dear friends

On Being 50

Wow.

To say I honestly can’t believe I’m turning 50 on Friday is an understatement.  I suspect very few people actually feel the age they are but … I really feel abject disbelief that I am here.  I am bewildered, awestruck, amazed.  To be 50 and, I’ll be honest, at life in general.  I texted a couple of close friends a week or two ago:

“Btw guys I am just absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude lately.  Tearful thinking of Grace and Whit.  Matt.  You guys and other friends.  Intensely thankful.  Is this what 50 is?”

Truthfully I have always inclined towards sensitivity and, often (though not always) towards gratitude.

I think often of a comment I made on Rachel Levy Lesser’s wonderful Life’s Accessories podcast (listen to my episode here –  then listen to them all!).  She recalled a moment in the intro to the book I edited, On Being 40(ish), where I referred to a friend saying her 40s were her favorite decade so far.  How did I expect the 50s to stack up, was Rachel’s question.

I expect them to be even better, was my answer.  More striated with loss, for sure.  I reflected on my father’s funeral, where 5 college friends attended and 5/6 of us had lost their father somewhat recently.  That will speed up in our 50s, I imagine, both parents and others close to us – loss is an inevitable part of life, always, but even more as we get older.  But I also think that is inextricably wound together with our growing awareness of life’s beauty and majesty.  Aren’t they two sides of the same thing, after all?  This life is a glorious, incandescent gift, and it’s not forever.  Both are true.  Unavoidably so.

That’s the overarching theme of 50 for me.  Gratitude and grief, marbled together in every minute.  Gratitude for what is, grief for what is no longer. 50 is also a lot else.

50 is

Young adult children.  Laughing hard.  Worrying about different, bigger things.  Intense pride at watching them become who they are.  Realizing how grateful I am that these three people are genuinely my three favorite people to spend time with, full stop.  Shock and awe at how fast it’s flown.

Reading glasses and sunglasses, sometimes at the same time.  The biggest physical manifestation of aging, for me, has been my decaying eyesight.  It’s frustrating all the time and disorienting, often.

Deep thankfulness to my young self for choosing such incredible friends.  As I get older I feel closer to the women I met and chose as beloved when I was becoming who I am.  It’s amazing how deep these bonds are, how enduring, and I’m more grateful than I can express.  Native speakers, you know who you are.  Thank you. (a subset of these dearly beloved people are below, taken as another of us turned 50 a couple of weeks ago)

I toasted my work partners when we had dinner recently in New York, and told them that there’s a strong case to be made that they are the most important people in my life beside my family.  Their partnership is one of my life’s great joys, and what we’re building together is something I’ll never stop feeling both awe and gratitude about.

My FOO (family of origin).  I miss my Dad every day, but I feel so fortunate to be sailing wing and wing with these two.  It will never cease to amaze me that we have no redheaded children, but HWM thank you for all the laughing, grammatical jokes, and wisdom.  I’m so lucky.  And Mum, where it all began. Alpha and omega.  Thank you.

Speaking of thankfulness and younger me, how did I know how great this guy would turn out to be?  We met when I was 23.  I am turning 50.  We’ve lived many lifetimes together and it isn’t always easy but it’s also never dull.  I could not do any of this without him, and I am very lucky and I know it.  Thank you, MTR.

50 is also waking up at 4 something most mornings.  It’s unapologetically preferring to get into bed at 9 with my book most nights.  It’s realizing I just don’t need to be liked by everyone.  It’s being discriminating about who I want to be close to.  It’s telling people I love how I feel because I know that opportunity may not come again.  It’s more sunrises than sunsets, which is ironic as I’m moving into the afternoon of life.  It’s getting our first pet at 46 and learning how profoundly I love dogs.

I’m not accustomed to being speechless, but that’s how I feel right now.  At least full of an inchoate, incandescent emotion I can’t even begin to express.  To say it is both thankfulness and sorrow at the same time just begins to scratch the surface.  For those of you still reading as I near the 18th anniversary of this blog, thank you.  For those I adore and who make my life what it is, thank you.

Closing with a quote I love.  I sure hope it’s right.

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” -Meister Eckhart

a collision of IRL and online friends

I absolutely loved hearing Dani Shapiro read from and talk about Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love last week at Brookline Booksmith.  It’s not a secret that I adore Dani’s work and have reviewed many of her books here.  I’m also honored to call her a teacher.  She participated in my old Present Tense blog series many years ago.

My favorite book of Dani’s remains Devotion, and it’s not an overstatement to say that that book changed real and substantial aspects of how I inhabit the world.  She gave me permission, in some ways, to live the questions.  I don’t have answers, and that’s ok.

It was a treat to attend Dani’s event with one of my very oldest and dearest friends, Jessica.  I’ve written about Jessica before, and it’s a huge joy that she and her family moved to a town near ours last year.  She has taken a class with Dani before too (I’m waiting for Jessica, a gorgeous writer, to publish a book!) and we went together to the event in Brookline.

The whole night was an interesting collision of real-life and online friends.  I sat next to a friend I’ve known since I was 12, long before the internet existed. Another friend I knew first in person and then online was there.  I was listening to a mentor who I met online and have since gotten to know in real life speak.  I saw and met several friends that I’ve first connected with online: Jessica Braun, Laura McKowen, Rebecca Pacheco, Jennifer Blecher.

The evening was a wonderful swirl of real and online life, and reminded me that there are real relationships to be made in each. The online world gets a tough rap, I think, and there are certainly risks to digital communication.  But I also think genuine relationships can be seeded there, and I’m grateful for the people I’ve encountered here and on Instagram and elsewhere who have become real friends.

What has your experience of online friendships been?

I highly, highly recommend Inheritance if you have not read it yet.

