REFLECTING on my Upcoming Birthday

These two photos are of me – the left was taken six years before the right.

So much changes! Hair, hair color, glasses, weight. The one on the left was a professional photo for new author me in 2013. The one on the right was taken by hubby earlier this year (my schnoz is the same size, unfortunately). It is clear that time moves on and takes us with it but what you can’t see in photos is what else is going on. That’s what might surprise you.

I’m sharing because on March 29 I will become 65 years immortal. I feel the need to share some insight into my mind and my reflections as I turn to face an age that was once only a myth. My need to share is unusual since I am an insanely private person, sharing only lighthearted humor and, of course, the light of my profession, writing. I’m not one given to airing my dirty laundry on social media. I don’t moan to Twitter when I have a cold, or beg for hugs when I have trouble. Yes, I will do so immediately for friends and family, but when it comes to me, I feel uncomfortable saying anything about myself that is weak or negative. I guess I want to be remembered as strong and capable, when sometimes I’m anything but a blubbery mass.

Could be why so many peeps think I don’t have issues. My life is not perfect. In fact, I struggle with insecurity to the max. I worry a lot about everything. I cry more than you could imagine. When it comes to my writing and my books, I have countless sleepless nights when I wish a friend sensed my despair and reached out. But there is a problem there — age. Most of the people I like, ones I count as possible friends, are not my age, not my profession or people I don’t have enough “likes” with to be friends. OR People I used to call friends I never hear from or see anymore. OR the people my age who might be friends are old. And don’t laugh at that — I mean it. They may be “living their age” but they think that is all but dead. No thanks.

I have few real friends. In all my years, I lost my childhood friends because we moved away and we were too young to continue. In high school I never fit in. I wanted to be popular and wasn’t. It was a shallow world out there and I didn’t fit. I wasn’t pretty, or a cheerleader, or dating anyone cool, or driving a fast car (not on the highway anyway), or rich and going to the country club. The nerds didn’t want me beyond Beta Club, the drama kids gave me the lead but wouldn’t play after, and so it goes. Even my high school sweetheart belonged to the no-where kids like me. I muddled through and can’t say I was exactly unhappy but I don’t have friends or memories to carry forward. Then I joined the Air Force.

After the military, the people I cared about moved on and away, married, changed, had kids, and I was more afterthought. S’okay, I did the same to some of them. 

Today I live in a place where I’m happily married but I lack the surrounds of people my age who do what I do. I miss the company of like minds and like backgrounds. And I miss people who share my background. I do feel alone sometimes. Though I share my writing self with many others, few are my age, many are under 40 and that creates obvious distances. Though I ignore them, they are still there. Instead I seek companions in writers groups and am inspired by my interaction. It is fulfilling if limited.

All right this isn’t a pity party. This is a reflection of where I am. I’ve changed a great deal over 65 years. I’m more mellow. I’m less aggressive (unless I drink too much champagne). I’m quick to give love and encouragement (there was a time when I stopped giving either).

But some key things are different. My parents are gone and so are any aunts and uncles. Also no grandparents. My cousins are many but only a few are there to remember me or want to, I guess. I miss the love of family that bolstered my heart, my ego and my dreams. What remains are the memories and hope that love truly does endure.

Some things are deeper in me now. I am more sentimental because life is much shorter going forward and I’m not sorry how affected I am by people. I am less stoic, more cynical, less angry, more contemplative, more into belief in the magical (by that I mean I know Santa is real and the trees whisper). And I am not completely alone. There are friends. 

There are one or two people who seek out my company, who actually like me enough to call or check up with me. You see I have no children and that does place me in a category by myself when so many have families with babies to grandchildren (yes I have grandchildren but only one that I see once in a blue moon). Sometimes I feel the loss of not knowing. But I have gains to fill my life.

I am a writer. An author and moderately successful (though not famous, alas). I wrote for magazines, newspapers, literary presses, journals and did commission work but didn’t become an author until 2013. Then ZOOM WHAM BANG, I met all sorts of people, fascinating people who are talented, funny, amazing, smart and making a difference. Gems. I’m lucky in that regard. The rich diversity of knowing them gave me a different kind of fulfillment.

