Was my 46th birthday.
I’ve been struggling quite a lot with this birthday and I’m not really sure why.
I mean, I know part of it is that I’m now officially closer to 50 than 40 and 50 seems huge.
40 wasn’t huge because I was 20 weeks pregnant at the time with the baby that would become my wonderful little boy. So I was huge, but the birthday wasn’t.
I am, for the most part, happy and content with my life. I have a husband and son whom I love. I have more creative energy than I’ve had at any point in my history. And I enjoy what I do every day.
Yes, I’m sore. A lot. My arms ache and my legs ache and I’m tired a lot of the time. Such is life with Fibromayalgia, after all.
But I’ve been spending the time leading up to yesterday trying to figure out why it seems so huge and reflecting on my life.
And I recognize that I am not where I thought I’d be by this time in my life. I thought I’d be a published writer (well, I am, but only on the ‘net) and/or a professional theatre designer or at least fairly high up in the career that I started on at Kaiser about 20 years ago.
All of which was derailed, very firmly, by my first psychotic break at 25.
But I am, as I said, happy and content.
So why is 46 so hard?
It’s not the signs of ageing. I know I don’t look 46, for one thing. And I don’t really mind the signs that do show my age; my grey hair, my laugh and frown lines and the fact that I seem to be getting my mother’s hands, but without her lovely long thin fingers.
So…why is 46 so hard?!
I have no idea…