Telling all of the truth…

Before I go into this, I have to confess that this has been a very hard post to write. Social media, you see, is a funny thing… you think you see someone’s life but in fact you really don’t. You only see what that person wants you to see. Which most of the time is the very much sanitized and “ready for primetime” version. I too am guilty of this, very much so in fact. Even with the heartfelt posts I share and the brutal honesty I tend to include in my words, they’re still not everything that’s going on in my life. Nor should they be. Because being good at telling my story means knowing which stories to tell.

And which ones not to share, ever.

Actually I used to eyeroll my Nana when someone would make the mistake of asking her how she was doing and she’d tell them about everything including her bunions (oh my lord the worst ever) and the perils of buying decent girdles (don’t ask for specifics, seriously, just don’t). I finally told her one day that nobody really wants to know, that they were just being polite, and her reply was that if they didn’t really want to know then they shouldn’t ask.

That’s the rule – don’t ask.

But you didn’t ask, and yet here we are, with me writing again. Because I’m ready to tell the truth finally about something that is very sad and very hard that is going on in our lives. And I’m caveating this with the statement that I hope no one will feel the need to try to make this a scandal or anything ridiculous like that. To be sure, what’s happening isn’t a good thing but it is a necessary thing and it will hopefully eventually result in something good for us. I hope so anyway. And as for why we’re telling everyone like this… simply put… it’s faster. Our immediate family knows. They’ve supported us both as we started this journey. Now we’re bringing the rest of our world into the circle.

So… without any more noise…

As most of you know Robert and I have been separated for quite a long time. We have finally made a decision about our long-term future and we want to share this decision with our friends and family. After 2 plus years of separation we have finally begun the journey toward divorce. To be very clear with everyone, we are not angry with each other and we do not intend anyone in our shared circle of friends and family to feel like they need to take sides. We’re on the same side – each other’s – and we hope all of you will remain the same. We both feel much sadness over the loss of our marriage but we intend to work very hard to maintain our friendship which has always been the bedrock of our relationship and honestly the only thing that has kept us together when there was little else to hold onto. Truthfully no one will ever make me laugh or smile the way Bob does, no one will ever really “get” him and push his boundaries the way I do, and our political and philosophical discussions will I’m quite sure continue on for a very long time. We still have much love for each other and for our shared family and friends and we hope all of you will bear with us as we navigate this new path both together and apart.

There… ugh!

Now I’m sure I heard the collective non-gasp. For something that is definitely non-news. And I want it to be very clear that this wasn’t a decision we came to hastily. We’ve considered lots of different things, looked at many ideas, but the reality is that we’re just too far apart and some things can’t be fixed. Love, it seems, just isn’t quite enough.

Who knew?

So go hug your significant other right now and be grateful for them and what they bring to your life. And don’t worry about me or Bob. We’re going to be okay… eventually… and maybe sooner. We’re working on it. And we appreciate our village as we live through this thing.

Thanks.

And the truth shall set you free…


I am blessed… my cup runneth over… thank you😘

Thanks for all of the birthday love!


And don’t even tell me to act my age… I’ve never been this age before… I don’t know how!

Cheers…

 

Here’s a toast to 52… it’s been a mix but I’m ending it smiling and that’s what counts. Thanks to everyone in my life for all of the love… I am blessed beyond measure for the gift of each of you. You’ve carried me through lots of change, lots of things I never expected, and so many things I didn’t see coming.

I may be blind… don’t tell the DMV 😉

But now it’s time for year 53… so c’mon kids… let’s do this… go big or go home!

JK you don’t really get to go home… well maybe that person in the back… not even sure why she’s here anyway… oh and Wellman… he’ll ghost if I don’t give him permission so I might as well say he can leave. The rest of you? Nope! 

Get busy living or get busy dying… it’s a choice… I choose life. And today I am happy. Because I choose happy.

Now let’s get this party started!

The Old Age Chronicles – Part Fifty Three

Yeah, I know, what the original hell is up with that? Another damned birthday… and I’m just as happy about it as I’ve been about all of them since 49…

(she’s lying)

And before you make me eyeroll you, yes I know there’s lots of people who are not getting to celebrate birthdays anymore. Yes, I’m well aware that any year above ground is automatically a pretty good one (or so “they” say). And yes, I understand fully that my record for surviving these things is currently at 100% so why would it change?

Why indeed?

