Lordy, Lordy, I’m 40
Look. I've never been cool.
In fact, I'm pretty weird.
Here I am, chomping down on my cousin's sweaty athletic socks, happy as can be.
But I count it as a blessing that I've long been encouraged in my weirdness by many of you. In fact, I want to extend to each of you my deepest gratitude. I couldn't have made it to 40 without your friendship, inspiration, fortification, and comfort. Frankly, I couldn't have made it without some of you egging me on and galvanizing me to do better.
(I would have appreciated a warning about this helmet hair, however. I look like a Super Mario mushroom crossed with a Goomba. Or a Roomba, if you need a 21st century reference.)
Turning 40 is one of those cultural milestones that many of us share. How do I feel different at 40? What's changed? Well, I now wake up with even more serious thought each day in regards to my health. Despite the fact that my day-job is healthcare related, I dread doctor's visits. I'm worse than an old dog you have to trick with bologna to get him to take medicine. Despite that near-innate reaction - one I'm sure has everything to do with my distrustful, taciturn Appalachian ancestry - I understand how incredibly blessed I am to have affordable health insurance and access to excellent medical care.
Annually, I can choose to have literally every part of my body scrutinized by healthcare practitioners, from my astigmatised eyes to that weird thing on the bottom of my foot the Ped Egg can't touch. And chances are, no matter what deficiencies they find, modern medicine can treat them. So many people can't say that.
The way I relate to others has changed, too. I've gone from really caring what people think about me to....really caring what people think about me. Before I was saved and became a Christian a few years ago, my tendency to people-please was born out of insecurity. I was given plenty of encouragement growing up, but not nearly enough tools to pursue my goals. (A lot of us who grew up in poverty share this trait.) I thought that if everyone liked me, someone, anyone, might decide to take me under her or his wing and teach me how to be a normal, middle-class American.
(Meh. What does normal even mean, anyway?)
Nowadays, I still very much care what you think about me, but only because it is my solemn duty and joy to represent myself as a follower of Jesus Christ. I want to do a good job of that. No Christian is a flawless ambassador, especially Those of Us Who Inappropriately Screamed at Their Husbands in the South Knoxville Kroger Parking Lot That Time, but I truly hope that when you think of me, you think of someone who genuinely helps others and is eager to share the Good News of her faith (if you want to hear about it).
A poor kid graduating college with a B.A. in Theatre. Attention poor kids: DON'T EVER DO THIS. Pick a major that will get you a job after graduation.
At 40, I'm now eager to embrace my dorkiness. Like, being cool means LITERALLY NOTHING to me. Although, I would like to think I was "adorkable" long before it was cool.
(I wasn’t.)
Dorkiness is disarming. It showcases our vulnerability, and it bonds us in unexpected ways.
Several years ago, when I was brand-new to Atlanta, a "cool" friend's boyfriend invited us to a bar where he was working. A well-known band was in town and hanging out there, eager to see the sights. I was a big fan of the band and completely stoked at the news. After meeting the band, I became part of the caravan who took them to a swanky midtown bar with a VIP section. That evening, I watched one of the members of the band, someone I had grown up listening to and lip-syncing their music into my pink plastic hairbrush, turn a saucer upside down and snort a mountain of cocaine off of it. In the middle of public. Right beside me.
Ugh. It was so disappointing.
I decided that if that was how the hippest, coolest, and most famous members of humanity possibly were going to act, I would gladly steer clear of their potential hangouts and sycophants.
Which began my reign as the Karaoke Queen of dive bars
So I choose dorkdom past, present, and future. Now, nearly all my celebrity encounters are prepaid pictures at the local Cons, where dorkiness is not only embraced, but expected.
Crushin' on Wesley Crusher since 1987
I continue to be grateful for family, now more than ever before. It's amazing to me how something as painful as navigating my Mom's mental illness and dementia has provided the catalyst for my sister and I to grow closer, despite living several states apart. Technology is incredible.
Like we're the only ones who drink at family gatherings
I've also gained a hunger for advocacy and volunteer work. Ben and I weren't blessed with children, and due to some chronic health issues in our family, we're not good candidates to be adoptive parents. And I'm ok with that. It frees me up to find time to volunteer in my community. I am a product of public schools and a recipient of many past and present collective social projects. They helped me immensely over the years, and I would be remiss if I didn't pay it forward. In fact, I would view myself as embarrassingly ungrateful if I did not.
Not pictured: the owner of the laundromat asking me to please stop doing this
Most importantly, I have learned that I can't do it alone. No one can. Each of us has benefited from someone else's sacrifice - whether it was our ancestors, someone else's ancestors, veterans, or beloved friends and family. Some of these sacrifices were made by those who were enslaved or exploited - so my accomplishments, such as they are, are not my own. They belong to those people and to many of you, as well. Thank you. Truly, from the bottom of my heart.
So here's to 40. I'm merely one of probably 10,000 or so people around the globe celebrating today. Even by tomorrow, this milestone will be forgotten by most of us and we'll just get on with life. Which is ok. There is work to be done, for ourselves, for others, for the future.
(We can always throw a party for my 50th.)
June 30, 2018
