There are days I feel like my head is down to the pavement and I’m plowing ahead on autopilot, and then there are the days – ever increasing – where something is working spiritually behind the scenes and more and more I am feeling and becoming something unspoken. Something propelled by unconscious, unseen forces and it is …. good. This likely sounds like nonsense, but I know what I know. And no, I’m not drinking.

I get up, let the dogs out, feed them breakfast, go to work, do my job with a positive spirit that comes so naturally I wonder what others who know my personal circumstances must think of me. I punch out, drive home, let the dogs out, feed them dinner, make our dinner and catch up with Todd, spend 40 minutes doing cardio, shower, settle into my new blue couch, and we watch TV, let the dogs out, go to bed. Rinse, repeat. When did we become our parents? It’s a routine that is both comforting and at times I wonder maybe too comfortable.

Where is the excitement? The unpredictability? The out-of-the-box stuff we knew as teenagers in love – like driving to Valley Forge and hiking the rising, shaded paths under a canopy of tall trees and green leaves, stealing a moment alone to steal a kiss before more folks would appear behind us? The long drives to nowhere, Todd smoking his Brights and the two of us talking about whatever was so important to two 17-year-olds with no idea of what was to come.

The unpredictable today amounts to whether we’ll cook or order out on a Friday after work, whether Shuggie will shit on the rug downstairs again while we’re gone, which home improvement project to tackle, which parent will have a medical emergency this week, or what car to drive when we do go out somewhere. Of course, we aren’t exactly becoming our parents. We aren’t constantly on the go quite the same way that my in-laws are, or the way my “parents” are, going out with friends all the time, dancing, or getting high on days off with our best friends. I often think our parents, collectively, are a fine example of what aging well is supposed to look like – and of course they are all Boomers who were in their prime in the 1970s and 80s – a time of political change and stark differences between themselves and their parents.

So, while we pride ourselves on being Gen Xers and thus, hardy, full of moxy , and no-fucks-to-give, it is my opinion that we are fading into our 50s full of body aches and pains, quietly acknowledging our physical limitations, and constantly fighting the dichotomy of wanting to go out and party versus I’m-good-on-the-couch-and-falling-asleep-at-9:30. You already know which one wins.

So we make plans to attend events and go on vacations, put them on the calendar, and plow ahead with the everyday until the day comes and then – more often me than Todd – wonder what the hell I was thinking. I love being at home and am completely unapologetic. I also love adventures – particularly the day kind where we can do something different and still end up in our own bed at the end of the day. I can’t be the only person who slides into bed at the end of the day with a sigh of relief and joy. It is physical and emotional.

I am unapologetic. It is one the many revelations I hinted at in a previous post. At the MIEMSS event last month, like many social events, I met people who ask the usual, innocuous questions that amount to standard small-talk. What do you do?  I work as a patient service rep for XYZ. I no longer feel like maybe I don’t measure up. I explained to the woman the absolute truth with an unregretful matter-of-factness that belied a former lack of pride. Grew up in the restaurant business, went to college, came back to the business for several years until I married and became a stay-at-home mom.

I leave out the toxic years, the sleepless nights and the shrinking self-esteem. The shit years I endured until I clawed my way out, the last three years where both of my kids, now adults, have chosen to cut me out of their lives for – I’m sorry – NO VALID REASON. Whatever reality they’ve attached themselves to serves one person and one person only, and they aren’t able to see that for themselves yet.

So when someone asks how my kids are, I say “good.” Because I have enough information to know that one is gainfully employed and the other is starting her freshman year in college. I might even add details. Sometimes it’s fun to tell people the truth and watch the shift in their eyes. Veruca’s former guidance counselor was shocked and saddened by the news, but I assured her that all will be well with the kingdom someday. I saw her again last week and she avoided any mention of V.

Hear me out: I KNOW that all will be well in the kingdom someday. I know this because in the weeks of driving to look after my mom I have been listening to short sermons and these remind me that God is on the throne and He is handling it. That I need to be “Okay with the not knowing.” That He is “counting my tears.” That He will restore me. There is more, but the message is clear: I need to keep Him front row and believe that He will do what He promised. And I know He is working for me right now. It may take days, it may take months, it may take years. But I know this will come; I know because He has done it before. There is so much more, but this is the essence of the lessons.

In those weeks, I have gained a peaceful place within myself to exist. I have seen the blessings of the past and I acknowledge the blessings of my present. I also acknowledge what is missing, but I do so with gratitude for the gift that is my son and my daughter, for the many years I held and loved them and felt that love returned. I acknowledge my parents – that they are and have always been there for me, without judgement or hesitation – and I understand this so much more deeply for having my own children.

The weeks after mom’s surgery has brought us closer than we’ve ever been, a situation that is as astounding as it is joyful and comforting. Those weeks also left me wistful for my father, who I hadn’t seen for a long while until just this week, and there is no excuse for the time apart. I need him to know how much I need and love him as much as I need to live and breathe. I am acutely aware of how precious time is, especially now, and I can’t afford to let it waste away. I don’t want to be afraid of what will be lost.

The weeks that have passed since my last serious post have seen two parents, as well as a good friend, land in the hospital – all of them in the same week – and I just felt like I needed to cover my eyes with my age-spotted hands and see no more emergencies. I know forever is too much to ask, but a few years’ reprieve would be nice.

And so today is a beautiful day, the sun’s rays bleeding through the trees’ canopies and throwing arcadian mosaics over our quiet piece of green in rural America. The dogs are sleeping peacefully on the floor, passively waiting for the creak of my chair to inform them that I am finished here. A very different picture from yesterday.