I give up

Life is such a funny thing.

I haven't blogged in a while because I'm working through a long contemplative place and really--you don't want to hear about it because it's rather boring.

I turn 33 tomorrow. I don't have much of a problem with getting older. I still look young. My friend Kris took headshots of me last week, and I look the same as always. Better probably. At church on Sunday, the relief society president asked me if I was old enough to be in the congregation, since it's for single people over 31. That was nice.
So aging isn't really that big of a deal. There is the whole biological clock worry. I worry that waiting to have kids might affect my chances of having them, but I figure if I was meant to have kids--then something would happen. And if not, then que sera.

I have a friend named Anna who I met while working on my MFA. When I met her, she was 34. She was stunning. Short red hair, a body to die for. She had this amazing ability to confidently move within any circle and make everyone feel respected and loved. As I got to know her, I found out that she had gone through very dark periods of depression. She has a tatoo of a tree on her foot to remind her of a beautiful tree near her hometown that provided hope at a time when she was suicidal.

It was clear that her dark hours had made her empathetic and loving. Her survival gave her confidence. She saw past the intimidating airs people gave off and treated everyone with care, just in case they might be facing a private battle.

At 34, she had found a beautiful zen place. She got married at 36. And now she has a beautiful little girl.

I have another friend who just married a wonderful man--at 36. She runs a great theatre company and is a kind, loving, admirable woman.

Because these women shared their journey with me, I'm less worried about my own crazy journey. I am less afraid of the time that passes or the trials that I face. I see their strength after the battle, and I look forward to becoming a better woman--stronger, kinder, empathetic, and spiritual.

I don't know how I'll spend my days, or who I'll spend my days with. I don't know how I'll pay off my debts or whether I'll ever have children of my own. But for the first time in a really long time, I'm okay with that. I have finally resigned myself to the idea that my little life has a very specific purpose. I have these strange little assignments that I get to fulfill all over the land. People that I am meant to meet, women I'm supposed to learn from, friends I'm supposed to support. It's a strange, unpredictable life. But I feel very strongly that how I spend my time--where I spend my time--means something to God.

So I gladly give up trying to figure out anything else.