Forty Something

I am forty five
Curvy
With the curves in the right places
But never thin enough to satisfy

I have a master’s degree
A job that sounds important
A home
And adequate doses of family & friendships to love and be loved

I am passionate
And awake
And believe in the good, the true, the beautiful

But
I have never been married
I have no children

When the storm came
I was on the boat alone, ceilings falling in
I wondered if it was how it would end as well

The thought shook me to the core

Standing at the edge of the ocean
On the deep horizon
And the rising sun
Warming my back
I wish you were there

Tomorrow always seemed a better day
To think of you
The one I left behind

Time was timeless after all

I have known you for my whole life it seems
The idea of ‘the you’ that would meet ‘the me’
You used to visit me in my sixteen year old dreams
And my twenty, thirty and even forty year old dream

We were supposed to travel and play
And share stories
Change the world with our loving
And manifest the things
In the way only two can do

It is taking you a long time to meet me
Where did we falter?
Why the delay?
Do we even want this?

I realize
I have witnessed enough deterring examples
To sometimes get in my own way of meeting you
Lately I surmised that you are completely
Imaginary
Ephemeral
Untouchable

Are you?

Will you still view me as that sweet girl
You hoped for?
Me in this 45 year old guise
I honestly do not know where the time went.
Or why I gave up on wanting our children
Where dallying in the shallows was safer
And feeling hurt from missing you…

the nostalgia unbearable

Sometimes I become furious with the rules
That suggest I should care
That I should want the things I opted not to have
Otherwise I will be incomplete to it

Is my fury with ‘society’ and the world? Or is it really with myself?

Where is the place for a forty five year old single woman?
No kids or divorces or separations to reflect some kind
Of grown up experience?

In Jane Austen’s time they were the writers
The poets
The spinsters
Has life really changed much since then?
When it comes to the inner life of a woman striving to be enough?

I do not know the answers
I pose the questions
They keep me up at times

I recognize it is possible to be complete and whole yet know
There is something missing

Does such a woman really deserve empathy or sorrow or [yuk] pity for not fitting into the normal mold?
Or is she really an Amazon?

A resilient phoenix?

Who made these rules?
Who carves out the new ones?
It is a difficult time
My heart is unsettled
The world is changing exponentially

The storms are destroying life as I know it

I have no answers
Only more questions


“the moment I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, never knowing how foolish that was.  Lovers do not finally meet somewhere, they are in each other… ”  –rumi

completing me…

“I don’t need you to complete me” –she said with great frustration
No need to be so strong all the time
– I want you to partner with me!
And we can figure out the rest
Imperfections and all
You are in love with me, I am in love with you…
With love
All things are possible.
Don’t you believe that?”

“I lost my faith” – he said

“Well, you are in luck.” she smiled
“I will have enough faith for the both of us; After all
– that is what partnership is about, isn’t it?
Our broken parts just fit together, like a mosaic
Our strengths and weaknesses complement each other…

All I ask is you have the courage to let me in
Let me in my love to the place where we already existed”

 

Difficult Questions

Where had the years gone?  When would she have the body she wanted? When would they meet again? When would all the shame and worthlessness that had no origin go away?  Could she have done something differently with her time? If she had to do it all over again, would she even want to do it any differently? What happened to the wonder, the hope and the boldness she used to be?  Why was it all just so hard? When would the humiliation of being not enough for her unfulfilled dreams stop? Why did she feel so less-than without their approval?  Why did her grey roots that began as specks of wisdom she was proud of — when she was in her early thirties become such a burden?  Why did her skin feel so pervious to the very air around her?  She craved protection. She craved a kind of security she was unable to assure herself of.  What was happening? She felt lost and wounded. She wanted to rejuvenate.  To rest. To be vibrant and thriving again.