Sure, I know my body ain't what it used to be. I expected that. I don't have as much stamina as I once did, and some body parts are achier and noisier than they used to be, but for the most part, I physically feel good.
The parts that don't feel good are my head and heart. Actually, I should just refer to them as a single unit because one affects the other, always has.
So why is it such a big deal this year? I'm close to the half century mark - a half century - which means that I definitely have less years than more to remain on this earth. (Of course, I realize that this is true for everyone - no matter his/her age. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow, but still.)
However, it's not the looking ahead part that is depressing. Don't read into this statement, but I am looking forward to spending eternity with Christ. Death doesn't scare me, and in considering the depressing state of the world, I look forward to a pain-free, joy-filled existence.
The part that is depressing is the looking behind. I have had 49 years on this earth, and what have I accomplished? As Shakespeare has said, "Aye, there is the rub." Middle age calls for reflection and the taking of a personal inventory. There is the first part of the rub- What have you accomplished? and the second, arguably more painful part - What is never going to happen? What dreams does one have to let go?
According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, the rate of suicide is highest in middle age - particularly among white males. I don't think it's a stretch to assume that there are many people like me - questioning themselves at this crossroads in life. Unfortunately, there are apparently many who experience extreme despair at the prospect - so much so that they do not see a benefit in continuing their existence.
That would not be a choice that I would ever pursue. Nevertheless, I can definitely relate to the feelings of despair of a life of minimal achievement.
It seems so ungrateful to say that. I admit it. On paper, everything looks good. I am married to a great man, whom I love deeply. He has always treated me with respect, put me first, and regarded me as the most beautiful woman in the world. I have two reasonably-healthy kids. I have a home. I have food on the table. I am well-educated, and I have a secure career. And that's just the highlights show of blessings. I am thankful and recognize the blessings. I really do.
There are times when the shadows of the past and the might-have-beens eclipse the light of the blessings. For example, when I was in high school, I wanted a career in writing. I decided (my choice - not blaming anyone) to take the safe route and become an English teacher. Not only is/was it a safe career; it was just the right career for me as a mom. I had my summers off to do stuff with my kids- really invest in them. In other words, I was all-in with regard to wifing and mothering.
I say this as truth and not in bitterness, but my kids are kind of jerks right now. I put the "right now" part at the end of the sentence because I really hope this is a temporary condition vs. a permanent one. They are both in their 20s, a notoriously self-involved time period (if we are honest, those of us "of a certain age" will admit that we were selfish jerks in our 20s too). They are both very me-first in their thinking and decision-making, which I find quite hurtful. I arranged my life in such a way that those two were privy to experiences and opportunities that other kids their age, and certainly their dad and me, were not.
Instead of gratitude, we (my husband and I) get sloppy seconds. We are at the bottom of the priority list. We are expected to just accept whatever "expectations" and conditions they dole out, without discussion or regard to our expectations and input.
And then, there is the career itself. Although volumes could be written on the career of teaching itself, I have enjoyed it - not all the endless hours of my life that I can't get back due to grading, but I have enjoyed the kids. And yet, ironically, even though my whole world revolves around reading and writing, I have yet to realize my own dreams of writing. My type-A, perfectionistic work ethic has been my own worst enemy as I have always chosen the duties and responsibilities of teaching above my own passions and interests. It's my own fault.
And travel. I wanted to travel everywhere. Even now, I watch travel show after travel show, living vicariously through a small screen while the reality is that I live and work in the place where I was born. For whatever reason, that fact makes me feel like such a failure.
The enticement of travel is, of course, experiencing a different climate and culture, but even more so, it is people. Everyone has a unique story to tell. More than anything, I want to meet people, hear and record their stories, and affirm and encourage them. I know I can do that here too. I guess it's just a case of FOMO (fear of missing out). I have been infected with wanderlust, but am an incurable homebody.
And so, at 49, it's all a bitter pill to swallow. I look at my life choices and right now, quite frankly, see a waste of my youth.
I know. Life's not over. The story has not ended. There are chapters to go, particularly with the kids. But even then, they really aren't mine. They are God's children, not mine. He gave them to me/us, put me/us in charge of them - to keep them alive, to show them the basics of living - right/wrong, healthy/unhealthy, etc. But the bottom line is that they are His children, and as my husband is fond of saying so frequently, they have their own minds - their own wills.
As God's children, we each -independently, separately -have our own lives to live while on this earth. I have spent the first half of my life in being the responsible, dutiful adult. I don't regret being responsible. But what about these hopes and dreams that are still there, the impetus of the melancholy I feel? Is it sin to think of them? Is it sin to regret?
As with everything I write, I generally write to untangle my own thoughts and feelings. If someone else benefits from it, then it's a bonus. So here's what I think.
God knows my hopes and dreams. He put them there. He knows my every deepest, most private thoughts. Likewise, God knew the choices I would make before I was born. He has a plan and a purpose for me, and He will fulfill that purpose in spite of and/or because of the choices I make.
The biggest sin I have committed and continue to commit is choosing self over Him. When I whine, I am doing so from a place where Self sits on the throne of my heart instead of God. When I worry and fret over my as-yet un-met hopes and dreams, I do so from a place where Self sits on the throne of my heart instead of God. When I think of my life as a waste, I am doing so from a place where Self sits on the throne instead of God. It's an insult to Him.
In fact, now that I think of it, my devotion from Oswald Chambers (My Utmost for His Highest) addressed just that: "Obstinacy and self-will will always stab Jesus Christ. It may hurt no one else, but it wounds His Spirit. Whenever we are obstinate and self-willed and set upon our own ambitions we are hurting Jesus. Every time we stand on our rights and insist that this is what we intend to do, we are persecuting Jesus."
All of my life's choices and experiences have been scaffolding for the place in which He wants me right now in order to get to the place I need to go next. As long as I keep my eyes on Him and my ear trained to His voice, I don't have to worry or wonder about my life. The truth is that His plans for me are better than anything I could ever dream up for myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment