You leveled up

I woke up this morning with the drive to write a blog post. And with the time to do it. When does that ever happen?

Answer?

It happens only in conjunction with the sudden realization that I have nothing to say.

It’s all blather.

I don’t want to recount the early departure of the youngest, or the impending emancipation of the newest grad. I don’t want to tell y’all how I drove all the way into the Cities yesterday for my semi-annual Trader Joe’s run, to get m’shampoo, and the damned Trader Joe’s was plumb out of m’friggin’ shampoo. Plumb Out.

Is there anything to write about that isn’t just travelogue? I dunno. I like to think there are days when I can pull that off, but this is not one of them, so let’s spare the both of us.

It is my birthday today. *insert thinking emoji here*

I was reminded of this news early this morning by that almost-18-year-old as she emerged from her room ready to ski and found me sprawled in the living room, yoga-ing and struggling to peel my newly-43-year-old frame off the floor. It took a little bit to return to upright, but I managed, just for the birthday hug before she hit the slopes.

I could talk about being old and decrepit. I could talk about how my kids are all growing up even though I explicitly told them not to. I could talk about how I, too, am growing up, even though I’d rather retain the vigor of my youth, it being sparse to begin with.

I could talk about the first 43 years, and how I can’t think of a single young age that I would go back to given the opportunity.

Really.

Not one.

This is as good as it gets. It ain’t great all the time; that is for certain. But this is where I want to be.

I don’t want to live a single second more without the luscious store of accumulated experience points and resources that have chosen me thus far.

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I got a text from my dear friend, Sara, this morning:

My response?

Hers?

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Yep. I, too, like the metaphor.

I don’t want to live a single second more without the luscious store of accumulated experience points and resources that have chosen me thus far. How did I manage without them before? While I was amassing this impressive collection, how did I manage? How did I survive this long without every ounce of wisdom I’ve collected in my tiny little flask?

I don’t know, apart from heavy doses of mercy and grace. But I do know that I don’t want to go forward, even a step, without every last dreg at my disposal.

So this is it. Right here. Right now. Peace in the present.

I’ll take the battered body and the misfiring mind, as long as they come with the fully-stocked gear locker that keeps me afloat. I’ll take the aches and the pains and the scars and the tortoise-like brain function, as long as I get to keep all the equipment that got me here.

I’d also like to hang onto those best of friends, who come to play, armed with great metaphors and big hearts.

What more could I need?

If you need me, I’ll be preparing for my 44th year. I trust that it will blow the 43rd all to pieces,
KJ