Heck of a year

A friend said she’d be awaiting what I post on my 40^th bday. The assumption was that I’d have something profound to say and that would be enlightening for her, as she herself turns 40 soon. That was in September. It is now 2 months since my birthday, and I have not bothered writing shit.

Until now – when I’m actually feeling like it. I guess that’s the very essence of this age. Your terms. Your pace. Your bar. When you are ready, you go. And when you go, you care to impress no one but yourself.

The ride from 39 to 40 has been nothing earth-shattering for me. I did some stuff, but it had nothing to do with the significance of the years, or setting milestones. The convenience and the commercials aligned during the time, and I made some things happen for myself.

It’s the year I traveled alone for the first in my life.
Roamed a city in my own terms. Figured out directions. Which trains took me where. Which restaurant to queue up for. Which alley meant I had lesser chances of getting mugged.

It’s the year I kicked some ass in my career. It’s the year I looked my strongest self. The year I adopted 2 stray kittens. The year I crushed on guys and gracefully accepted reciprocation without flinching.

It’s the year I took my mom on a trip for her birthday. The year I finally convinced her to wear kajal after dad passed away. The year I became more her friend, but also a daughter she raved to her friends about.

It’s the year I briefly fell in love again. After 15 years of being in love with my ex-husband. The year I could accept flowers and knew I deserved them. The year I relished the giddiness of first dates, and the comfort of familiarity. It lasted only a few months, but it was good enough time to realize that I’m capable of being vulnerable with someone again in life. That I do enjoy the little nothings of a relationship, to re-live what it is like to be a passenger-princess, to have someone fix things around my place and, to be shamelessly ogled at while being picked up for dinners. It was also good enough time to realize that arguments need not be screaming matches. Disagreements need not be power struggles. Separation need not be petty and toxic. And as two adults, you can try to build something, enjoy the process with respect for each other, and if things don’t work out for whatever reason, walk away with love for the good moments, and gratitude for the good memories.

Oh, and of course, it’s also the year I did not write as much as I’d planned to. Did not travel to Japan nor Iceland. Did not smash that pull-up. Did not read a whole book. Did not declutter my phone and inbox. Did not learn swimming. Did not get flat abs. Did not take that improv class. And a bunch of other stuff I had marked away for myself.

But that kind of takes us back to where we began, doesn’t it? Our own pace, our direction, whenever the flocking sheep we are up for it. That amazing feeling of being in the spotlight on stage, to perform whatever we want, with zero finnigans on who is in the audience nor what the prize is.

You are here to put on a show that you are going to be entertained and smiling about. That’s all that bloody matters.

Cheers to 40. Or 30. Or 50. Cheers to being you.