Well there’s a plethora of reasons for that… but I’m treating that exactly like I do the low tire pressure warning light in my car – put a Post It note over it and just keep driving. But to be clear… I do not have to be happy about the low tire warning… nor do I have to be happy about another damned birthday that reminds me once again that I am getting older.

Wait? Wut? Did that guy in the back say I’m already old? You sir (to quote one of Bob’s old girlfriends) are a charlatan and a trickster… kindly move along to the next blog or I shall report you to the authorities.

Now where was I? Since I’m developing the skill of forgetting what I’m working on whilst I’m working on it… not really… okay maybe a little. Anyway… blah blah blah… getting older… another birthday… woe is me… that’s basically it. So I hope someone does something with a cake… buttercream may be the only thing that makes this reality tolerable. And I hope someone does something with a nice drink or 12 so I might be able to block the happy joy funtime that my 53d birthday is likely to bring. And finally I hope I live long enough to halfassed celebrate another one of these damned things.

Yes… really… no… not kidding.

After all, with 2017 going the way it has so far it’s looking like 53 is going to be a pretty entertaining “year in the life”… and that means 54 has a tough act to follow… somebody better hold it’s beer… the possibilities are practically endless! And yes, in case you just missed that change in tone, despite my grumbling and carrying on I’m actually pretty glad to still be around to “celebrate” these damned things. Do I wish it was my 33d? Of course. But only if I can take everything I’ve so painfully learned over the last 20 years with me. Sorry but if I had to live through that many near-death experiences and ridiculous plot twists I’m not giving up the life lessons. And let’s all just admit that I’ve had some pretty damned entertaining lessons over this life.

Hahahahahahahahaha… yeah, right… er, whatevs…

So anyway… I guess it’s time to embrace this tar baby and make it mine. I’m not getting any younger after all. My first gray hairs given to me by year 52 is a testimony to that reality. Thanks Obama… and the calendar… and everyone else who deserves blame for the fact that I have to celebrate something so very sad… the passing of my youth.

RIP Youth

And sometime around June 11th I hope there’s someone out there who will help make this thing a bit less onerous or at least amusing. So let’s have a drink and maybe a laugh about how ridiculous getting older actually is. You do you… I plan to continue twerking my way into this decade and your friendship and forebearance are both very much appreciated.

Here goes nothing…

 

On becoming a woman of a certain age…

When that age is somewhere between 50 and death it’s not as easy as you think.

And yes, despite my immature youthful demeanor and lifestyle, apparently I am exactly that.  Or nearly.  Too close to it now for my comfort anyway.  And I’m not handling it very well… not at all in fact.  Because I am getting old.

Old.

Such a final and sad word.  With so much baggage.  None of which matches or speaks of a trip to somewhere fun and exotic.  Instead speaking of a one way trip to the end, a trip that gets shorter every day, and the resultant feeling that my time here is running out.

Old.

And I’m laughing about it, I’m trying to embrace it, but I’m secretly scared.  Okay, terrified.  Yeah… terrified… that’s it.  So I’m laughing on the outside but I’m crying inside and I’m not sure how to make this better for me.  How to get past all my preconceived notions about being this age, about being old, about reconciling my ever-growing list of things that I still want to do in this life with the reality that my time alive is getting shorter every day.  Because next week I will be 50.

Old.

One of the biggest struggles I guess is that I’m not sure how to act this new age.  How does one be 50?  What does 50 act like or look like?  Because I’ve seen others in my life do it but I don’t want to do it that way.  I want to own this age.  Change it so people see it as not so frightening.  Not so old.  Just a number.  But I’m not sure how.  I’ve got so much more I want to do… get my Masters, buy a home, travel, become a grandparent… there, that’s not too much to ask for, right?  But next week I am 50, and the feeling that my time is running out is overwhelming me today, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.  And today I’m feeling like that number defines me as only one thing.

Old.

Fifty… half a century… the diamond anniversary of life… and instead of diamonds all I want is more time.  And that gift is the one nobody can give me.   More time.  Something so precious, so finite, and yet indefinable.  Something that is flying by.  Time.  More time.  So much more… please.  Because I want to live long enough to be older… to redefine another decade of life like I figure I’ll redefine this one… and just like I redefined 40.

Older.

My 40s were magical.  They started in tragedy and ended by being my most productive decade of life yet.  Becoming a parent, finishing college, changing careers, running two half marathons… how does one top all that?  But instead of asking that, perhaps I should be asking why my 50s can’t be more of the same?  Why can’t I grow into this new age and make it fit me and how I live, rather than fitting into the outdated perceptions that being 50 comes loaded with and allowing those preconceived notions to change me.  Make me different.  Make me older.

