|
|
So, This Is What Fifty Looks Like
|
|
Written by Jane Becker
|
|
Wednesday, 15 October 2008
|
|
Page 2 of 2
In one of my favorite fairytales, a man goes through an enormous calamity. He survives and says to his wife, well, I really learned from that experience. A little while later, he goes through another terrible ordeal. Luckily, he survives. And he says to his wife, well I really learned from that one. A bit further one, he encounters another catastrophe.
He dies.
The moral being that it’s great to learn lessons, but you have to actually apply them or it will kill you. Literally.
This thought also immobilized me. What if I made the wrong decision? How many more chances would I get at this age anyway? All the roads I’d traveled had led me here, to the outskirts of fifty and I needed to know which road would take me out of here and onto the next path. I envied Karl Marx. He managed to make those five-year plans work for him right up through his death. I envied those 1970s heroines—San Francisco seemed like a pretty easy choice.
I chewed on this for months and came to no conclusion. Then one morning I ran into a former lover, a disreputable artist who had succored me through some of the rough nights early in my single parenting tenure. I had gone into a coffee shop, desperate for a shot of espresso and there he was.
I didn’t recognize him.
Though he had been younger than me when we were together, he no longer looked it. He was losing his hair and had developed a paunch. Well, haven’t we all. Anyway, we started talking and we talked about books and birthdays and I told him I was approaching fifty. He laughed as if he couldn’t believe that he had actually slept with someone who was now almost fifty. Then he offered me a birthday present, a paperback he had in his backpack. It was a book about Aboriginal mythology. I tucked it away, hugged him, and left.
A couple of days later I found the book at the bottom of my purse and began to read. It turns out that in Aboriginal creation myths, the people did not come to earth after the Gods had already created it. In their myths, the people were here first and they walked along paths called song lines, and as they walked they sang their world into existence.
Imagine singing your world into existence. Not mapping it, not five-year planning it, but singing it into existence. What a beautiful thought.
I decided that’s what I would do. I’d stop combing the maps for signposts and high-speed routes. I would instead follow my own song lines, and sing the next phase of my life into being.
I climbed off the fence and walked happily into Fifty. I stopped worrying about how I should celebrate my birthday and just celebrated by surrounding myself with everyone I loved.
I had dinner with my best girlfriends and drank champagne.
I got a pedicure.
My sons got me two birthday cakes. (I know one was on sale.)
I had great birthday sex. (George got a present, too.)
And my friend was right. I did feel better the day after I turned fifty.
In fact, I got up, singing.
Provided by DivineCaroline.com, a website where sophisticated women like you can read and contribute stories, reviews, and forums. Please visit our vibrant community soon.
 Add Comments
<< Start < Prev 1 2 Next > End >>
|
|
Last Updated ( Wednesday, 15 October 2008 )
|
Print
|
Email
|
.jpg)
