If you’re reading this on December 1, today is my 40th birthday. I’ve had numerous feelings about this birthday. I’ve cried many tears about it because I’m not at all where I thought I’d be at this age. I don’t have anything society told me I “should” have at 40 as a cis-het woman: I’m single, childless, and don’t own a home.
When I mentioned this to my sister, she said, “Yeah but those are normie milestones,” which put things into perspective because when have I ever been normal? (The answer: never.) I may not have the things society told me I “should” have, but there are other milestones that I’m proud of. I’ve been in recovery from an eating disorder for 15 years. It’s been so long that in the novel I’m writing about a bulimic, I completely forgot the main character would say mean things about her body on a daily basis. I’m so removed from that version of myself it literally didn’t occur to me that my character’s inner dialogue would be fatphobic and berating.
Speaking of writing, I’ve written three books – a memoir, a romantic comedy, and the current heroine’s journey novel about belonging and recovery from an eating disorder. When I wrote the romantic comedy, I said over and over again, “I don’t think I can write 50,000 words” because I never had. And I used to joke around that I couldn’t write fiction to save my life. Here I am with two novels under my belt.
Another milestone: My business, rebekahmoan.com, isn’t a part of the statistic about most businesses failing within the first five years. It’s been five years and it’s still going strong. It doesn’t look the way it did when I started but that to me shows I’m adaptable. I can change. Related, it’s harder to measure but I have done so much healing work. I’ve learned to soothe my inner child, be my own secure loving parent, feel my feelings, set boundaries, and communicate my needs. Years ago, I was an anxious, people-pleasing, scaredy cat terrified of standing up for herself. Through some incredibly difficult circumstances, that all changed.
Me with my niece, Mira. I’m grateful for her and all the people in my life.
I’ve worked hard for this version of myself and I’m proud of that. Of me. I’ve been in the trenches of my body, mind, and soul learning how to be the best version of myself and I can honestly say I’m healthier than I was at 30 in every possible way. (In large part that’s because my sleep disorder finally got sorted in 2018.) That’s amazing and worth celebrating.
This post is about me but I’m sharing it with you because I bet you also have milestones that society wouldn’t necessarily notice or celebrate like keeping a plant alive for three years, meditating every day for a month, or finally having friends when for so long you were alone.
Celebrating these unconventional milestones reminds me we are all unique incarnations of the Divine Beloved. The central tenet of my spiritual practice is the universe is coming to know itself through me and you. We are the human expression of divinity. We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a human experience, to quote Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.
Other people who speak to this idea eloquently are Brian Swimme and Mary Evelyn Pope who write in their book Journey of the Universe, “[J]ust as the Milky Way is the universe in the form of a galaxy, and an orchid is the universe in the form of a flower, we are the universe in the form of a human. And every time we are drawn to look up into the night sky and reflect on the awesome beauty of the universe, we are actually the universe reflecting on itself. And this changes everything.”
We are the universe reflecting on itself and just as the Cosmos is vast, so are the experiences of human life. We’re not all meant to follow a neat and orderly direction or accomplish all the same things. We’re meant to be wholly ourselves and that means making new milestones.
I dream of a world where we’re proud of ourselves for the things we’ve accomplished even if no one else is. A world where we understand we’re all unique expressions of the Divine Beloved and that means we all express ourselves in different ways. A world where instead of comparing ourselves to other people, we make our own milestones.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Depending on when you’re reading this, today is my 35th birthday. It’s weird and surreal and feels like more of a milestone than turning 30. A lot of it has to do with the fact my mother had me when she was 35 and I am nowhere near that place in life. So much is still up in the air for me and a part of me feels grief about that.
At the same time, a friend reflected, “Yeah but when you thought about what life would be like at 35 you didn’t have enough information.” Meaning, when I dreamed up my life at 35, I didn’t factor in a sleep disorder that would rob me of rest for seven years. Nor did I take into account other health issues that would keep me from being able to accomplish the things I planned. So really, aren’t I right where I’m supposed to be? Given all the things I’ve been through, aren’t I doing a great job?
Seemed appropriate. Photo by Colton Brown on Unsplash
I don’t own a house, but I have an apartment I love. I’m not married, but I’m committed to myself. I don’t have kids, but I’m the beloved auntie of many children. Are things really so bad? All day my phone has buzzed with telephone calls and text messages from people wishing me happy birthday. I love and am loved and isn’t that what matters most anyway?
An excerpt of Barbara Crooker’s poem “In the Middle” seems appropriate here:
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.
Running out of time — how true. I feel that acutely because very recently a dear family friend died. I’m reminded birthdays are not promised. They are not foregone conclusions. Many people don’t make it to 35, or 34, or 33. Truly every birthday is a milestone. Shivi’s death also has me asking, how I can accept the things in my life with grace? He had ALS so his death was expected and when I saw him last, he seemed at peace with it. He wasn’t bitter or resentful about dying. He accepted the fact of his life and still managed to be there for the people around him. He exuded love and care right until the end.
I’m crying as I type this because I loved Shivi so much and he is a great example of embracing life as it is. Not always, not in every moment — he was human after all — but he flowed with life. As I get older I recognize the importance of doing the same. This past year especially threw me many, many curveballs but I’m still here. I’m going where the water is warm, so to speak, I’m accepting the direction my life is taking me, and I’m letting go of preconceived notions because who can predict anything anyway? If I’ve learned anything in 35 years it’s that.
I dream of a world where we let go of preconceived notions. A world where we accept what is. A world where we feel gratitude for the present moment, even if it’s not what we anticipated. A world where we can accept each day, each year as a milestone.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.