35 & still alive!

“it is a serious thing

just to be alive

on this fresh morning

in the broken world.”

-from “Invitation” by Mary Oliver

What a year. What a fucking YEAR! (Welcome to my potty mouth, by the way). When I turned 35 last November, someone asked me how it felt.

“35?” I asked myself. A light bulb from within burst bright with the words: “Still alive!”

For those of us who have struggled with depression, anxiety, and trauma in early life, it is a genuine accomplishment to reach mid-life. A morbid statement, sure, but a very real one: suicide is the second leading cause of death in Americans aged 10-34. Last year, “35 and still alive” felt like a mantra to cling to, a milestone to embrace after wading through a sea of shit. Somehow I’d been lucky enough to postpone the inevitable capitulation to depression, disease, or some manifestation of the universe’s chaos for one more year. So pour me a drink and we’ll dance in the face of our fates, yeah? That was the vibe.

As previously mentioned, I am not where I thought I’d be at this point. The projections of my imagination have placed me at varying levels of achievement at this age, all lofty and each with no roadmap to actually reach the prize. It’s a naïve thing to believe that somehow, life will just pluck you out of your circumstance to congratulate and adorn you with validation and honor. What I’ve learned since those teenage days of imagining the Grammys I’d win, the books I’d write, and the riches I’d accumulate is that it is far more likely that life’s surprises will rip you out of your desired reality and foist a new set of circumstances on you which you will inevitably have to navigate. Adapt, or die, right? Less starkly, edit the map and work earnestly to claim the treasures along the way, or fall prey to a victim mentality and the inability to see the forest for the trees.

Fast forward to now. We’ve been collectively traumatized by COVID-19, especially those of us who have been personally touched by it. We’ve been called to action to understand and reform the injustices created by racist systems that we have both actively built and passively condoned. We’re on the brink of an election that could change the course of our nation’s democracy. Nothing is “normal” anymore, but what did that look like, really? Complacency on all fronts has created suffering and caused death, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to contribute to anyone’s suffering. This “anyone” also includes me.

Self-care has been buzzy for some time now, but it is the phrase that encapsulates the reason I’m still here. I am learning how to take care of myself to optimize my existence, and it began with learning how to talk to myself differently (with more kindness) and to take myself seriously (with less unnecessarily harsh self-criticism). And while self-care can mean anything to anyone, there is a difference between actions that seek preservation of the status quo and adoption of practices that have the potential of moving yourself—and the world around you—forward toward justice and peace.

With my 36th year just around the corner, I’ve been thinking of new mantras, ones that are fitting for where I am today, and how I want to take care of myself in the coming year. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

a) 36 & More Guitar Licks (learning electric guitar is FUN)

b) 36 & Getting Fit (good health is SEXY)

c) 36 & Donating Money and Goods, Making Calls, Signing Petitions, Holding Community Leadership Accountable, Supporting Artists, Dismantling My Own Whiteness And Its Violence and Being A Badass Bitch In The Name Of Those Who Are No Longer With Us (no explanation required)

No need to stick to one, I think I’ll be choosing all of the above.