Chapter 1: A sneak peak at my new project.

A book about learning to listen to yourself.

Chapter 1

I have heard for years that you give significantly lesser fucks in your 40’s. 

By your 50’s you’re feeling strong and confident again. 

60’s and over, you just can’t be bothered to give one tiny shit what other people think. 

I look forward to these days, and often fantasize about what they would look like. Would I be like Audrey Hepburn, aging gracefully with all the elegance and appropriateness of an elf? Like Diane Keaton whose attire was more and more formless, yet somehow, beautiful and desirable?  Would I be like my grandmother, who would shamelessly let her mustache grow thicker and darker with each passing year? 

The answer is yet to come. What I heard less about the benefits and the wealth of gratitude that comes with being in your 30’s.

At the age of 29, I looked up the encroaching year of 30 with longing and anticipation. Truthfully. I couldn’t wait to be out of my 20’s. I was married, divorced, had a kid nearing his double digits- I was ready for it to be acceptable that I grew tired by 9pm. For years now, I can’t start a movie after 8pm. 

I had always had older friends, but by my late 20’s, nearly all of my closest friends were 60 or over. How I envied their slow, indulgent lifestyle. Eating supper with friends before the sun went down. Reading in bed before sleep. Leaving the TV off, just because the silence is blissful. I had a few young friends, yes, and thankfully most of them felt the same as I did. But when I met my second husband, whose 2 ½ years my junior felt like a chasm between young and old, it became painfully aware how young I no longer was. At night, he and his friends dared to wait until 10pm to even LEAVE THE HOUSE. I couldn’t cope. 

As my 30th birthday slowly made its way to present, my partner and I began to plan a trip to Seattle, WA. I had never been before, but the appeal of the pacific northwest called to me. I wanted rain, I wanted covered skies, I wanted 90’s grunge, I wanted Café Nervosa vibes. So along with my cousin, my sister and her partner, we planned a trip for the weekend of my dirty-thrity. 

At the time, I was at the very end of the waiting period for my divorce to be official. Although we had been separated for some time, my ex-husband and I stupidly thought we could do the paperwork ourselves before filing. Thank goodness we got to the end of that thought-process. After finally appealing to an attorney to help, the 30 days pending was coming to an end. Two days before my birthday, we touched down in Seattle, where I turned on my phone and received a email with the preview, “Congratulations… you’re divorced.” The joke was it was my birthday present, which was only confirmed when I later learned my ex was presented with a cake from his partner in celebration. She then asked my ex, “How is the cake?” Ex: “Fine. But ultimately unsatisfying.” She, “...kind of like your marriage?” We all had a great day.

The trip to Seattle was everything I wanted it to be. It snowed in the morning, warmed in the afternoon. There was vegan food and compost containers everywhere, not to mention three coffee shops every 75 feet. It felt comfortable being there. Like I could see a part of myself being heard. 

One of the first stops we made was to a dispensary. Cannabis had just recently become legal in a couple of states. As Georgia was not one of them, and my family being all seasoned tokers,  we were all very excited to see what this was about. I remember going in and seeing all the various types of THC delivery vehicles- smokable, drinkable, edible, smellable… Well, at least the first three. Carefully pouring over all the different types, strains, effects, benefits, I truthfully began to wonder if all of this was just a really smart stoner’s way of making people okay with smoking weed. Because science and who am I to argue?

We made our way to our AirBNB, which was only a better manifestation of what I would have wanted it to be. Small in it’s way, one block from vegan doughnuts and 7 coffee shops, at the top of hill with views of the mountains, a window in the master bedroom that took up half the ceiling and most of a wall. The colors were natural wood and deep sea blue, hardwood floors, radiators in the rooms, old industrial fixtures, lots of natural light. 

We settled outside on one of the small side balconies. Just enough room for a square table and chairs, large party lights hung between four pillars, it sat at the corner of the home’s second story. Outside, we smoked our first legal joint and spoke of our start in this beautiful city. 

I drink the full THC drink I had purchased, ate one or two of the 10mg chocolates, and take a puff from my Sister’s preroll. It might be at this time, I mention to the others I’ve never had an edible. I have no idea how I got there, but next I remember I am on the couch, knees pulled up tightly to my chin, legs filled fully by cement, entire body and being buzzing, throbbing, waving. The only words I could speak were “I just want to come down, I just want to come down.” It took us 4 hours to order a pizza because we kept thinking everyone else was doing it, and somehow ordered a pizza three feet in diameter with vegan mac-n-cheese. Yes, it was on the pizza. 

The next morning, enjoying a cup of coffee and a slice of cold cheese pasta pizza, I determined that was quite enough marijuana for me, thank you, and straight laced it the whole rest of the trip. I wasn’t falling into that trap again.

