An open letter to 31 and 5
Dear 31,
This morning I opened my eyes to find you watching me. The experience was decidedly different than last year when 30 snuck up behind me, covered my eyes and scared the bejesus out of me because, really? Who really knows what 30 might have up her sleeve. As much trepidation that came before the time 30 actually showed up, she made a lot of positive changes around here.
The past year has forced me to face the best and worst experiences life has thrown me. While those details don't matter, the results do. 31 finds me a humbler, kinder, more content person. I consume less and create more. I use less energy from the grid in favor of elbow grease. I am learning to release the fear and embrace opportunity. Sometimes it is easier than others.
29 was sort of a blur of anxiety and insecurity, but 30 brought with her many of the pieces to the puzzle I had been missing. 30 brought a sense of completeness. I discovered a confidence that had been missing and with it optimism and hope. I remember being told as a young woman that just because one is legally an adult at 18 or 21, it takes another decade or so to truly be a grown up. I get that now.
Today I am 31 years old. There is nothing I would rather be.
Welcome.
Dear 5,
I'll keep this short because if I think about it too much I will get upset and then I won't be hungry for cake and ruin my party. However, I want to aknowledge the unfairness that I feel whenever I let my mind wander back to 5 years ago today. I'm not sure why you had to die on my birthday, Dad. I'm not sure why your healthy body suddenly gave out without any warning at only 58 years old. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that you never met my children or my husband and can't accept the reality that I can't dial you up and fill you in on the latest.
I don't have the burden of wondering how we could learn to understand each other and not be so chronically disappointed in one another. 5 years, one marriage and two children have taught me a lot. I learned that as much as you infuriated and confused me, the deeper I look inside myself, the more of you I find. You weren't a bad guy, Dad. You were just a man trying to do the best he knew how and I know you gave us all you had to give. 5 years ago I watched the doctors take you off life support and will never forget looking at your tanned, muscular arms thinking about how the day before you were working in the fall sun.
5 years ago I lost my dad. And it sucks.
This morning I opened my eyes to find you watching me. The experience was decidedly different than last year when 30 snuck up behind me, covered my eyes and scared the bejesus out of me because, really? Who really knows what 30 might have up her sleeve. As much trepidation that came before the time 30 actually showed up, she made a lot of positive changes around here.
The past year has forced me to face the best and worst experiences life has thrown me. While those details don't matter, the results do. 31 finds me a humbler, kinder, more content person. I consume less and create more. I use less energy from the grid in favor of elbow grease. I am learning to release the fear and embrace opportunity. Sometimes it is easier than others.
29 was sort of a blur of anxiety and insecurity, but 30 brought with her many of the pieces to the puzzle I had been missing. 30 brought a sense of completeness. I discovered a confidence that had been missing and with it optimism and hope. I remember being told as a young woman that just because one is legally an adult at 18 or 21, it takes another decade or so to truly be a grown up. I get that now.
Today I am 31 years old. There is nothing I would rather be.
Welcome.
Dear 5,
I'll keep this short because if I think about it too much I will get upset and then I won't be hungry for cake and ruin my party. However, I want to aknowledge the unfairness that I feel whenever I let my mind wander back to 5 years ago today. I'm not sure why you had to die on my birthday, Dad. I'm not sure why your healthy body suddenly gave out without any warning at only 58 years old. I still can't wrap my head around the fact that you never met my children or my husband and can't accept the reality that I can't dial you up and fill you in on the latest.
I don't have the burden of wondering how we could learn to understand each other and not be so chronically disappointed in one another. 5 years, one marriage and two children have taught me a lot. I learned that as much as you infuriated and confused me, the deeper I look inside myself, the more of you I find. You weren't a bad guy, Dad. You were just a man trying to do the best he knew how and I know you gave us all you had to give. 5 years ago I watched the doctors take you off life support and will never forget looking at your tanned, muscular arms thinking about how the day before you were working in the fall sun.
5 years ago I lost my dad. And it sucks.
posted by Kirsten at
2:16 PM
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