These are the folks who share their lives with me, who give me the gift of them, who lift me up just by their company and who remind me that we all have worth. I have learned from these people who have given patience and kindness. I have been trusted with secrets and I keep them tight to my heart. I have blossomed under faith and shared laughter and joy. All isn’t lost.

I’m going to be 65. I remember when I turned 40. That was the birthday that was hard for me (30 didn’t bother me). I wondered how it was going to be growing old. I wondered how I would be when I was eligible for Social Security. I wondered who I would become when I was “Old.”

And 25 years later here I am. I have my Social Security card, almost all my family is gone (bless my sister and a few dear cousins), a loving husband, nine books of mine and I share places in others. I have one grandchild I know and adore, and nine others I’ve never seen. I have four great-grandchildren! I have two dear friends who live away from me who remember me “when,” and I love them dearly because they know and remember the “real me” and bless me with real acceptance, no matter how stupid I get or behave. This is love.

I have aches and pains with surgeries to prove the cause. I’ve been married and divorced, married and divorced which led me to becoming happily married. I’ve traveled across wide spaces many places overseas. I’ve known joy and fear, anger and grief. And my eyes still sparkle at Christmas. That’s called faith.

Finally, I feel that life is fleeting and passing swiftly by. I want to be sure my legacy is in my writing, is in the love I’ve given along this journey, is in the laughter I shared with many others and in whatever kindnesses I could give or bring.

credit to L.E. Perez for graphic

I’m not sure when it happened, but I eventually realized that it’s good to be me and there are those who still won’t get me, don’t want to, and have already forgotten me. I’m busy being me and I hope that as I welcome this latest birthday (for I don’t imagine I have a big bucket of them left), that I will grasp joy, laughter, and love with open arms. Sure, I’m going to get insecure and cry again. I’m going to doubt and worry like crazy. I’m going to be silent and I’m going to laugh. Undoubtedly there is more grief to come and more uncertainty. I’m old enough now to handle it. I’m settled with me, for all my foibles.

So, this is me reflecting. I’ve obviously skipped a bunch of stuff, but I will share a little-known secret. I always wanted to be immortal. I had a librarian tell me that everyone on all those shelves was immortal and their names would live on long after the people where gone. I wanted to be THAT. I wanted to be immortal. And now I am. My books are in the Library of Congress, catalogued. I am forever. Even without high school cliques or childhood besties. No matter what else, I did what I thought was impossible. That’s called cool.

And I have to thank my beloved, my husband who shows me every single day how to love, to be loved, and how true love really endures. He is a prince among men. That is blessed.

I’m just over here being me. Drop by once in a while. Don’t let too much time go by before we connect, or reconnect. Bring a smile. I have one for you, too. And when you get to be 65, I hope you think of me and this bit of advice:

Do as much or as little as your heart demands. Do what makes you happy and laugh. Love hard. Give often. It’s okay to cry. And most of all, remember you make life what it is. Only you. And if there’s no one but you to share your days, be at peace. Time goes by very fast. Enjoy your life now and don’t wait on others. Live without regret. Don’t wait to make memories. Chin up, buttercup, this is your life and it is everything you jam into it. It DOES NOT MATTER what others want, think, or say. I wish I’d learned that earlier. Remember, this is your life, not theirs. Be you. In the end, that is the only thing that will make you happy whether in a crowd or alone. Be your best friend. Cut a path and leave a positive trail for others who come after you.

I’m going to do that. For whatever time I have left, let every day be a celebration. Happy Birthday (and don’t forget to take pictures!).

Thanks for coming by.
I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

PS. Come back on Friday March 29. I’ll have birthday thoughts and a surprise.

Writing with Mortality

My maternal grandparents in 1956

I’m getting older. At 64, I have to step back and examine my life and where I fit in to the legacy of my family. My dad died at 69. My mom at 76. Her mom at 82 and her dad at 66. Mom didn’t see it coming. She was in good health.

