Settling into wise maturity

When I sit down and think about how many years I've lived to remember sometimes it's shocking to me. Some memories were so profound that the year when they occurred is bold in my mind. 1983, moving to Florida. 1989, graduating from high school. 1993, the year my grandmother died. 1995, my trip to England. 1997, the year my son was born. 2001, the year I graduated from college. 2005, the year I signed the adoption papers that gave my son another set of parents. 2008, the year I was awarded social security disability benefits. 2011, the year I got married. 2012, the year my mother passed away. 2018, the year I became a felon and went to jail for the first time. 2023, the year I signed divorce papers. Today is September 2nd, 2024, Labor Day. I'm sitting here in front of my laptop writing this and wondering at the age of 53, what haven't I done yet that I can still do? The truth is there isn't much and each day that I wake up again to live is more shocking than it ever was. I remember 1990 like it was yesterday. I remember thinking I would never live to see the year 2000, but I did live to see it, and now that was 24 years ago.

Different periods of my life or chapters as some writers describe an autobiography have shown me where my priorities changed the theme and plot. In the early 90s before I was a mother, I had no direction or responsibilities, so I mostly partied and it seemed like I had many friends. When my son was a baby, all my priorities changed. All that mattered at that time was him and my ambition for a future for both of us that I could be proud of and satisfied with. Life doesn't always go according to plan, and my life is a perfect example of that. Many events occurred that I never saw coming - events that were so dramatic and devastating to me that my plans were obliterated. Yet I survived somehow, lived to see another day, to count my blessings again, and to keep going with or without a plan.

I have to say it to myself over and over again. It's September 2024, and I'm 53 years old. I have to say it over and over again because it's shocking to me. I look in the mirror and I don't see a 53 year old. I see someone much younger. I think about all the plans I had that never came to fruition or completion, and while I have personal regrets about some decisions I made, I don't even mind anymore that my efforts didn't meet the results I sought. Today, I'm the oldest I've ever been, yet the youngest I will ever be as time goes on. I have run through all my plans and dreams. I honestly don't know what to do with myself anymore.

The past few years have been the weirdest as I was trying to reinvent myself as I've been recovering from my felony status and homelessness. I was still optimistic for awhile holding on to the dream of running my own business and having my own home. Mostly, I spent the past four years learning everything the hard way and coming up short on achievements. Some people say knowledge is power, but I say knowledge is expensive in every way.

Yet for all my "expenses" and "learning" accomplished these past four years, I still don't know what to do with myself. I've learned to fear everything - that seems to be the sum of my life's education. I've learned that all of my past desires seem trite and meaningless now. I've learned that most of the goals I had set out to achieve were not even close to being worth the time, the effort, or the expense that I had put into it.

Maybe I'm just tired. Or maybe I'm not creative enough to reinvent myself at this point in my life. I don't feel like doing anything anymore. I can't find the joy that I once felt in the old reliable hobbies. For example, karaoke used to be something that would always cheer me up. I'd go out to one of the karaoke bars, sing a few songs, and feel satisfied and grateful that God had blessed me with the ability to sing. Now I just feel like bars are a bad place filled with rude drunks who are spending their money on overpriced drinks to support pompous bartenders who really couldn't care less if you come or don't come. Joy gone. I can sing in my car.

Or another example - I used to find joy in crafting or painting. I loved working with paper and designing greeting cards. Since I love writing poetry it seemed like the perfect hobby. I was so proud of my creations. But what was I going to do with all that stuff? I don't have any friends to give the cards to on special occasions, and nobody was interested in purchasing my products online. So joy gone. I don't want to waste money on supplies or my time making products that will just end up in the trash.

I guess I'm just lost. I have been blessed with some amazing talents, yet I have no idea what to do with them. What can I do with my singing voice if my style is not in vogue? What can I do with my dancing if I can't dance in the club platform shoes? What can I do with my painting if no one thinks it worthy of purchase? What can I do with my experience if everyone calls my opinions "negative"? Nothing. I can do nothing with what I have.

So I guess that's what I will do. Nothing. I will sit here alone day after day and think about the past. Think about all that I have done instead of all that I can do. Because the world does not seem the least bit interested in me or what I have been blessed with. So be it.