They call us Boomers! Sounds like a high school football mascot doesn’t’ it? Initially, they fiddled around with the cut off for this generation so I fancied myself a member of Gen X during my forties. Sounded more hipster than hip replacement, you know. Eventually, the powers that be decided the Boomer subculture extends to 1964. Given that Gens X, Y, and Z type faster with their thumbs than I do with 10 fingers, reading glasses, and two monitors, I’ll go softly into the middle ages. Shoot, it’s not all bad here. Really. It’s not all good either, but it is much more peaceful than I ever imagined.
Granted there are a lot of secrets middle aged folks keep that deserve repeated telling. Like the hair thing. Grandpa’s ears don’t begin to describe the strange places hair migrates to as it leaves your hairline. Actually, I may just invent a razor with a longer handle for shaving the top of your feet and toes. See? That the Boomer-tude. How can I take the natural process of aging and capitalize on it? Then comes the boomer-ang as in, uh, I don’t want to start a company right now. I’ve got a class reunion in three months and an expiring coupon for a free appetizer at Friday’s. In fact, the reason we use post its and ink pens instead of our genius phones to make lists is because it limits our to-do’s to four or five lines on the front. The back is left blank for spontaneous acts, which is something greatly devalued in our society of plans and appointments. Even the kids have play “dates”. How ’bout I smack you in the back with a non-latex water balloon as you sit on the curb in front of your house? Can you imagine the fun that ensues? Was that in your calendar?
My absolute favorite thing about this point in my life is that when I say “I do not care” there is no part of me that disagrees. No, hurt little girl in the back of my mind who is disappointed that I wasn’t invited to the party. No, angry teenager inside making my eyes burn and pressing my lips into a hard line. No overachieving 30-year old ghost tossing my body in the night. Nope. My truth is that what is for me will be mine. If not today, someday. I don’t have to know how or when. If it is to be, it shall come to pass. Surely the breath of our efforts to exist day after day is as great if not greater than the air from the wings of Lorenz’ butterfly?
There is great peace in the stillness of letting go. I cannot grasp the amazing number of things and people that have come into my life now that my focus is more on my presence than any real or imagined absence. Let’s roll universe. I’m riding shot gun ’til both barrels go BOOM!
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