I’m in okay health and sometimes I wonder about my ticking clock. I ask myself at night if I accomplished all I needed to in the day to be sure I didn’t waste time or leave important things undone. It is often motivation for my books, to be sure I finish before I die. Mortality. 

Life and Death is an issue in Infinity War as she see our superheroes snapped out of existence. Like Spiderman said moments before he disappeared, “I don’t feel so good, Mr. Stark.” The entire idea of suddenly ceasing to exist is made ever more poignant to us old timers when we hear talk of the Avengers moving on and the old actors passing the torch. Truly, Fury, Capt. America, Iron Man, Thor, are all aging in real life. Mortality seems to be an issue for Hollywood (age diversity and discrimination will be for another day), and younger superheroes are waiting in the wings. Just look at what was done with the X Men. Poor Professor X!

Mortality is an issue with our books too. If we write supernatural or paranormal characters we don’t have to worry about their aging. Or if we have to deal with it, it can be done very slowly (like decades slowly), or even used as a plot device if we need to kill off someone or scare everyone with the loss of a favorite character.

But where are the love stories for the over 40? Honestly, I don’t find many adult books, other than Contemporary Fiction/Romance, where the over 40 or 50 group deals with love or loving again. Yes, we find it in younger characters, but we avoid the “older” or the “elderly.”

Gives a girl a complex and makes her think she’s passé. Like all the talk about the older actors being past their prime for their superhero roles, they are made new with younger, more viral, more “viable” contract players. Seems a bit unfair especially if you have superpowers to say that after age “x” that you are too old to do your job.

My job is to write. My job is to write good stories. If I write stories about older people, the younger folks don’t want to read about the 50 year old divorce with three grown children and four grandchildren, her arthritis and her aged mother with diabetes or Alzheimer’s. It’s too….real? Too close to home?

Maybe that’s it. We’re aging and it’s real. It’s contemporary but not the way we want to be remembered? I don’t know. Can you imagine a story about Hawkeye and his family in addition to his fighting Thanos? It’s rumored that we will have something like that in Avengers 4. Why doesn’t that mortality bother us?

What about your stories? Do you write about older people other than wizards and witches and sorcerers and vampires? Can you? Would you? Or is mortality too scary to manage because it is too real and close to home? Like a birthday cake with a heart – a real heart – it frightens and grosses us out. But there is a magic in the reality if we try to see it.

I think about it every day. And I’ve discovered that I am adding older characters to my stories. Yes, some of them have supernatural abilities. And some are mere mortals who have managed to live into their more senior years. I don’t write Young Adult stories so maybe I’m trying to match reality with the imaginary in a way that makes my reality more palatable. Or maybe it makes you think more about your reality and manage it better?

Mortality. The scariest story there is to a writer with a million stories to tell. I’m writing as fast as I can but if I get zapped out of existence, I want my readers to have truth amid the fantasy. I want to read that too. Write more real people. Age them along with you. Let me know that my mortality is okay and that I can be a superhero even with gray hair and eczema or contact lenses.

Maybe the best writing is one that says the greatest superheroes are the best of us, just the way we are, even aged.  Just do me a favor? Write faster and leave a legacy that will outlast time (or Thanos).

Mortality. It only matters if you let it take you without a fight. Right Mr. Stark?

Thanks for stopping by.

I remain, Yours Between the Lines,

Sherry

(All credit to Marvel and DC. I do not own rights nor use photos for personal gain).

Most people I know disdain discussions about their age once they reach the more “exalted” years. Oh, I hear that “50 is the new 40” and such gobbledygook, but I don’t really buy it, do you? Really? I think we are what we are. For me, I am the age I’ve lived. I’m every moment, minute, month, and year. I’m every wrinkle, every bruise, every crack in every bone. I’m every white or grey hair (and in my case every purple and blue one, too). I’m every flake of dry skin, busted capillary, expansion joint and skin tag. I am who I have become. I do not pretend it makes me younger or older (though perhaps I am a wee bit wiser).

