Being 38....and other things

I am almost 39.
That is close to 40.
I look in the mirror and see signs of aging. I don't want to age.
I REALLY don't want to age.
Of course the alternative is worse.
As I approach this milestone in my life - four decades, WOW - I have concerns about where its been and where it will go next. What have I done? Will I leave a mark? Are there still things to do that require a young body? If so, I need to do them soon before my joints are arthritic. Grandma B lived to be 81. If I live as long as her then I'm almost halfway done already! That's terrifies me! So I find myself searching for my next adventure, for my next big adrenaline rush. I want to rediscover passion for life. This boring adult same-shit-different-day life is not satisfying me anymore.
Mid-life crisis looming!
I may need therapy.

When I look back at my life there is a particular time that I like to reminisce about the most. High school. The girl that I was from 14 to 18 was so many things; beautiful, stubborn, insecure, confused yet confident. I believed I was everlasting.
At 15 there was big hair, tight pants, black eyeliner and giggling over dirty jokes.
Who am I kidding, I still giggle over dirty jokes.
By the time 18 rolled around I was a senior in high school and the big hair turned into long curls, and the tight pants made way for loose cutoffs and peasant tops. From 80's punk to 90's hippy.
Never mind the appearance though. That is only surface image.
Forget "sugar and spice and everything nice". The illusion of immortality combined with being impulsive and fearless created Amy.
During the teen years many things happened, most of which I was not prepared for nor mature enough to handle.
I lost my virginity. I got a drivers license. I fell in love at least twice; Brett and Brandon, oh! sigh. This is also when my illusion of family was destroyed, when my mother and her sisters announced that they had been sexually abused by their father, my grandfather. What a downward spiral that turned into.
I drank my first beer and smoked my first joint.
Wrecked my first car.
I learned how to swear and played just as rough as the boys.
I car surfed down main street.
I spent more than one night crying for a daddy that didn't acknowledge my existence. Growing up without a dad is harder than you think.
I made new friends, lost old ones, beat up a few and had sex with a few.
I got busted for shoplifting and had to do community service. I beat up a girl in the Top Stop parking lot and had to do community service. I got busted skinny dipping at the city pool at 2am and, again, had to do community service. My criminal behavior ended up being a very positive experience. For my community service I worked for the police department, filing their paperwork and doing odd jobs. This built a lasting bond between one of the officers, Joe L., and myself, that carried into adulthood. He took his own life in 2004 and I still mourn his loss.
Mostly what I remember about being Amy during this time is the emotions. The events matter of course, but the emotions have stayed with  my memory long after the details have faded. The pain of a broken heart. The adrenaline rush of a first kiss. The rage and anger. I had a lot of self-doubt. Some was body image (thanks Mom) and abandonment issues (thanks sperm donor). But mostly I had fear of being ME. I was impulsive and lively, hyper, the life of the party. Until all my energy became annoying to those around me after short amounts of time in my orbit. For years I focused so hard on being cool that I'm sure I came across as being phony. If anyone had been able to read my mind they would have heard me repeating words like "don't wiggle, just sit still" and "don't act so excited". I was especially insecure when it came to boys. I desperately wanted their approval. If only I had realized then just how beautiful I was, that I didn't need to try so hard to find love, that it would happen if I let myself just BE myself. (And who needs love anyways when you have LIFE!)
Well, hindsight is always 20/20.
Life has been interesting, and my experiences have shaped the woman I have become. And that woman, she is AMAZING.
Like Pink in her song Conversations With My 13 Year Old Self, I too have much to say to the girl that I was.
Perhaps another blog for another time.