New Things

Last week was my birthday. The big forty-five. It feels like the most substantial number I've hit so far.

Thirty felt pretty good, like I was getting my sea legs.

This age, though, feels solid. My feet feel like they're where they should be wherever I am.

The great thing about living with older people (aka my parents) is that you automatically feel pretty young. I mean, it's hard to complain about turning 45 when your dad, who just turned 75, is building his own bathroom.

Still, this birthday comes with a reminder that my body is aging. My knees protest after a day of hiking, my muscles don't recover as quickly. In fact, after a good workout I often think I have the flu til I realize I have no fever.

My Google search history is full of questions seeking relief from perimenopause. I no longer eat dairy. I severely limit wheat.

I'm holding on to coffee.

It sometimes feels as though I'm leaving everything fun behind.

Except for my perspective. The perspective that this age gives me is pretty doggone fun.

I don't worry about what other people think of me. While I feel pretty solid about most of my opinions I'm also completely comfortable acknowledging I have lots to learn.

Suddenly acquiring knowledge, mastering new skills, is exciting.

It seems that my brain has the capacity to gain again. The world seems new and exciting*.

Really, everything is new. My kids are all getting older. I can almost go to the bathroom alone. Two of my children are adults and live their own lives, do their own thing.

With all that free time, though, comes choices. It's definitely easier for me to binge watch Gilmore Girls these days than it used to be. I can fall down the rabbit hole of the web in no time flat.

Intentionality is key, I am learning. Finally. After forty-five years.

To be truthful sometimes this free time stretches out in front of me and tickles my anxiety. I think about the days when I don't have children in my home and there's a pit in my stomach waiting to pull me in.

That's when I force myself to remember that there are more ways to serve than by mothering. There is more to me than homemaking. My inner life is rich, resplendent with deep thoughts on theology, community, parenting, and education.

I tell that pit in my stomach that I'm not done.

Yesterday Lee and I took the boys on a walk at Cove Spring Park . We've decided that will be our Sunday thing, though we don't agree on my all-weather policy. Still, a the start of a new tradition seems appropriate.

Driving in Lee's car, just the four of us, felt different, too. Fun, but different. The boys wanted the windows down and sunroom open. The cool air blew their hair back and I called them my happy puppies.

As we walked up the stairs to the first trail I thought, "I cannot do this." I'm so out of shape thoughts of heart attacks and brain aneurysms loomed over me. I seriously considered telling them I'd meet them at the car.

Still, I'll do anything for my kids, who ran ahead of me sure-footed and unafraid. I caught up with them after my heart rate slowed.

Twenty years of parenting has loosened me up. Spencer was barefoot most of the time, shedding his flip flops to have better grip on the fallen trees he chose to climb. He was also wearing shorts and a t-shirt. In November. This would not have happened with my others.

Liam followed along behind as younger siblings do. Spencer is his hero and nemesis wrapped into one. There are boy things between them that I do not understand. 

At one point they climbed up a dry-ish creek bed that rolled down from a ridge. Picking their way among stones and branches the boys rose higher and higher. I've grown accustomed to this way of parenting; turning my back while they do things that feel risky seems the best way to allow them to explore.

A young couple in their twenties passed us along with their giant labrador looking dog. The young man caught my boys in his eyesight. He paused twice to turn and watch them. I know I saw longing in his eyes.

I remember that my twenties were a time of shoulds and have-to's sitting heavily on me. It's an age of finding place and purpose in yourself and your culture. I feel a little stifled looking back on those years I think.

While observing him watching my boys I made a decision: next time I will climb up with them where my feet may slip and my heart may race. I'll join them in their risky business.

After all, I am forty-five. I can do what I want.

Be brave, misfits, and do new things. It's never too late.

New life is everywhere.