I turn 39 today, which I suppose renders my unsettled sense of self something of a cliche. All I need now is a sports car and a new hair "system" - oh wait, that's men. What exactly is a woman supposed to do when she can no longer ignore the fact that her Successful Career doesn't fit?
It's not that the disquiet happened overnight - more that I finally stopped patching up the cracks, took a deep breath, and let the whole identity thing blow apart to see what would happen. I was rather hoping for an immediate epiphany, but I am still in pieces, and it is darned uncomfortable. It is dreadfully tempting to scoop up the shards and jam them back into the familiar mold, (miserably successful is, at least, safe and stable - not to mention socially acceptable) but I think I am supposed to learn something here in this place of uncertainty.
I hate uncertainty. I am the sort of person who flips ahead in a suspenseful novel because I can't stand Not Knowing for the span of time it would take to read to the end. (Quite possibly, this is a personality trait I need to confront - it certainly bugs the heck out of my father, a published author.) I have very few excuses not to ride out the storm - my husband is astonishingly supportive (I guess miserably successful is not actually that much fun to live with), the kids are thriving with the enhanced maternal attention and energy. All that's really left is my stuff - pride, insecurity, fear, self-doubt. You know - the shame of being The Woman Who Couldn't Take the Heat. The Woman Who Had Babies and Copped Out. Or something.
Here's to an epiphanous '07 !
Meanwhile, in lieu of enlightenment, I received some lovely instant gratification:
A ball winder:
And (once Canada Post brings it), a Mini-Me:
(OK, the torso is exactly the same as Me, but the thighs are a LOT smaller. Which is nice. )
And last, but certainly not least:
Epiphany schmiphany - we live in Whistler, and we have SNOW!
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