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.

And It Begins.....

This could be the beginning of a love/hate relationship with myself. On one hand I like to keep my life to myself. On the other hand I feel this desire to share my thoughts with the world.

As an adult woman with ADHD (yes, the H belongs in there. I know they say adults grow out of that, perhaps I have for the most part, but it's still there), I will find blogging to be a particular challenge. Focusing, being consistent with any task, takes enormous amounts of self-discipline and focus.
Most of my life I have pictured a future that included the written word. No, not scripture. MY written word. On paper is where I thought it would be at; in novel form. I have all of these amazing true stories that I could tell, and a lot of ideas for fictional stories as well. First I need to hone my writing skills. I suppose a blog is as good a place as any to start. Then perhaps some creative writing classes at the local college, eventually.

I'm very intimidated by the Amy who wants to share all her words with the world. She is confident and smart and funny and likable. The shy Amy is reserved; terrified that readers will be critical and judgmental. Worried that her words will not be eloquent. Worried that all her chatter will become annoying. But skill comes from practice, and the confident Amy doesn't care who she annoys.
One of my favorite phrases the past two years has been "life begins just outside your comfort zone". It's too easy to stay within the familiar, to stay home, to say no when invited on girls night out, to do the same thing every day. It's safe. But what fun is that? I stepped out of my comfort zone when I joined my book club. I did it again when Eric and I started looking for a new home. Again, when I sat on my first motorcycle, when I started practicing yoga, when I started opening myself up to friends again after years of living my life as if I were one dimensional; mom, wife. The result was a beautiful home in a small town with a motorcycle parked on the front porch and amazing friends that I can say "I love you" to and it doesn't catch in my throat from fear. All of these things were hard and scary. And they improved my life. It's time for me to expand my comfort zone again, just a tiny bit. So I begin a blog.

This quote is from a friend (whom I will not name). You know who you are, and if you read this please forgive me for my plagiarism. It's stored in my mental filing cabinet to be retrieved whenever I'm feeling anxious. Even the most mundane of tasks can seem huge when I am scared (like right now, as I'm considering tapping on the "publish" button above). I think these words are brilliant and I hope that they can help someone else the way they help me:

"Anxiety, you are no friend of mine. Life is too short to live avoiding irrational fears. You're so convincing, A nasty trick. Hijacking my mind, interjecting worry and doubt between what is real and what is perceived to be real.

From now on, your attempts to alter my course will be considered and taken as an emotional response and warning, that what I am about to do is important. That I should pay attention and learn from what is about to take place. You will become a tool that I will use to stay aware of the opportunity that is before me." -B.K.