Conscious of our treasures

On Monday night, I watched part of Whit’s hockey practice.  I stood at the end of the rink, watching him through the scuffed plexiglass (I can always identify him because he has red laces in his skates), and was overcome with a swell of contentment.  Thornton Wilder’s words, which always remind me of Aidan, rose to my mind:

We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.

I’m not sure what it was about Monday evening that brought those words, or that feeling of awareness of my treasures, to mind.  But I’ve learned enough not to question the moments that rise up, unbidden and unasked for, but to welcome them.  I thought of my just 12 year old son, brand-new braces on his teeth, skating competently in front of me.  I thought of our warm and safe house. I thought of our health and good fortune.  I thought of Aidan, then, grateful for having met her in this wild and wonderful ether, all those years ago.  Why precisely these words – from Wilder, whose Our Town speaks loudly to me – remind me of Aidan I’m not sure, but I’m glad they do.  I texted her with cold fingers from the rink, and then put my phone back in my pocket.

As I stood and watched Whit shooting on goal, I thought of the perennial struggle that exists within me to be here now while I also watched, through a (in this case, literal) pane of clear material.  I’m removed from and engaged in my life at the same time.  I think it’s time to just let go of that struggle, to recognize that the tension that exists between those two poles is at the heart of the way I am in the world.

This is both the animating challenge of my life and the source of most of its color.

Maybe I’m inching towards the acceptance of those poles, which seem as opposed as do my two simultaneous ways of being in the world.  That’s one of my treasures, no question.  So are the family and health I noted, the dear friends (Aidan among them), words on the page and in the ether, the sky at dusk and at dawn, and so many other things.  It’s absolutely true what Wilder says, that when I’m aware of my deep good fortune that I feel most alive.

The bell rang, Whit came off the ice, and, with a gesture that means “hurry up!” I went to go wait for him in the car.  Conscious of my treasures, and fully alive, we drove home.

Seventh annual

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Saturday night sunset on Chappaquiddick

This past weekend I was with my native speakers.  It was our seventh annual weekend gathering (2010, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 – not sure how I missed 2011).

This year we were a smaller band than usual, and it was hard not to notice the ways that life’s demands kept many away.  We are in The Middle Place, there’s no question about that. In the past year we’ve celebrated christenings and sat at the bedsides of ailing parents.  We’ve watched children be born and turn into teenagers.  We are reckoning with work challenges and what marriage looks like after 10 years and who we are.

We have reached the top of life’s ferris wheel.  The view is spectacular, but we know the trip down will be too fast.

We’re walking together – what an outrageous blessing it is to write the word together, I know that – into the early afternoon of life.  As I drove Grace and Whit to school on Friday morning, before heading to the airport to pick up a couple of friends who were flying in, they wanted to know more about who was coming.  I described each person, all of whom are familiar to my children (what a pleasure that is!), and then said to them that I hoped in their life they made friends that they’d make a point of seeing every year.  I didn’t expect the tears that filled my voice and eyes as I said that.  It’s true, though: one of the many wishes I have for Grace and Whit, and one of the fiercest, is that they meet friends like the ones I’ve been lucky enough to make. People who will answer their texts and calls, laugh and cry with them, people who will show up.

I’ve written before and I’ll write again that these friends are the ones who knew me as I was becoming who I am.  We are part of each others’ lives in an indelible way.  We share a colorful, vivid past, a rich, exhausting, blessed present, and, God willing, a long future. We experienced together some of life’s most formative years.  These women are a part of what shaped and molded me into who I am.

On Saturday night I sat at the top of the bluff outside of our hostess’s house and watched the sun set.  I took the photo above (and many more).  I was struck silent by the spectacular pageant in the sky, but I was also overcome by an immense wave of gratitude. I love our tradition and hope there are a great many more weekends ahead.

The people who show up

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Matt the day after surgery.  Things actually went seriously south after this, but they are stable now.

For better or for worse, the last month has given me a lot of insight into certain friendships.  First let me say that Matt has an injury, not an illness, and he will be totally fine in time.  I realize this is a situation of great good fortune and that in the big picture this is just a hiccup.  It is also true, however, that this has been a substantially difficult few weeks in our  family’s little life.  Reentry into school, restarting sports, all with just one driver and adding many (many) doctor’s and PT appointments on top of everything else has been challenging. There were some additional non-Matt-related hiccups in the first week or two of September that added texture and complexity to our lives.  Everyone is fine now.

I also work full time, which is not inconsequential. In short, this has been a challenging time.  And certain people have absolutely blown me away with their support.  I will never forget the friends who showed up on our doorstep bearing food, sent gifts, or offered help.  People have sent and lent books and given many suggestions of things to read, watch, and think about.  People have come by to sit and keep Matt company for meals.  People have helped me with driving.

The kindness of people – family, close friends, and, frankly friends who weren’t that close before (but are now) is hugely notable.  It goes without saying that not everyone has responded this way.  That’s not what I want to dwell on.  What I want to consider, celebrate, and ostentatiously acknowledge, is the kindness of people in our lives who’ve gone out of their way to both help and check on us.  Even a simple text checking in and offering help goes SO FAR.  Seriously. The generosity of so many people has moved me and indelibly changed how I think about them.

It also has made me consider my own behavior in the past when friends near or far have struggled. I have been feeling a lot of guilt about certain instances in the past when I wasn’t there enough for friends.  I did not realize the insensitivity of not checking in, and now I do.  There are the friends who show up, and my devout, deliberate intention going forward is to be one of them for those I love.  It takes so little, honestly.  A phone call.  A swing by when you’re out doing errands.  A text.  I am sorry, and I am grateful, at the same time, all the time, right now.

Let’s be the people who show up.