Older.

So with all this, what you need to know is that I’m fighting a battle right now.  A battle against growing old.  I’m giving no quarter.  I’m not quitting.  I may be inappropriate.  I may be ridiculous.  I may be childish.  But I’m always me.  And I’m not growing old… just older… and I’ll never grow up because if you get to 50 and you haven’t done it yet I hear you don’t have to.  All you need to do for me is say thank you.  Because you’re growing older too and you need to thank me in advance for paving a new way to do so.  A way that isn’t so old.  You’re welcome.

So on June 11 it’s happy birthday to me… fifty is here… this should be very interesting… very interesting indeed.  I’ve got no App, no Map, no guidebook, and no instructions… it’s all new and different from this point on.

Growing older.

Let’s have some fun!

Be a Princess? Yeah, I can do that…

Of course it’s harder than just typing the words.  Yeah, and it’s harder than walking into a shop, putting on a Tiara, and et voila!  There I am, ROYAL!  Oh I wish it was that easy.  I also wish I could just “Bibbity Bobbity Boo” it into happening.  But no, it’s been hard damned work becoming royalty.  It’s hard damned work making a dream come true.  But I can.

First let me explain.  I’m not working on becoming a real honest-to-goodness House of Windsor Royal or some such nonsense.  Er, no.  Clearly, being born in Dandridge, TN as the descendent of German farmers and Irish horse thieves that’s pretty much not going to happen.  Besides, the crown I’m seeking is far harder to attain.  You see, I want to be a Disney Running Princess, with a RunDisney Princess Crown Medal around my neck, after I’ve run 13.1 miles through The Magic Kingdom and EPCOT, and I even get to run through Cinderella’s Castle which is really a dream come true.  It’ll be just like my first visit, when I was just a little kid and I skipped through those gates and up the street because I was so damned glad to finally be a part of the magic.  And that’s what it is you know.  Magic.  And this Sunday, at the buttcrack of dawn, I’ll make that magic happen, and I’ll make this particular dream come true.

Because I can do that.

Yes, yes I really can.  Even if I didn’t believe it when I first said the words.  Even if I’ve had lots of doubts along the way.  Even if it’s been harder than I ever dreamed possible to make this happen.  Because making this “Can” happen started out as a dream.  Something I didn’t even start turning into a plan until years after I first said the words.  So it’s a dream that’s been a very long time coming indeed.  But first it started as words spoken out loud in the sunshine way back in February of 2011, as I lounged by the pool at Disney’s Yacht Club on our yearly Anniversary visit.  The dream came when I saw all of the happy and tired runners from that day’s Disney Princess Half Marathon partying on the sand, with their so shiny medals glinting in the afternoon sun.  After first thinking “what a bunch of idiots” I immediately had another thought that was just ridiculous.  Because that second thought I said out loud.  And the words I said were “you know, I can do that”.  And that small sentence?  Those six words?  They changed everything.

Everything.

Those words were prescient, because those words, spoken four long years ago, have come true.  Then I could not do this thing that I’m doing this weekend, but today I can.  I can do it, I will do it, and truly it’s been worth every bit of the metric crap-ton of work I’ve invested, the gallons of sweat I’ve lost as I trained in the hottest summer we’ve had in years, and the laser beam focus than most ADHD people can never muster the energy to pull together in order to be able to do so.  This weekend I will meet that long-delayed goal.

I will be a Princess.

A running Princess.  A running princess who has run a long way from where she started when she first spoke those words.  When she first began moving toward a nearly impossible goal from the most unlikely of beginnings.  Because back when I said that?  The furthest distance I could run was maybe one city block, if someone was chasing me with an axe, and they looked reasonably healthy.  Last year I still couldn’t do it.  I ran/walked the Royal Family 5k on Princess Weekend and I managed a 17 min. mile.  And while that was definitely not great, it also wasn’t as bad as before.  It was progress.  And this Sunday I will realize that dream, with what I hope is something around a 13 min./mile.  But whatever I finish with, it’s mine, I earned it, and it all began with that simple statement of “I can do that”.

Those words are damned dangerous.  They can change your life.

For me though, making those words come true about this and my other goals of the last ten years means that I now know truly that I can accomplish anything.  As long as I say those words.  As long as I believe.  As long as I work.  Hard.  As long as I do not quit.  I can.  And the lesson here for you guys is that you should never stop believing in your dreams… because only you can make them come true.  You can do that.

I can do it.

I can.