My physical age is but a number, yes, but it says “look I’ve been around the block.” The good news (or bad, depending on your perspective) is that I’ve probably lived more than many, given I’ve been blessed with a multitude of adventures and opportunities, loves and divorces, the love of wonderful parents, and the joy of a corresponding childhood, plus finding a great love, despite the odds. (This might be a good time to mention you can read all about it in my book, Breaking The Glass Slipper, a fictional memoir.)

I often joke that I am only 12 (mentally). Perhaps that’s because I encourage my inner child to come out to play. I delight in her exuberance. I exercise my imagination daily; and above all, I delight in laughing. I live for joy. I look for good things. I think this keeps perspective and helps you stay young. Sometimes, you just have to LET GO.

I wasn’t always this way. I’ve mellowed with time. This Aries is a true leader of her zodiac, but once the fiery, short-tempered, grudge-bearing, stubborn, self-centered alpha, slowly became a wiser, more forgiving, more moderately tempered, nurturing, dragon lady who knew of and practiced compromise. Still an alpha, I have a temper but the fuse is longer. I have no time for grudges. The soap-box cheering dragon lady raises her ugly head now and again, but one more tolerant, informed, and careful. I like to think smarter. But I am a nurturer. I am a giver. I have a need to do for others. This is where I get my joy.

And that brings me to now. My birthday was last week on March 29. I rarely ask for anything these days. I have so much and want for nothing. I am truly blessed. I give back whenever I can, as often as I can.  I desire only the love and joy of friends and family. I want to be remembered, yes. I want others to celebrate the joy of life with me, yes. To know they take joy in me (or I hope they do) is what birthdays are about, for me.

I do not know if I have succeeded in this wish. This birthday passed without the fanfare so many others feel is needed. After all, I have achieved that realm of my “great and exalted age.” But I’ve not time to exalt! I’m busy. Every day there are things to exalt in and this is the message. Living every day fully, laughing, playing, and finding joy. In this way, every day is a personal gift that you can keep or choose to share. Isn’t that the real joy we want when we reach “exalted” years?

Like writing a book whether you publish or not. Like smiles or giggles. For those who know me, I think you know whether I prefer to keep or to share. Sharing is where I find exaltation.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, a babe was born and delivered in a hospital by her mother.  Gas was 22 cents. Saturday matinee movie was 49 cents. Polio vaccinations began. Father Knows Best was popular on TV.  It was 1954. (It would be another five years before Barbie would be born and one week later, Swanson’s would produce its first TV dinner). I was born into a good year.

Hello 63!  And MY story continues. (say, do you let your characters have birthdays?)

— AND NOW, In keeping with National Poetry Month, I offer you my imaginary obit! 

Sherry – author, poet, woman, child –
lived a life passionate and wild,
tasted everything, regretted some,
loved many, in love with only one.
Believed in magic, danced and dreamed,
died complete, more than she seemed.
She played Led Zeppelin and drank champagne!
She said, “live boldly ’til we meet again!”

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Speaking of National Poetry Month (how did you like that transition?), last week I announced I’m sponsoring a POETRY CONTEST!  You can enter HERE.  Win some books and/or an Amazon gift card.

PLUS – winners will see their poems published here, on Facebook, on other blogs and I will read them LIVE on Facebook. I might even read them on You Tube.

Welcome Poetry Month by trying your hand at a poem. The theme is WHAT INSPIRES YOU?

Well? Go on….I dare you! You might surprise yourself and already be a fabulous poet!

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AND THERE’S MORE! In keeping with National Poetry Month, I’m GIVING AWAY FREE COPIES OF THE BOOK OF NOW! That’s right. FREE.  From April 14 through April 17, you can go to Amazon and get a free ebook of my last book of poetry (already free on KU).  Mark your calendar!  FREE!

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Before I go, I want to thank everyone for their wonderful feedback on last week’s blog post about Commenter Etiquette. Your support and your thoughts are important to me and I am grateful for your interest.

Keep an eye out for more FACEBOOK LIVE events! Keep reading! Keep writing.

Until next time, I remain,
Yours Between the Lines,
Sherry