I read a lot of blogs. Written a number myself, and yet there remains a nagging thread, tugging at my consciousness that something is missing – something is not whole in the state of … this person.
I am not of my peers. Comfortable lives and I envy them, for they are satisfied, and if not, show no indication otherwise. Others adapted and stoic in their approach. And I envy them. Those that make jokes about being old annoy me. In a world of ‘after fifty’ I am the peddler with her saucepans around her waist, stopping but never home. There is an unsettling nature of my current years.
There, laid bare.
To be fair, much has happened, sort of tsunami happened to both body and soul in the recent past which can account for the negative attitude (you can forgive for that) but also through that ‘Hades of Hell’ period of the recent past, which many of us endure, there lies a choice: many choices in fact and the issue rests on this restless heart: what are you doing with the rest of your life? What can you do with the rest of your life? How are you going to begin the rest of your life? You know what I mean.
You are laid bare.
This is the first time in my life I have been broken, flayed, held accountable, crawled into a hole, endured immeasurable loss, disappointed those who held me and wanted to blame when I know I was guilty and yet I was not, and the games are played, and in all that, it’s as if another peddler, this one with seeds in her pouch, has stopped at my door and offered me a few.
I am a therapists dream, but I am not alone. I am a mature woman, in my fifties (closer to the end of them) and have many titles behind my name. Some I never thought would pertain to me, but now they do.
Others stare into the glass window of my life and have their thoughts, but the thing is, all this looking to the past, the negative of late, the going back to going forward, the goodbyes and the regrets, the self loathing, the judging of others and the expectations – these are all superfluous to the here and now. What am I going to do with the rest of my life, at this age, in this body, with the tools and the history I have, before I no longer have choices?
I lay myself bare. And though I have written before, I took a break to just take a break and in that break I culled.
I laid myself bare.
Tossed the saucepans and gathered the seeds. And I know it is going to be tough to start again, in a different place, but I refuse to live anything but a Romantic life. Romance is my muse.
There are millions of people out there, past fifty, past everything and finding it hard to make sense of where they are now – and what to do about it. Women who have been the centre of lives, the matriarch, the innovator, the nurturer, the caretaker – who find themselves invisible and alone. Without a thought of what to do about it, stuck and afraid, and I was one of them.
Much to give, lacking in confidence, knocked about by life – a tragedy sometimes it seems, but then, is it so? Is it not the making of a brilliant story?
Life is not about just one thing, You are not about just one role. One sentence. One medal. This blog is not about just one stage or facet of being in Silver Street. It is all the gory, glory, guts and glamour of being in My Silver Street. And how to live a Romantic life.
This is going to be so interesting.