By Jaye Watson
1. You know who you are. Let me say that again. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Because of this, you finally stop caring what other people think of you. You sing at the top of your lungs alone in the car when that song from high school comes on the radio. Lots of people see you singing, because you’re sitting at the intersection. And you’ve added hand gestures to your performance.
2. You get rid of the vampires. The people who sucked you dry and gave nothing back. The people who made you feel worse about yourself. This can include friends, husbands, wives, co-workers and even certain family.
3. You make peace with yourself. With your flat butt, your big nose, your thick thighs, your small boobs, your short toes, your profile, that one eyebrow that sits higher than the other, that birthmark on your neck that boy teased you about in fourth grade. You forgive yourself your imperfections and you move on.
4. You no longer care about being cool. Very few people are. You’re not one of them. And it’s okay.
5. You stop doing things to impress others. You now do things to fulfill yourself. You’re good at your job because you know what the hell you’re doing. When you try something new, you enjoy the experience, as opposed to being embarrassed because you stink at zumba/ice hockey/zip lining. You’re not worried about looking like a fool, because you no longer care about being cool (see above).
6. You’re still growing, but it’s on the inside now. You recognize the profound value in things you’ve had from the day you were born. You delve deeper into faith-spirituality-mindful living. You deeply cherish time with your friends. You smile when you think about that great belly laugh you had with your sister days ago. You are spontaneously struck by the thought that your life is a miracle. You feel gratitude, without having to be reminded by an atrocious crime or car crash or fire.
7. The trio of should/could/would die a spectacular death. These are soul-shrinking-over-the-shoulder-looking words that paralyze you. Should I have? Could I have? Would I have? They’re replaced by, ‘I can and I will. Then again, maybe I won’t.’ You still freak out sometimes, over the bills/kids/life/401ks. You still want to punch a wall when you trip over your husband’s running shoes in the middle of the hallway, in the dark. But the freak outs are shorter and the wall punch urge passes more quickly. You finally know the truth. You’re not a victim of life. You are life, and you only get one. Live large, Geezer.
This was first published in Jaye Watson Online.
Posted under Main Blog
This post was written by carolyn on August 2, 2016