In the quiet of the Sunday morning here I have time to reflect upon the very hectic week I've just lived and I realize that I never really have the time to think through things. Thoughts linger in my head but they just sit there, un-thought out. I wonder why I can't be comfortable thinking in terms of what would make me happy. I usually come to the conclusion that I don't have a clue what that would be. It's really a shame to be so confused especially when one is about to become the grand age of 50. I thought by the time you are that age you should be pretty content with life, but I'm not. I am so alone.
Let's take inventory here. I am so bored with my job that I don't think I'm doing a very good job. I work, have worked all my life and have not one dime to show for it. The home I live in is falling apart and is hardly worth putting any money into. I have an almost 30 year old son who can put everything he owns into his car (that I bought) and has no idea what he is going to do. I want so much even at this age to have my mother's praise about something, anything, I've done. Did I say I am so alone? I want to be with my son and his family in Washington but I am too chicken to make that change for many reasons and I can't make it feel right. I can't think in terms of WHAT DO I WANT, because other people or things stand in the way.
On the other hand, I have a home, a job, sons who love me. I have lived to this age with very few scars and have survived a lot of things. What the heck is wrong with me? If I take a look around I should be ashamed of myself for even feeling the least bit sorry for myself.
When I was a little girl I had dreams of being a writer. I wrote stories that included my classmates and the stories would be passed around for them to read while we were supposed to be learning math or geography. Even if we got caught and the teacher took away the story I never got into trouble because the teacher would praise me on my writing. But you know what? Life happened and when I did finally have time to go back and start writing, I realized I had nothing to say that hadn't already been said. I don't think I ever got over that realization.
When I got married I had dreams of being happily in love forever and raising perfect children and we'd be one happy family, with a big house and a big yard full of beautiful flowers. My husband would always love me and we'd grow old together in a peaceful bliss. Boy did that one die hard.
I've lived most of my life just taking what fate has handed out to me and trying to go from there. There's been just enough magic to make me know that life is never what you expect and that it can change in the beat of a heart. There's been just enough heartache and tears to make me appreciate what I have and to try and be happy with that. There's been just enough curiosity to always want to go on to see what is around the corner. I've not accomplished great things or had much of an impact on anyone Else's life. It seems all my time has been spent on just trying to survive and trying to avoid as much confrontation as I can.
If it is true that we are here to learn lessons I wonder what great lesson it is that I am suppose to be learning? I am questioning my whole existence, I am like George Baily wondering what good I have even been to anyone? I am having a crisis here inside my head, inside my soul. And I am so alone.
My friend,who is well past 50, tells me what I am going through is normal and that after after age 50 you settle down and become more content, more at peace with who you are and you are filled with a wisdom that you never had before. He says this is something I have to do, reflect upon the past years and mourn the things that didn't happen and be thankful for the good things that did. And he says that I'll sort it all out and find the peace and know for sure what I need to make me happy.
I hope he is right.