We had our days packed- walking outside in the city, sweaters and hats in the mornings, t-shirts in the afternoons. We visited the Pop-Culture Museum, watched street performers, took a journey around the bay, went to the first Starbucks, saw the Chihuly Garden and Glass, ate beautiful, terrible Thai food, and walked 147,000 stairs up and down the hills. 

The day we went to the Space Needle was the day I discovered a fear of heights. What bravery once stood, was vacant within me. But as I confidently charged towards the glass bottom 605 feet in the air, I suddenly felt a trembling in my knees. A sluggishness in my feet. The feeling I might simultaneously throw up and faint began to wash over me. My cousin, at the time an avid and skilled social media user, suggested we take a picture of me sitting on the glass bottom, me looking up at the camera above me so we could see the city far below.I crawled to the edge of the glass, sat on my butt and slowly, gently, slid myself over the surface of the glass. I looked up and tried to imagine all the things I had accomplished at that point, the places I had traveled, the people I had met, the lessons I had learned. I tried to think about how far I had come in just the last year. What mountains I had climbed. I tried to think about anything, except what I would look like falling through that glass. 

It felt appropriate, contemplating my years from so high above. There is the realization of how small you actually are. Not insignificant, not by any means. But really just  how small, and how big the world is around us. I could see so much when I brought my head up well above the trees, the buildings. I could see farther, wider, and the picture became clearer. You could see the infiniteness of everything, if only you could see forever. 

During this time, I remember trying to embrace every moment. Trying to slow down, wholly be present in each moment. With every bite, I allowed the tastes to hit every side and flavor line on my tongue, feeling the texture and depth of each food. I noticed the way my mood would change with the weather, as quick and as fickle as snow would change to sun. I loved the overcast, and I embraced the cold weather. The layers I wore felt just as much a protection from the world as the elements. I noticed how I felt with the people I shared this time with. 

The weekend was about me. The whole trip was planned around the celebration of my birth, 30 years of life, with my family, friends, and partner. I have never felt comfortable when situations were obviously about me. Recognition I love, spending time with people I cherish feels invaluable. But parties, inviting people to celebrate me or something I’ve done, making SAM the focus of an event all made me feel anxious, sick, embarrassed, silly, and honestly, like a fool. It took me nearly 30 years to recognize that people in my life truly do care for me. They love me, love to celebrate with me, want to share in experiences and things I love as well. I still have to remind myself of this and coax myself into believing it. Why am I special enough to have these people who love me? Who believe in me and choose daily to make me a part of their lives? This is not my question to answer, but I have never stopped questioning it. 

But even though this weekend was arranged over the guise of my birthday, I realized it was about more than me. The space we all shared together, the experiences we had, the places we saw- for each one of us, it was about something different. It was a point of change for each of us. One just losing a relationship, one relationship changing, some confronting ideas and asking hard questions, making plans for the future. Me, seeing the world from the only viewpoint I have, I almost missed the moment that everything began to shift. 

The day we were meant to leave, our last morning in Seattle, was my birthday. I woke up that morning, 30 full years of life, to the sun relaxed outside the slanted window across from our bed. Early that morning, seeing the breaks in the blanket of clouds, snuggled up next to the man I knew I would spend my life with, I felt comfort. I was happy in my life, and although it was not the way I expected happiness to appear, looking back now I realize it was the most exciting time in my life to that point. We expect excitement to be a frenzy, but every so often, it can look like lying next to someone you love with all the possibilities you never thought possible out in front of you.

A moment later, there was a knock on our door and in came my sister, her partner, and my cousin to fill our bed. We all curled up with cups of coffee and vegan doughnuts, faces still swollen from sleep, and talked of our last few days. We giggled and talked and when silence fell, it felt okay. I held up a camera, and took a picture of all of us sitting there. The mornings are my most insecure times with the way I look-  hair frizzy and askew, face puffy and red, coke-bottle glasses framing my bloodshot eyes. And even still, I knew I would want to remember that moment for the rest of my life.

Hours later, we boarded the plane for the flight home. Finishing up You Are A Badass by Jen Sincero, I came across a line in her book that completely stopped me. If nothing ever changes, then nothing will ever change. (paraphrased) The concept was so simple, and yet it hit me in a way the idea never had before. If I never changed anything, nothing in my life would ever change. Suddenly the air felt different. The energy around me had changed and I knew that within a year, my life would look completely different. I wasn’t sure how, and I wasn’t sure when, but I knew I wanted to change my life. I had the confidence to do it, and the support to make it happen. Now all I had to do was listen to what came next.

And that is how I wandered into my 30’s.