[This week has been a pivot extravaganza. The standouts among a series of unanticipated events have been a microwave fire that narrowly missed igniting the entire kitchen and a day spent pinch-hitting for my mother’s caretaker. (Let’s just say Dry January ended early and leave it at that.) All of which is to say, I’m pressing the easy button and sharing my second submission to my local arts venue’s exploration of aging.]
Upon first hearing it as a young adult, it became one of my favorite sayings: Man plans and God laughs. It had a sassiness that appealed to me and was decidedly more upbeat than a popular saying at the time: life’s a bitch and then you die. Maybe it was a premonitory captivation with what would become the overarching theme of my adult life. Regardless, for so long I was the architect of so many plans and I clung tenaciously to the delusion of control and security that they offered.
The plan: I would arrange a recommitment ceremony and throw a big party for our 25th wedding anniversary to set the tone for the next 25 years.
The laugh: Several months before that 25th anniversary the marriage imploded.
The plan: I would always be surrounded by my inner circle, savoring our coffee, or drinking ourselves silly, as we solved the thorny issues facing friends and strangers alike.
The laugh: I ended up almost 1,000 miles away from my inner circle.
The plan: I would have just a handful of years before the daughter I gave birth to on the downslope to 44, my beloved but often incomprehensible polar opposite, would set out for Harvard and a life of superstardom.
The laugh: Disabled by a chronic illness at 13, my daughter is now my roommate, my inspiration, and a young adult who I totally get and tremendously enjoy.
The plan: When my divorce was finalized, I would effortlessly find a man to share my life with.
The laugh (a guffaw): With the passage of time, a few refresher lessons, and plenty of therapy, I discovered that, while men still do it for me, I’m not even remotely interested in a conventional relationship.
The plan: My cherished son, my twin in temperament and partner in hilarity, would eventually relocate and live with me and his sister.
The laugh: He has chosen to estrange himself totally from both of us.
The plan: My family would always be there.
The laugh: Not so much.
And yet. Thanks to another favorite saying (carpe diem) and a motto I think I coined myself (there is always something to be grateful for), each passing year brings more joy, more peace, and more excitement about what the future may hold. The truth is my plans were paltry in comparison to what the Universe had in store for me. I was incapable of imagining such a fabulous third act.
I start and end each day by expressing gratitude for a second chance and for the abundance of my life. I live in a house that seemed to fall out of the sky with my name on it. I’ve maintained contact with those who truly loved me as I’ve developed new friendships. The insight, laughter, compassion, and flexibility I’ve gained from this bonus time with my daughter is incalculable. I’ve enjoyed male attention and affection while remaining euphorically single. And I’m forging new connections with extended family that take some of the sting out of what I pray are temporary estrangements.
I do still plan. Current plans include publishing a memoir in the form of linked essays, traveling the world, learning reiki, and giving back. The difference is that these plans are now just loose guidelines; a direction to follow. I get up every day and observe, ready to change course if necessary. Because now I know for a fact that the plan the Universe has for me is going to be far better than anything I could devise. Just one more thing to add to my gratitude list.
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Let’s talk! What’s your experience of aging been like? What was the biggest surprise?