All At Once

I havent been on top of this hill in a long time. But it doesnt matter, it feels like I never left it. Everything has remained the same. The road that turns gravely on a certain turn, the mailboxes to the houses along the way down, the ocean in the distance- at first far away and by the time you get to the bottom its so close you are essentially on the sand. 

Im in my brown bikini, which semi blends into my tanned skin, my hair bleached out from being in the salt water, the sun. Like Im a tropical lizard who is thriving in the correct environment- put me in the dark, the cold, and I would shrivel up and perish. 

I’m thirty-six, very soon to be thirty-seven, but I don’t feel any particular age. 

And I feel guilty about this. 

When I let the voices of others into my head-into my heart, I feel great shame for being this way. On top of a hill in nothing but a bikini, ready to coast down it like Im a free agent of the world, like I have no responsibilities keeping me from loving life in this way. 

I should be vacuuming. Or filing away important documents into fire safe lock boxes. Going to brunch with other moms to complain about how tired we are, how we all do so much. Not using my “me time” to skateboard down hills with Malibu youths like some mid twenty year old riff raff.

 I should have an extensive skin care regime, smearing expensive creams and oils all over my face. But maybe aging wrinkles and fine lines are a product of worrying about them so much. A product of losing something in spirit- not physical decay. Maybe dont give up the fun things that revive your spirit, even if they are ridiculous like rollerblading, or surfing, even if the waves are full of young people. Maybe those things will keep you young. Maybe you can have fun and also file your taxes correctly and on time. 

But on the other hand,

How dare I experience life this way. You are supposed to exit out of a phase of life and into a new one. You arent supposed to just keep acquiring more life, taking it all with you as you move forward. Phases are supposed to be left behind to turn into dusty memories on a shelf. 

Youre not supposed to be wearing your high school jeans as an adult. But I am, Ive just added a black blazer and heels to them. 

There are parts of me that are still fifteen. Still unsure of myself, still awkward and afraid. Looking to others for approval, acceptance, reassurance, guidance or support. 

There are parts of me that are five years old. Imagining being a space ranger with Noah, attaching spaceman Roger onto the ceiling fan with a string and watching him fly around the room. Pretending everything is something its not. The chair is a seat on a train and we are traveling to Minecraft world. The bed is a boat and we are battling a tsunami. The sidewalk suddenly turns into a portal that sucked us into a new world. 

There are parts of me that are still in my twenties. Full of hope, full of acceptance of others, full of curiosity. Just wanting to know the world and everyone in it. And loving all of it so deeply. Absorbing everything life offers up to me- even if its painful. The elasticity of youth making me able to fall and get back up. 

There are parts of me in my mid forties to fifties. Every time I drive over a pot hole and find myself muttering on and on about tax dollars and the state of our highways, or confronted with a QR code on a restaurant menu, “can you believe this? Whats next?! Whats next!” Feeling great accomplishment seeing the favorable numbers of my credit score. Wanting to have more in order to give more. 

There are parts of me that are in my seventies. Enjoying being in the garden with my grandmother, tending to the caterpillars that have made a home on her milkweed plants. Carefully covering them with netting to keep them safe from birds. Watching them, thinking of them every morning, running out to check on them with cups of tea or coffee. Looking up birds in a book, identifying the ones in my grandmothers garden and getting a real thrill out of it. “That’s a white winged snow finch!” I tell Grammie and we both revel in the knowing, in looking at this little bird perched on a bird feeder. I look at Grammie, “this is cool,” I tell her. 

I stand on top of the hill and I know that I must show up in the world. I want to show up in the world. 

I put my foot on the skateboard and I start to coast down. My stomach drops and then settles as I find my rhythm. Im fifteen, and five, and twenty-one, thirty-seven, fifty-five, and seventy years old. Im scared, Im imagining, Im hopeful, Im aware, Im wise and Im thankful- all at once. 

When I get to the bottom I cant help but feel like I am showing up. That I am understanding the responsibility of life.