Soul Searchers

There are a good many of us soul searchers in our 30’s. My guess is that few of us thought we’d be there by now. At 21 we had it all. figured. out. Career plans. Family plans. Retirement plans (at least we thought about opening retirement accounts). All the plans intersected at 30, the point at which we would have all our plans realized and be on the smooth path towards a life lived well.

I’m 33 and I had Nutella straight out of the jar with a spoon for breakfast yesterday. I have not figured it all out. I will, with cautious optimism, say that I have about 30% figured out, with the remaining 70% residing between cluelessness and I’ll figure it out….later. Furthermore, I have no magic intersection age at which I plan to have the other 70% worked out. Certainly not 40, that’s in seven short years, and I’ve noticed the older I get the faster time goes, so seven years is practically the blink of an eye. If I was still 21, this lack of urgency and certainly would cause me great mental anguish and probably constipation. Lucky for me and my bowels, I am 33 and fully embrace my place. I am a soul searcher in my 30’s, and like I said, I have it on good authority there are many of us yet out there.

Make no mistake though- we are not a type. We are not all married or single, childless or with child(ren). Employed, unemployed, gay, straight or bi. Just because I fake tan doesn’t mean I’m lost. I just might like not being pale all the time. Just because I am single doesn’t mean I am looking and just because I am married doesn’t mean I’ve settled. There’s just something about being more seasoned that gives one the permission to be untethered. Experience forgives us if we choose not to commit to a certain course of action, or to change direction if the wind moves us. At 21, an uncertain future was the enemy. Now, I feel that an uncertain future is merely a blank page, with endless possibility. Perhaps the page will be filled with words of sorrow, or colors dark and boding. But with any luck, there will be another blank page after that, and another after that. A life long lived is a book full of all the colors and stories, fantastic and woeful. Why, at 21, in the very beginning, was I so eager to have my book already written?

My fellow 30’s soul searchers, hold your Nutella jars up high with pride! We are in the zone! Tethered by our past choices yet with a long untethered life before us- there are many pages of our books still unwritten. Embrace your search, with all it’s colors. Yes, we have more responsibilities now, and yes, adulting often sucks. But, the search is on, and there is so much yet to come. So much yet to discover and embrace. So much to figure out, or to leave for another time….later. Embrace your search in all it’s uncertainly, and give zero fucks about what you eat for breakfast. 

Vincible

The power comes in waves. Triumphant, 
with the windows down and music loud. 

Later, alone, with the rain for company,
All is quiet, and so much heavier.

I'd welcome a middle ground:
Rain, with a bit of song.
Windows down, ears filled with only wind.
Power laced with mortality.
Power tempered by prudence.

Strength in vulnerability.
Answers whispered before the questions
are even asked. 

2nd Honeymoon

I’ve been in the world long enough, and gone through enough break ups of my own to realize that every one is different. Some are worse than others, and there are even categories they might fall into that people can recognize and know, at least peripherally, what the breakuper is going through. When someone cheats, the breakup is often filled with anger, perhaps remorse on the part of the cheater. Ghosting, the most passive aggressive form of a break up, is just rude, so I am not going to talk about it. The mutual breakup seemed to me, before last month, the cleanest, prettiest breakup one could hope for. No hard feelings, no anger, no remorse and certainly not rude.

I am learning that the mutual breakup has it’s downsides. Indeed, there is no anger, but that means there is nothing to counteract my sadness. I feel my losses doubly, both because of my lack of anger as a counter balance, and because I am now sad thinking both of my good memories and the plans I had created that will never come to pass. I have entered a phase of almost a second honeymoon. The first honeymoon was the beginning of my relationship, when all was love and love was all. There was no bad, no friction, nothing to interfere with love and wanting and joy and hope for the future. Now, in my second honeymoon, the well thought out reasons for the breakup have vanished from my mind and have been replaced with all the good. Everything good that ever happened is all I can seem to remember. All the love, the wanting, the joy and the hope are there, on display, all of my waking hours. Yet, I am alone. Just me and my good memories and my sadness.

Just as I know the first honeymoon ended (and boy did it), I am sure this one will as well. A good friend said I should just start dating- force the inevitable to help me get over my sadness. I wish I could, but the memories have swallowed me. Truly, while I fake it pretty well, all I want to talk about is the memories. My love, my joy, my wanting and my hope. They are on the surface of everything I do. I cannot swim around or over them, as much as I would like to. I fear that going on a date, they would bubble up and out of my mouth and ruin all my chances for, whatever.

