" said in one episode to his roommate Oscar: "Never Assume. When you assume, you make an ASS of U and ME."

I've never forgotten that statement. It was brilliant.

I know that I don't know how to stay in one place and plant roots. It makes me nervous knowing I can't move in 24 months. 

It makes me nervous that I'll never feel settled (unless I let myself). I haven't been able to do that yet.

I think I'm doing a good job at the mom thing, I certainly make mistakes, but these kids of mine? They are the best thing that has ever happened in my life, ever. They have taught me more about life than anyone I know. They are amazing humans, and that surely didn't come from me, at all.

My friends, the ones I grew up with, Ellie, Steve, Nora, MaryBeth (now gone to cancer), never once gave up on me or told me I couldn't make it.

My friend Sabrina taught me how to be a mother and talked to me sometimes four times a day through my divorce process to be sure I was okay and to ensure that I knew I wasn't crazy.

My friend Jeannie was there in support as she went through her own divorce with special needs kids in tow, and she kept me going with messages of love and kindness. 

Renee kept checking in to be sure I knew I wasn't alone.

Deb, here in WA, was a gift sent by God, for sure, to guide me through the single person I've become; she has been teaching me about my strengths and to stay in the moment and to think positively and know my own power. 

The other Deb here in WA showed me there was hope for my child when he got his IEP for school and taught me how to do THIS whole "special needs" thing.

There have been others, especially my dad's sisters, Karen and Aggie, who are and always have been my "other mothers" my whole life. They have never once let me down but lifted me up just by sheer words of love and support.

I can't name all of those who lifted me up, but Karen S., Kris, Katie, you kept me going, and maybe you didn't even know it.

I belong to a Veteran's group on FaceBook that has become a sort of home-away-from-home for me. I go there when I need to be with friends. Thank God for them. 

I know this one thing. I've had a difficult time these past five years, and in many ways didn't think I'd see this day. It's raining, as it usually does, no matter where I've lived, on April 19th. It is Spring, after all.  I'm reflecting on the recent loss of my Godfather, a mentor in my life, and my grief is huge, but my gift of having him in my life was such a blessing that I can't be that angry that he's out of my realm but surely in Heaven, sitting on the beach, grilling some great food for the rest of the people I love up there. I know they are looking down on us in my little house, making sure we are okay. I know, because I see them in my dreams. They are coming to tell me that I'm doing okay; that life is a struggle, that you do the best you can and remember the wonderful moments and the fantastic people that say what you need to hear to keep you going. For the ones who want to take you down, they give you the biggest lessons. When they do knock you down, you get right back up and stand with integrity and the knowledge that you are who you are and you deserve your place in this world. No one can ever take that away from you unless you let them.

I know that when I walk in fear, I am lost. When I just turn my day over to God, I find a way. Anyone who knows me knows I'm spiritual and not religious, but I do know that I've always been protected, and I know it's from God, Angels, Goddesses, but it wasn't me who got me here. It was my faith in my friends, and a Higher Being that made me know I was meant to be here, meant to be this person and meant to make it to fifty, struggles and all.

I have a career I love. What a gift.

I have incredible kids I love that love me back. What a gift.

My body is in working order, and I can eat whatever I want today. (THIS needs work, LOL).

I know that I have to stop isolating myself and get out there and meet people and do things. This is hard for me, but acceptance is the first step to change.

When my kids go with their dad, I get a break. I miss the hell out of them, but this lady with two jobs and two kids doing it all needs that.

The good thing is, I know now that even though I've felt very alone, I haven't been. You all have been here, allowing me to be present in your life; you've allowed me to verbally vomit and share my life with you. I've never really been alone unless I wanted it that way. 

Thank you, all of you, for giving me the best gift of all; your friendship, your support, and your love. I may be 3000 miles from home, but I take you with me wherever I am.

I am a very lucky woman. 

So, here's to being 50. My milestone. I am wearing my "Big girl panties" and it's all good, as long as I have you backing me up.

Starting tomorrow, I will be funny again. I have to be. I have a kitten with a long blue thread coming out his ass (which appears to be something he swallowed but can't imagine how because I don't sew), and I'm going to dinner with friends tonight and am attempting to wear heels. These, and other ridiculous things that happen in my life will be fodder for the masses, thanks to Blogspot. 

When you stop looking, life ceases to be funny. I know we can alway make lemonaide when life hands us lemons. I just have to be willing to mix it up.

This serious stuff is for the birds. 

Cheerth!