Hello, Future Self. So you’re another year older. Let me help put it into perspective.
Preempting a midlife crisis with idealistic self-talk
Our 37th birthday has arrived. Sh*t, it came out of nowhere.
Half of me loves this version of myself in an admirable way, gently and sincerely. The other half feels like each day is taking a little bit more from me, which I mean in the most literal sense. No one warned me that getting older is a total mindf*ck. Please forgive my language, but how else do you describe the physical evolution that takes you from an awkward kid learning to balance on rollerskates to an adult with blurred vision and slow recovery time. I can’t look in the mirror for too long or else I’ll notice another sign of physical maturity — to put it nicely — that I’m not thrilled about.
And then there are psychological changes to navigate. The pressure to succeed at something — anything — is suddenly like a fire blazing under my ass. I can’t help but think, If only I felt the heat years ago, my life would be so much better than it is right now. That frivolous measure of being called time can drive anyone crazy.
Will I have enough time to read all the books currently lining my shelves? What about the ones I have yet to find? Are all my great loves behind me? Will I die before having seen the Northern Lights or explored the streets of Italy by scooter? Will I meet an elephant in the wild before humans overtake their last naturally inhabitable space? Better yet, will I live to see humanity take a triumphant turn from destruction to rehabilitation? Questions like these, trivial or existential, arise from an anxious mind. But worrying about the future can do no good. I know this. You know this. The trouble is remembering to slow down, be present, and let life surprise us.
To finish the moment, to find the journey’s end in every step of the road, to live the greatest number of good hours, is wisdom. — Ralph Waldo Emerson
Don’t worry. I’m not here because my misery seeks company. Quite the opposite. If I am going to write to you, then I hope to inspire you — even a simple inner reflection or glimmer of hope would make my effort worthwhile.
So what positive thoughts are whirling through my mind? If I could blow out the candle on this cake, what would I wish for? A consolatory reality check would be nice. The kind that wipes away all preoccupation with matters of a transient life. Here’s one to consider:
Getting older is a privilege.
Youth gives way to wisdom, and beauty is never lost. With this in mind, the harsh manifestations of aging become meaningful reflections. The hairs turned white are remnants of yesterday’s worries — worries that have no power today. The paper-thin wrinkles at the corners of your eyes are laughter’s imprints. The ache in your wrist is the lingering impression of thousands of hours of work to help animals. The freckles and spots peppered across your face and body are evidence of the sun’s tiny, indelible kisses. And your collection of scars are signs of a life lived.
If you could see your heart, you’d notice countless fractures. For years, I toiled away at its mending, doing my best to return every broken piece to where it belongs because your heart is your not-so-secret weapon, your compass, and your source of compassion. Now, it’s stronger than ever.
When you’re struggling to smile, remember… You love to dance. Throw on a banger and just wait for it. When the beat drops, you go wild — from zero to sixty in an instant. You’re at peace when curled up with a book in the corner of the sofa nearest the lamp, especially if the apartment has been freshly cleaned. You find pleasure in glimpses of the moon. No need to go far; buckle Romeo and Cruz into their harnesses — they’d be thrilled to accompany you around the neighborhood. You adore fresh flowers. Invest seven dollars in a dozen roses from Trader Joe’s and you’ll be right back in the game. If the evening is warm, take Luna for a drive. With music playing and the breeze caressing your skin, you revel in the twilight. Speaking of twilight, you’re a sucker for supernatural love stories. Ok, any love story really. Lucky for you, stories of love almost compete in number with the stars in the Milky Way.
So smile away, Marissa. It’s time to dream new dreams. Be brave. Work hard. Love harder.
You got this.
