Random thoughts as I hit the Big 50
I tend to get the blahs every year, sometime in February. There were a couple of bad years back when I was in school where the only thing that got me through the month of February was wanting to get to my next birthday the first week of March.
I spent most of the last weekend in February waffling about whether or not I should break my three-and-a-half year embargo and call my parents? Triggered in part by finding out the week before that my mother-in-law had died (and because I’d been out of touch, I didn’t find out for three months).
While I was waffling about, I realized there’s a good reason why I never call home.
The saddest thing about my relationship with my mother is that all those times when you want someone to talk to, someone to listen, to sympathize, to make you feel better?
Most people call their mother.
I don’t dare call my mother because:
1 - She won’t listen. She’ll monopolize the conversation, and often I hand up the phone never having said what I called to talk about.
2 - If I do manage to get out what’s on my mind, she’s almost guaranteed to say something that makes me feel worse. That what happened must have somehow been my fault, that I must have asked for it, said or done something wrong.
I spent so much of my life being as awesome as I know how, getting good grades, not getting into trouble, not drinking or smoking or doing drugs or shoplifting or accidentally getting pregnant and needing an abortion or any of the other things that parents worry about their kids doing. I graduated college, got married, started a teaching career, got divorced, found myself a better job, one where I have been able to not only support myself after my divorce, but raised my standard of living and bought my own condo. All by myself. I’ve accomplished a lot in my life, all while being told overtly and covertly that I was still a failure.
My sister told me that “none of the neighborhood kids like you, they’re just too polite to tell you they don’t want to play with you”
My mother told me that I was fat and needed to “tone down” my personality if I wanted anyone to like me.
And my dad, well, he’s a damned perfectionist with the empathy of a brick, so he was always nitpicking something or other and not realizing that what we wanted from him was praise, not to have the flaws pointed out to us.
Is it any wonder I try to keep my blood family at a safe distance? All those slights still hurt, even years later. I suppose I should learn how to let it go, but I’m not sure how the heck to do that.
***
I’ve also been busy processing what it means to turn 50. It used to be that 40 was considered “over the hill” but 50 is the new 40. So am I over the hill now?
I’ve been feeling pretty lonely this week. Because being 50, divorced, childless, single, and estranged from your birth family is a lonely place to be. I haven’t even had so much as a roommate or cat for company for years. And being unemployed the past several months? Yeah, I’ve been cut off from human contact for way too much. As much as I like my alone time, there is such a thing as too much.
***
The origins of the parenthood religion are obscure, but one of its first manifestations may have been the “baby on board” placards that became popular in the mid-1980s. Nobody would have placed such a sign on a car if it were not already understood by society that the life of a human achieves its peak value at birth and declines thereafter. A toddler is almost as precious as a baby, but a teenager less so, and by the time that baby turns fifty, it seems that nobody cares much anymore if someone crashes into her car. You don’t see a lot of vehicles with placards that read, “Middle-aged accountant on board.” Source (Emphasis mine)
Whee! Can you tell this birthday is hitting me hard?
***
50 is certainly the age when all the articles about employment declare that as a woman I’m now completely unemployable, and that’s totally relevant to my current situation. Being unemployable at 50 is a ridiculous idea, since average life expectancy for an American woman is 81. What the hell am I supposed to do with myself (and how am I supposed to support myself) for the next 30 years if I’m unemployable?!?!
***
And then there’s the fact that when I was a child my grandfather read my palm and told me that I was going to live to be 100. And I’ve always believed him, even though I know palm reading is complete bunkum, because I choose to believe that I’m going to live to be 100. Which means my life is only half over. I’ve got another 50 years to look forward to. What the heck do I want to do with it? What do I want to be when I finally grow up? What are my goals for the rest of my life? And what am I actually doing to move myself towards accomplishing those goals?
“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
***
Thank god I’ve got Wil Wheaton to remind me what’s great about being a nerd. Video Transcript
The defining characteristic of [being a nerd] is that we love things.
As long as I can love something or someone, there’s no way I can be broken. Love is too important for that. Being able to love is the most important thing in the world.
And listen: This is really important. I want you to be honest, honorable, kind. I want you to work hard. Because everything worth doing is hard. And I want you to be awesome…
***
Looking back, I’m in a much better place than I was ten years ago. When I turned 40 I was still trying to recover from my divorce, a bad breakup with the good friend who got me through the divorce, a breakup with a boyfriend, and losing my cat Zeus that I’d gotten when I was in college. I was dealing with a horrible boss, was suffering from an episode of severe depression and hadn’t yet started the medication and therapy that would finally pull me out of it. I may occasionally talk about being depressed, but it’s never been as bad as it was ten years ago.
Also, at fifty, I feel like my social circle, my chosen family, is even stronger than ever. I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like, but all the people I have around me? Are Quality. I’m blessed to have you all in my life.
