There are some powerful metaphors out there that seem intended to point me in the direction of being, versus simply doing, and they crop up all over in movies, animation, the words of celebrity athletes…”Be the ball.” “Be the target.” Be like water.” There are a lot of suggestions to be. The Art of Being isn’t so simply expressed – there really are a lot of verbs involved. An entire iconic ad campaign was built around the idea that the notion of being is, perhaps, not enough. “Just Do It” (Which can also be applied to being.)

I am 52 tomorrow. Two years, and a bit more, practicing practices with a commitment to one particular quality that may matter more than most – authenticity. I fail. I own it. I fall down. I pick myself back up and get back to the journey at hand. I have bad moments. I move past them. I hurt someone. I say I am sorry – I even throw in some verbs to make amends and use the moment to leverage personal growth. Sometimes it seems there are a lot of verbs involved. It is not a coincidence that ‘to live’ and ‘to be’ are also verbs.

The year I turned 50, I cut my hair short – cutting off years and years, layers and layers, of dye, of product, of damage. I chose to express a desire to live a more authentic life through the action and metaphor of cutting my hair. It was pretty powerful. I still invest every day in that more authentic experience. Sometimes it uses a lot of verbs, and all of my will and intention. I got my aquarium that year, too. It continues to delight me, calm me, and contribute to a solitary space that feels like home to me. I enjoy every detail of caring for my aquarium; each task reminds me that my quality of life is based on my choices, and also that I am connected and interdependent on other beings (just as my fish are on me). I have spent two years learning to treat myself well – and along the way I have learned so much about treating others well, too. It is, of course, a journey. There is more to learn, and a continued and ongoing commitment to self is required.

Tomorrow I turn 52. I moved into my own place in time to look around this humble wonderful space that is mine and observe that this move is one of the nicest, kindest things I have ever done for myself, and a  hell of a grand birthday present on a scale unmatched by any – except perhaps love. Love is the sort of thing that makes everything else ‘the next best thing’ no matter what. What I hadn’t understood for most of my life is that treating myself to a hearty helping of my own affection is quite as important as loving someone else…may even be a prerequisite for loving another with any depth or skill.

Yesterday, I took the day to observe my birthday, because I need to be in the office tomorrow. I had quite the exceptional day doing some fairly ordinary things. I went to the dentist. I got a hair cut. I visited a new shop. I saw my therapist. That all sounds quite ordinary phrased that way. It doesn’t capture the splendid day I had. Hell, the day was not even marred by a hearty helping of OPD later in the day – it probably didn’t hurt that it wasn’t truly ‘unexpected’, for me. (Like most things, even drama has patterns that tend to make it rather predictable.) It wasn’t my drama. The launch of Weapons of Mass Distraction elsewhere caused some emotional casualties. I provided what support and comfort for the wounded that I could. We enjoyed pizza, hung out, talked about life and generally enjoyed each other’s very good company. It wasn’t at all the evening I had planned, myself, but no matter; my very dear friend, and my traveling partner, are extraordinary men of good character, and it was a delight to enjoy them, regardless.  I am further quite pleased that I have managed to create this comfortable, safe, and largely drama free space, where I – or those few I welcome to my home – can take refuge from WMDs or basic bullshit.

Why stand down range?

It is very quiet here in the morning. I hear birds outside the window observing that morning is well underway. It is a lovely summer morning, and the weather forecast suggests that it will be merely pleasantly hot, rather than “Fresno”. Lacking A/C, those days when it seems Fresno has moved north to catch up on old times are not comfortable.

I choose my path.

Two years ago, I made an explicit personal commitment to authenticity. It was a powerful choice to swim upstream, and I am far stronger for it. I also feel more loved – because the love I receive really is for me. I am more able to love well, because my feelings are quite genuinely my  own, no bullshit or charades or going through the motions, and the recipients quite worthy – and well-chosen.

I am a big fan of living an authentic life. Even if I were a truly dreadful and vile human being, starting the journey to a better self, a better place, and becoming the woman I most want to be is surely simplified by being wholly myself to start with? Authenticity requires that I recognize my flaws in an accepting and self-compassionate way – how else can I choose change? Well…this has been my experience. My own choices begin with the recognition that there exists some quality worth changing – worth it to me, myself, because I am humbly able to recognize my utter humanity, and see that improvements I value exist as choices. Choosing change requires a next step; there are verbs involved.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I mean…other than ’52’. Crap, 52 sounds old sometimes. It doesn’t actually feel old, generally. I am sometimes taken by surprise to see the face in the mirror looking back at me; she isn’t a child, or a fit hot lusty young woman – and I don’t expect to see those things – but she is definitely…older. lol. I wear my years relatively well, I think, but yeah. I see my years on my face, now. I look into my eyes, curiously. Does my joy – and my pain – look back at me, or are those just eyes? I don’t find myself unpleasant to look at, and I am often surprised that I am more beautiful in some hard to express way than I was at 25…but I am not an astonishing beauty. My gray eyes and brunette-hint-of-auburn-streaked-with-gray hair are rather ordinary. My features are not quite symmetrical, but not distractingly so. I find myself rather plain in most moments – and I like my smile; it transforms me, and for an instant I am lovely. 52 isn’t particularly scary or depressing. It’s also not any sort of obvious benchmark in life – only – it is. I am precisely where I am choosing to be. That’s a very big deal, even at 52. 🙂

I will tend the garden of my heart with great care.

Today is a good day for love. Today is a good day to make choices that build on what works, and to step away from bad practices in favor of positive change. Today is a good day to transform something plain into something lovely with a smile; there are verbs involved. (Your results may vary.)