Thursday, June 22, 2023
Ten hours of sleep, three hours of South Park on Comedy Central, then three additional slumbering hours transported me from work mode to “Stephie”. My new schedule has proven delightful in time off. Four days I concentrate on all things corporate, then four days I recover and live.
The conversion from day schedule to overnights has been peculiar but I am finally letting my natural rhythms dictate. I listen. I always thought I listened to my body and my environment, but I find that conclusion doubtful.
In the past I had not listened at all. At fifty-seven and breathing on the doorway of fifty-eight, I am finally hearing my voice. At least that is what I am congratulating myself.
Here it is, though, a steamy ninety degree day in Wisconsin. Somehow “Wisconsin” and “steamy” do not usually couple, but this week they do. We have waited a long time for summer; for warm evenings with bare feet and short dresses, and five o’clock mornings, bright with glowing sunshine.
Today five explorers aboard the submersible Titan are presumed to have perished in their descent to view the Titanic. A debris field and Navy “sonar” suggest an implosion of the craft.
In more news, McDonalds Grimace unofficially becomes a face of the LBGTQ Pride month. And for some reason, I see this as delightful. Grimace is purply, plushy and berry-ish plump.
Delightful. Please, people, let’s call it delightful and enjoy. Enjoy the rainbow. Please.
The world becomes filled with stories of a bombed dam (or maybe it was not bombed? Oh yes, that’s correct. It was compromised), a US President’s son’s laptop files and the arraignment of a former US President. Or how about Canada wildfires whose smoke drifts with the wind currents into the United States. The setting sun turns red. Air currents pull clouds of red orange haze into the northern states.
But, June is also time to celebrate. My son, along with other sons and daughters, graduated. Graduated! Done! Finite! End!
But those endings always imply beginnings for truly there is not one without the other. It’s the traditional month of weddings. One of my work friends will be tying that knot in two days. Each time we spoke in the last week, I would get misty eyed. “May you love. You are exuding love.” I wished her sweetness, happiness, fun and adventure.
I told another friend that I am happy with my age, but I am older. As I stated before, I have lived my whole life to be this age! I wish to enjoy the wisdom gained and the privileges endowed by those many rites of passages.
Which brings me full circle to the return to endings and beginnings.
At fifty-eight – heck I’m almost there anyway, might as well claim it – these life changes reflect my own inadequacies and my mistakes and my past.
Changes. Again, more changes. And chances. I discover chances to keep promises to myself, even the little ones which are so easy to ignore until one’s stomach knots or one’s focus is nonexistent. A person begins to wonder why until those little forgotten promises are discovered bunched up like dust bunnies in the living room corner.
Where does a person start and how does a person start without going totally bonkers? I mean, no longer is there anything to prove nor do I usually need to ever fight but where does one begin and what’s the point?
“Not sure, really” was my first answer to the question of my soul. No that is not true. My first answer was that of silence.
For the first time, this old lady (aka, me) knew I would figure out the answer. I would take my time, but I would move forward with my fifty-eight year old dreams. And maybe I would place them side by side to those pearls of wisdom from my many rites of passage.
Maybe. More definitely I would ride my bicycle and plant flowers. I would enjoy time with my adult son. I will write and read and create.
Mm. Hm.
I am discovering an additional healthy benefit of my new work schedule. After working the madness of all schedules, I have found my soul balances with what feels like a creative form of femininity. It is a surprising outlet after what a believed to be a rather dormant and useless part of my being.
Sometimes I am rather a dolt about such matters.
And sometimes, if I would have listened to myself, I might have seen it all along. I am hoping that this new beginning signifies an end to my own denial.
Let’s mark that one a “yes”.
I hope your summer is magical with activities, creations, silliness, sweaty work and fun!
Lots of love,
Steph.
Stephanie Springborn 