I spent most of the last weekend in February waffling about whether or not I should break my three-and-a-half year embargo and call my parents? Triggered in part by finding out the week before that my mother-in-law had died (and because I’d been out of touch, I didn’t find out for three months).
While I was waffling about, I realized there’s a good reason why I never call home.
The saddest thing about my relationship with my mother is that all those times when you want someone to talk to, someone to listen, to sympathize, to make you feel better?
Most people call their mother.
I don’t dare call my mother because:
1 - She won’t listen. She’ll monopolize the conversation, and often I hand up the phone never having said what I called to talk about.
2 - If I do manage to get out what’s on my mind, she’s almost guaranteed to say something that makes me feel worse. That what happened must have somehow been my fault, that I must have asked for it, said or done something wrong.
I spent so much of my life being as awesome as I know how, getting good grades, not getting into trouble, not drinking or smoking or doing drugs or shoplifting or accidentally getting pregnant and needing an abortion or any of the other things that parents worry about their kids doing. I graduated college, got married, started a teaching career, got divorced, found myself a better job, one where I have been able to not only support myself after my divorce, but raised my standard of living and bought my own condo. All by myself. I’ve accomplished a lot in my life, all while being told overtly and covertly that I was still a failure.
My sister told me that “none of the neighborhood kids like you, they’re just too polite to tell you they don’t want to play with you”
My mother told me that I was fat and needed to “tone down” my personality if I wanted anyone to like me.
And my dad, well, he’s a damned perfectionist with the empathy of a brick, so he was always nitpicking something or other and not realizing that what we wanted from him was praise, not to have the flaws pointed out to us.
Is it any wonder I try to keep my blood family at a safe distance? All those slights still hurt, even years later. I suppose I should learn how to let it go, but I’m not sure how the heck to do that.
***
I’ve also been busy processing what it means to turn 50. It used to be that 40 was considered “over the hill” but 50 is the new 40. So am I over the hill now?
I’ve been feeling pretty lonely this week. Because being 50, divorced, childless, single, and estranged from your birth family is a lonely place to be. I haven’t even had so much as a roommate or cat for company for years. And being unemployed the past several months? Yeah, I’ve been cut off from human contact for way too much. As much as I like my alone time, there is such a thing as too much.
***
The origins of the parenthood religion are obscure, but one of its first manifestations may have been the “baby on board” placards that became popular in the mid-1980s. Nobody would have placed such a sign on a car if it were not already understood by society that the life of a human achieves its peak value at birth and declines thereafter. A toddler is almost as precious as a baby, but a teenager less so, and by the time that baby turns fifty, it seems that nobody cares much anymore if someone crashes into her car. You don’t see a lot of vehicles with placards that read, “Middle-aged accountant on board.” Source (Emphasis mine)
Whee! Can you tell this birthday is hitting me hard?
***
50 is certainly the age when all the articles about employment declare that as a woman I’m now completely unemployable, and that’s totally relevant to my current situation. Being unemployable at 50 is a ridiculous idea, since average life expectancy for an American woman is 81. What the hell am I supposed to do with myself (and how am I supposed to support myself) for the next 30 years if I’m unemployable?!?!
***
And then there’s the fact that when I was a child my grandfather read my palm and told me that I was going to live to be 100. And I’ve always believed him, even though I know palm reading is complete bunkum, because I choose to believe that I’m going to live to be 100. Which means my life is only half over. I’ve got another 50 years to look forward to. What the heck do I want to do with it? What do I want to be when I finally grow up? What are my goals for the rest of my life? And what am I actually doing to move myself towards accomplishing those goals?
“It’s never too late to be what you might have been.” - George Eliot
***
Thank god I’ve got Wil Wheaton to remind me what’s great about being a nerd. Video Transcript
The defining characteristic of [being a nerd] is that we love things.
As long as I can love something or someone, there’s no way I can be broken. Love is too important for that. Being able to love is the most important thing in the world.
And listen: This is really important. I want you to be honest, honorable, kind. I want you to work hard. Because everything worth doing is hard. And I want you to be awesome…
***
Looking back, I’m in a much better place than I was ten years ago. When I turned 40 I was still trying to recover from my divorce, a bad breakup with the good friend who got me through the divorce, a breakup with a boyfriend, and losing my cat Zeus that I’d gotten when I was in college. I was dealing with a horrible boss, was suffering from an episode of severe depression and hadn’t yet started the medication and therapy that would finally pull me out of it. I may occasionally talk about being depressed, but it’s never been as bad as it was ten years ago.
Also, at fifty, I feel like my social circle, my chosen family, is even stronger than ever. I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like, but all the people I have around me? Are Quality. I’m blessed to have you all in my life.