Thus, I need to sit it out. Wait for the bad and the angst that was also to finally resurface. The struggle will mix in with the joy and finally I will be able to see what I saw back then- love, but also suffering. Misunderstanding, difference like a gorge without a bridge to cross. There was a reason for this mutual break up after all, a crevice that could not be overcome. Eventually, it will come to pass that I will stand and walk forward once again. But for now I will continue to sit and wait and revel in my sadness. This honeymoon will pass, as they all do, and the real world will begin anew.

Transitions

I take great pleasure in the alignment of small details. Shoes, neatly stacked by the door. A alphabetically organized accordion file. Inbox zero. A well managed refrigerator.

I have not always been this way. There are stories, fables, legends really, about the filth accumulated in my college dorm room. However, those days are long past, and as I blossomed into adulthood, as did my penchant for order. Like any good Myers Briggs J, I rejoice in finding things in their proper place. I revel in a To-Do list completed. I honor efficiency, the noblest of traits.

In order there is freedom. I mean this not in a pathological or diabolical way. I do not fear OCD tendencies nor do I demand unflinching order from others. I just mean to say that when my life is in order, so is my mental state. When all is where it should and as it should be, I am finally able to relax.

Unfortunately for me and my J brethren, life is anything but orderly. Which is likely why I find myself back here again, putting words on the page, trying to make order out of chaos.

Perhaps chaos is a strong word. My friend Rob (a Myers Briggs P) says I am in “transition” and “transitions” are, by their nature, uncomfortable. While I agree with both statements, I would like to take it one step further and say that “transition” just took a five bag pound of rice and dumped it all over my well managed refrigerator, alphabetically organized accordion file and neatly stacked shoes. “Transition” laughed all the while, then rolled around in a mud puddle and fell asleep in my spotless bathtub.

I cannot relax. What’s more, I cannot be efficient, as the mess before me is large and I cannot fathom where to start. And so I sit here and try to get words on a page in hope they will guide me forward.

To begin, maybe I will make a t-shirt. It will say DO NOT ASK WHERE I SEE MYSELF IN 5 YEARS. No one, NO ONE enjoys this question, least of all me. Do I have plans? No, I don’t, I’ll take it as it comes. Am I okay? Sure. I have way, WAY too many good things going for me not to be. How am I feeling? That’s a nice, non-committal question. I am sad. I miss things that were that are no longer. It hurts me deeply, to look back as to look forward. There are things that now will not come to pass that I think hurt more than the things that are no longer. I am not scared, but I am anxious. Remember I said before I have a lot going for me? Those things keep me from being scared, but the future is uncertain, and that calls for some trepidation. Here’s another question: what do I want? Want. That’s a loaded word. Let’s try another. What do I need? ::takes reflective pause::

I need order. Stability. But I also need freedom and a little wilderness and a few unexpected problems to solve. I need hugs. All of the hugs. I need to snuggle small animals against their will. Sometimes I need to talk out my feelings, which usually involves me saying the same thing 14 different ways but I still need you to listen and smile reassuringly and give me a hug when I’m finally talked out. You know what I need more of? Belly laughs. Also impromptu 10pm runs to the store for candy and beer and maybe that imported bag of chips that costs $7.

Okay, words on paper. I get it. If I start taking care of my needs, I may get what I want. And if I take care of my wants and needs, I might starting working through the mess transition has made in my life. Maybe, just maybe, I can be okay with finding rice grains in my refrigerator for a while. After all, sometimes it’s the small details that remind you of the transitions you’ve lived through and, of course, overcome. 

The End of an Era

Why is it always the end of an era? We never hear that the era began, or that the era carried on. 

Do eras always end? 

At the end of the era, is there a bang? A whimper? A glimmer of what could have been?

At the end, there must be fond memories, a sense of pride for what was. 

Perhaps, a bit a of nostalgia. A sweet hint of melancholy, because, apparently

All good things must come to an end. 

Why must they, though? Why all these ends of eras and good things ending?

Can't the good go on and the eras carrying on carrying on? 

Asking for a friend, standing now at the end of an era, watching

The good things come to an end. 

My friend, she's feeling pretty nostalgic. Hell, I'd say she's even pretty sad.

She wished (so hard she wished) that the good could keep on going. 

She prayed (Lord, she did pray) that the era would have no end. 

Yet, the end came. The good, it ended. 

She stands now on the divide. The space between what was and the dark unknown

Of What Is Going To Be.

She's feeling pretty sad, and yes, a little scared. 

No one ever talks about what happens after the end of an era, or what comes next 

When all good things come to an end. 

So now she wants to know- needs to know. 

Is it a bang? A whimper? A glimmer?

Again, asking for my friend, whose there, standing at the end.

I hope, for her sake, that when the era ends something good will begin.