Baring it all

Today is my 47th birthday. I've never known whether to look at birthdays as the beginning or end of a year. At this age, they feel more like milestones of survival. With the way my last year has gone, I'm proud to have reached this one.

I do think of this as a year of survival. I've seen my career go into the toilet, and I've come to the realization that the jobs my experience has qualified me for are now going to women twenty years younger who don't have my level of skill but do look much better in a short skirt. That's really not as bitter as it sounds. It's helped me acknowledge that I really need to change careers for my own happiness. I'm tired of pushing myself to be extroverted and charming, when I'm truly an introvert who needs to own some of my lurking fatigue with people. Let the twenty somethings who still feel that internal drive and enthusiasm for the chase and the close get those type of jobs. I just need to get some strategies in place for being the truer version of myself, and a McJob to get me through.

I have finally learned how to care for myself again. I still have a lot of learning to do on this one, but I'm getting better. I love having a healthier body, and this coming year is going to have more of that.

This has been a year of upheaval. The things I've been able to take for granted simply aren't there anymore, mostly because I've either chunked them deliberately or screwed up and lost them. The amazing thing is that it's okay. I've found a will to keep going and trying and with heavenly grace and anti-depressants, my periods of depression have been short and manageable. Faith (even when I struggle for it, even when I question) and hope are my daily reality. So is strength. I can't ask for much more than that.

That's been the year that's come to an end today. What about the one that's beginning? Oh, the possibilities. I think it's time I pulled my favorite Dr. Seuss book out for a good re-read. Whatever this coming year holds for this over the hill southern belle, I'm going to meet it with honesty about myself and belief that I still have an exciting future ahead.

The way I was raised, a lady never revealed her age. She didn't show herself in public without makeup, and she sure as hell didn't reveal her emotional vulnerabilities. This may be why I'm the black sheep of my family. I'm doing all three here. I'm not going to complain about being 47. I think I still look pretty good completely barefaced. I'm not going to complain about feeling 47. I'll take this over how I felt at 27 when I could wear the short skirts with pride and flair but had no idea that anything other than black depression could be a normal daily life.

It's been a quiet, low key birthday which is right for me this year. The womanchild bought me a lovely present that cost more than she should have spent. I found out yesterday that I can probably replace my broken air conditioner/heat pump within the next couple of weeks. (Thank God/dess!) Now, if I could only get Alan Rickman or Hugo Weaving (their voices make me absolutely melt) to telephone and say, "Happy Birthday, Cynthia," I'd say it was just about a perfect day.