I admit it. I’m weird. I don’t know what it is inside me that makes me simply a complex enigma, but that I am. Maybe it’s that illusive Y chromosome, which could have made me a little less ‘off’. Or perhaps, it’s that southern charm instilled in me during the age of feminism; both of which I pride myself on. But regardless of the cause, it remains the same… I’m weird.
I feel like I did as well as could be hoped when it comes to soldiering onward while caring for my dad. I remained outwardly patient, even when I internally wanted to rant and rave hysterically against my mother, my brother, and even God at times. But now it’s been over two months since I lost Dad, and there are more and more days that I don’t know where my head is.
When all I could do was “carry on,” “move forward,” and “soldier on,” I did gracefully. But what now? Shouldn’t that have been the hard part? Now, I can’t help but look at my life and wonder. From the outside, I own a home, have a great career where I’m respected, appreciated and able to contribute to the betterment of humanity, have a loving family, and have a dog who thinks I’m the Queen of Quitealot (especially when I have treats in my hand). Heck, I own a washer, dryer, fenced-in backyard and all the amenities which would be the envy of June Cleaver. I worked in slums with abject financial poverty, counseled parents with abject spiritual poverty, and worn fine evening gowns to balls with people of great emotional poverty. I’ve danced on my Dad’s toes, climbed mountains and waterfalls, and loved deeply and profoundly. And yet now, as I approach my 28th birthday, I wonder if it’s enough.
Twenty eight seems oftly young to feel as old and used up as I feel this year. And the great shame of it all is that I not only feel used up, but I also feel so unaccomplished. As long as I was forced to go on, it came naturally. But the pauses, the pauses have always been my Achilles heel. Despite having more free time, options and opportunities open in my life than I’ve had in years, here I am approaching my 28th birthday feeling so old. Now, please don’t taunt me with how much life is still left to live at 28. Age might be the calendars years you’ve lived on earth, but it does not perfectly correlate with the feeling of youthfulness or oldness.
I guess I’ll have to take the opportunity of my birthday to pull together an image, a dream, of what my life would look like once I feel more together again. Because regardless of age or oldness, I suppose now is always a good time to take steps towards the life I dream to live.