I’ve been thinking a lot about this space - thinking, but not writing, the crux of many of my best procrastinations. It’s been about 80 days since I stepped away from social media, though let’s be honest, for me that’s really only Instagram, so 80 days since I removed Instagram from my phone. I’m wondering, now, if I can meld the two platforms somehow into one creative space. I’m trying a little something new today to see how it feels. I also intended to write something profound about turning fifty, but honestly, it just felt maudlin and dramatic. The thing is, there is no part of my adulthood that I can see without the lens of cancer shading it. I don’t know how to share about turning fifty, without poking around in the dark spaces. Cancer has very dark spaces, spaces I’m not afraid or ashamed of, but where I don’t care to dwell. So on turning fifty, I offer this…
Two days before my 23rd birthday a surgeon probed deep into my left armpit with his fingers while gently telling me, “Dana, you have a cancer. I’m sorry you have to be alone when you hear this.” Here’s where I often go down the rabbit hole, because even typing this now, I can feel the accompanying swoop of my guts and the ringing buzz in my ears, how my extremities felt numb for hours, the stone of ache in my throat. All of that is true, and it will always be true. I lived a goddamn nightmare, not once, but twice. Because of this truth every. single. birthday. is a glorious victory. I AM HERE! I AM LIVING! It’s some kind of crazy, lucky magic I will never fully understand. I’ve dreamed of fifty for decades, and now I’m here, learning Spanish, growing tomatoes, running board meetings, knitting, reading, drawing, painting, exploring, expanding, understanding myself more and more each day. I am FIFTY. It’s a big number, one I take great pride to have reached, though I’m not sure how much credit I can actually take. What a tremendous thing the gift of years is. May I never take it for granted.
I’m not much of one for roller coasters. I never raise my hands; hell, I barely open my eyes, but when I can force myself to get on one, one that DOES NOT FLIP, I do have a sort of terrified, incredulous, wide-rictus grin wearing fun. This year May felt very much like a roller coaster ride, filled with dips and swoops and great bellows of joy. There were twists and turns and times when I closed my eyes tight-tight. Birthdays and cancerversaries. Engagements and graduations. Endings and beginnings and a great big dog pile of families with all the joy and tension that entails. While it wasn’t the type of birthday celebration I would have chosen if given the chance, it so exquisitely captured all the staggering ways life delights and surprises - in both lovely and terrible ways - I found myself bursting into random tears for the entirety of my birthday weekend. Since leaving christianity, I don’t often pray, but Whoever is hearing the words from my deepest soul received an epic of gratitude from me this month. At some point I told my oldest that these are the moments I lived for, and here I am living them.
I’ve kept a counter running since the day of my burnout epiphany. It’s been 265 days since I hit the bottom and then dragged along the gravel for a bit after months of limping, struggling and internally seething. My work is not less stressful, in fact, we’ve added two large building projects, one of which will result in a fourth library branch for this county. Many days I still come home mentally and physically worn out. Had I continued waiting for my work to change, I’d still be waiting. Or more likely, I’d have burned out in a flaming mess causing untold damage as I went.
For many months, I was certain I would be leaving the library to save my sanity - no shame for those who do leave, sometimes that is the only way to save yourself, -but as I mentioned a few weeks ago, something inside me is shifting. I’m so glad I listened to my gut which told me to, “wait, wait and watch” before resigning. I did wait. It’s been challenging. Sometimes when my text message alert sounds before 9am, I have a giant surge of anxiety still. Some weeks I work too many hours. Some nights I have trouble sleeping. But not often.
More often than not, recently, I’m enjoying myself. Even at work. Even on the days when the when the automatic door won’t open, the patron doesn’t want to pay for the brand new book they damaged and the door of the popcorn machine is lying shattered on the floor 48 hours before a major kids event. I have changed, and it’s only now that months and months - nearly a year - have passed since the worst days, that I can see how far I have come. It’s been a wild ride; it still is. Every month since December I’ve picked a self-care practice to focus on. The focus for June, I’m pleased to announce, is Rest and Reflect. These focus areas have become lifelines for me. I’ve shared about them here many times, but rest? It’s not something that comes easily to me. I like productivity, making lists and ticking them off. I embrace efficiency and order. I use a daily habit tracker. This month, I’ll still do all those things. But I’ll also observe an early bedtime, listen to my body, take my work breaks, and carefully monitor my hours.
Of great interest to me lately, is how developing hobbies and practices has been the hinge on which my mental health swings. At the worst of the burnout, I would come home each day and climb into bed, too exhausted to deal with any more reality. As I said, I’m often still tired when I come home, but after some sit and stare time, I can usually be found tending my little garden, watching the owl family that lives in my backyard, writing letters, practicing yoga, even a little light house puttering. It’s these things which also define who I am and what I do that help provide the balance I didn’t have before. I recently read this, “If your work is your self, when you cease to work, you cease to exist.” I’m becoming more fully me as I allow myself to explore what I love, to play and examine, to try and fail and choose to quit or try again. I can’t remember the last time I came home only to climb in bed. I’m healthier, and I’m also very mindful that this new existence is still very new and fragile. It’s not established yet. I’m taking care to help this self deepen and grow by letting her rest and by reflecting on all the changes and adjustments have gone into the last nine months. It’s like giving birth all over again.
And so, this is June. We’ll celebrate Midsummer and the turning of the year, can you believe it? We’ll laugh and cry, eat and sleep, work and, hopefully, play. Please remember to play. And me, I’ll remember to write. It’s my best tool for reflection. Here we are. We’re living. I’m fifty. What a lovely place to be.
I too couldn't wait for my 50ith birthday. There was no life altering event or crisis, just a deep belief that at 50 I could finally, proudly don my Crone Crown. My years finally caught up to my soul's age.
Now four years into my Cronedom, it just keeps getting deeper, clearer and more juicy! Gratitude is a key component.
I started following you last month based on Crone in Training name. I hear how much you have battled to be here. My two cents: YOU GO GIRL!