I was on Balboa Peninsula and riding my bike along with the Caveman and about 400,000 other people and one of them a drunk-ass wannabe sorority chick from the 909 locked target on me like an Exocet missile. I had no where to go--I was stuck between her bearing down on me and a huge solid oak garage door.
I laid the bike down and slid on my right side thinking, I guess, that at 4-mph I could somehow cafe-racer-style pull it out in the straightaway. Let me just take the suspense out of the story right now: I did not make it. Instead I laid the bike down and slid on my right side for an unreasonable distance and amount of time, and came to a halt with my cruiser on top of me and my silk JCrew sunsuit with a deep case of road rash. Have no fear: I did, per usual, protect my expensive and diligently maintained teeth.
Later that night, with me sitting on the closed toilet lid as the Caveman cleaned and dressed my ridiculous wounds, I asked him, "How many more years do you think I can continue doing this sort of nonsense?" It was really more of a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway, "For forever." And he said it to me like he says most things to me: With an absolutely clear conviction, and posolutely no hesitation. He wholly believes that I will be participating in these antics when I am 65-years-old, which in all honesty is really not that far away.
This question-and-answer scenario has played like a loop in my head since that fateful evening. And it seems it has served as a catalyst for what I think may very well be a developmentally delayed midlife crisis, that is if I live to be 104 and God help me if I live to be 104-years-old, because if that is the case, I will need a complete lumbosacral spine transplant, as well as a bilateral elbow and wrist goes-ey over-y.
Let's face it folks, I am bordering on just this side of the ridiculous here, but because more often than not it is the uncomfortable and distressing and not the comfort-making and appropriate that we labor under that helps us to birth a new personal truth or maybe even just a cool new IG handle.
So, I have been reviewing a few facts that I just cannot seem to get away from:
- Over The Hill: Most of the Caveman and my friends, for whatever reason, are the age of my 30-year-old son; a few are the age of my own parents, and some are our own age. Age has just never really been a deciding factor in whether we enjoy your friendship. I like that about us--we are equal opportunity with our love and our friendship and our support.
- Fear and Loathing: I have been laboring under fear my entire life. Whenever or wherever you see me AND I am awake and upright, I am in all likelihood scared shitless. All my day's worth of self-control and stamina is used up trying to keep that goo-ball of boiling and roiling and rolling and rumbling fear contained to the center of my being because God forbid that should ever show. It truly is difficult to behave cool and perpetually unencumbered if you are constantly gritting your teeth to keep from peeing your pants out of sheer fright. I just gotta get over this--I just gotta break up with anxiety.
- What Not to Wear: I am probably as fit as I was the year I became pregnant with the Hero and lemmetellyou, I was pretty fit that spring. Regardless of how fit my body may be or how appropriate my BMI, it seems wildly inappropriate to be dressing in clothes from Forever21 and No Rest for Bridget. Perhaps it really should not matter, but it does. Because we all see that lady that just cannot seem to come to grips with the fact that she is over 50 and there ain't nothing pretty about it, and mostly it is just sad and pitiable and the thought of being that lady leaves me totally bereft.
- Got My Mind on My...Huh? What Were We Talking About, Again?: For the most part, my mind remains young. I mean, I keep my education solid by reading the Urban Dictionary Word of the Day daily and my street cred, well, credible by subscribing to the Inside The Mind of a Ghetto Genius blog. As the proprietor and sole staff member of my own little research and cancer registry services company, it is imperative that I stay up-to-date with technology and medicine and business and cancer and some of the most brilliant research minds. I cannot afford to sit back on my heels and simply say, "I do not do that," or "I am sorry, I do not know that." I better do that and I better fucking get familiar. Period. I may not know Wordpress or how to put in a widget or even "program" my own Facebook fan page, but I do know the important questions to ask should you or someone you love be diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer or localized breast cancer. Cancer: It is what I do.
- The Invisible Woman: As I move into the middle of my life, I have found myself feeling that there is something very invisible-making about being a middle aged woman. You are no longer a mommy; not a grand-mommy and not quite dead, either. The fact remains that the days of me turning heads as I walk by has passed me by. Both men and women do not notice me the same as when I was younger, and I have stopped being asked my opinion about anything from what diaper and detergent I use to what type of car, pantyliner or even panty I prefer. And they should be asking me, because I have a lot more money now than I have ever had, and I like to eat nice food and buy nice things for myself and those I love and to see nice places and I like to do it all while driving a nice car. AND I do not need to spend any money on diapers or daycare or dental orthodontics!
- Hip Without Breaking a Hip: And this last point, I believe, is the most important point: I want to remain relevant and interesting and fun and interested. I want to continue to have goals that interest and challenge me. This includes and is not limited to: getting better at surfing, growing my little bloggity blog, bettering my overhead squat, and learning how to do a strict pull-up, as well as getting back on an airplane without barfing the list is endless and excruciatingly exhausting. All this is in an effort to be hip just without breaking my hip!
THIS IS MY 50!
This is my gift to you. And you are welcome.