When I’m 64….

Well, whadadya know: I woke up on my 64th birthday! I’m still here!

I was so happy to be alive that I immediately reverted to all the bad habits that had been killing me. And it wasn’t as much fun as I had anticipated. In fact it wasn’t much fun at all. Just made me feel gross, actually.

I sent Angelic Daughter and one of her companions out to see a concert by the Beatles tribute band, American English, on Friday night. I wonder if they played When I’m 64?

The next day another of her companions took her to the local pool, which she loves, but I just can’t take anymore. I’ve been going there since I was about eight or nine years old, and I’m just so done with it.

While they were out, I spent the entire morning mowing my lawns (front and back), getting thoroughly drenched with sweat in the process. Damn, now, that felt good.

And today we’re finally getting a good, long, soaking rain. Glad I got those lawns mowed.

So, now what? My old vices don’t make me happy anymore–they never really did, they were just deflections, distractions–“displacement activities” to quell anxiety, grief, and a pervasive sense of missing my calling, what the hell am I doing here, I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo, I don’t belong here kind of feelings.

And whiIe I’m hoping it’s just a hangover from several days of Canadian smoke (Oh, Canada!), I seem to be losing my voice a little, too. I went out for Karaoke (a last minute MeetUp, and three of my favorite new friends showed up–two of them even brought me a card with only a few hours notice!) It was a lot of fun, with a small but highly supportive crowd, but it’s clear I just don’t have the belt notes anymore. I’ll have to consign myself to singing ballads or slow, sad songs, which isn’t much fun for Karaoke.

But hey, we all have to make adjustments–we have to adapt to the changes that come with age. So I guess I’ll just have to find a new way of singing. I might even whip out an aria or two, if the Karaoke guy has them it in his library, because the legit voice (as opposed to the rock’n’roll voice) seems to still be there, for the time being, anyway.

I’m embarrassed I let superstition get to me about when I might depart this world, but now that my expiration date seems to have been indefinitely extended, I want to double down on joy, love, and laughter. The past few days of unsatisfactory self-indulgence have confirmed that living joyfully requires letting go of expectations, and just taking the simple joys as they come. The rain, the birthday cards, my wonderful brother taking me to the ball game (and how it’s true, as Charlie Brown teaches us, that a hot dog always tastes better with a ball game in front of it–from which we learn to eat a hot dog ONLY when there’s a ball game in front of it.)

‘Tis the gift to be simple. ‘Tis the gift to be alive. Even when the world seems to get more effed up every day (wars, fires, heat domes, derechos, droughts, diseases, tragedies, and disasters with every sunrise), I’m still very grateful to be here. I’m grateful for the wonderful young women who show up to spend time with Angelic Daughter and take her out in the community to do stuff I just don’t have the gumption to do anymore. I’m grateful that I can still mow my lawn and tend my garden. I’m even grateful for the damn rabbits and chipmunks who ate the last of my peas that I should have harvested sooner–they’re part of my little ecosystem, which also includes birds at the birdbath and last night, what joy, fireflies!!!

Wishing you just the kind of do-over you may need, I remain

your slightly-giddy-at-making-it-over-an-imaginary-but-psychologically-draining-hurdle to what feels like a fresh start on the other side, sixty-four but not looking a day over forty-eight (that’s what my mirror tells me, anyway),

Ridiculouswoman