birthday

“I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.” –L.M. Montgomery

I LOVE June.

I personally think June is one of the best months you can spend in Maine. Summer is just beginning but the temps are in the 70s, low to no humidity. Everything is green, the lupines have bloomed and it’s just fucking gorgeous. It’s the end of the school year and high school graduation for some. Like January, it feels like a time for new beginnings, fresh starts.

Typically it’s an emotional month for me, too. June is not only my birthday month, but my brother’s, too. It’s a time when we would celebrate our birthdays together, along with my dad’s birthday and Father’s Day. This year, though, I’m canceling any kind of birthday celebration with my family. We’re heading to one of our local Pride parades instead. We’ll celebrate Pride together and to me, it’ll feel like we’re celebrating my brother. Which is what I’d rather do.

Will I still celebrate my own birthday? You bet your ass. Like I’ve said in previous posts, I’ve always loved my birthday but have often been disappointed by others in their lack of celebrating my birthday. So fuck ’em. I might not have a road trip planned like last year’s big 5-0, but I’ll do what I want and create my own celebration.

This month, I’ve tried to take time to really see things around me that bring me joy. That Kermit lawn ornament? I saw it on a lunchtime walk while I was at work, and it cracked me up. The reserved parking sign is at a local grocery store. I’ll never use it, thank goodness, but so so happy it exists for those future moms out there! That photo of me is just from my run today. It was a pretty fantastic 5-miler, the first in 8 months. Certainly worthy of celebrating.

The “Be Your Own Kind of Beautiful” sign was at a restaurant where I had lunch with my dear friend and second mom, Sue. I feel like it’s a reminder that I don’t need others to validate who I am. I’m some kind of wonderful, damn it, and need to cut away those that make me feel otherwise.

See that Maine and Pride flag? I saw those flags at a home, that if you grew up here in Maine, you might automatically think those folks were close minded rednecks that would shoot a gay man on sight if they had a chance. The house was a bit run down with many cars and car parts all over the lawn and driveway. And yet they flew that Pride flag high and proud. I actually laughed out loud. I was a bit ashamed of myself for putting those folks in a box where they certainly didn’t belong. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.

That last photo is of one of my sistas from another mista, Trish, and the FABULOUS author, Steven Rowley. We were fortunate enough to hear him speak about his latest novel. His humor is infectious and he is just bursting with joy. If you’ve ever read “The Guncle,” it’s definitely a reflection of who Rowley is. And if you haven’t read it, I encourage you to go to your local library or bookstore and get it asap. Then pick up the sequel, “The Guncle Abroad”!

Friends, if you’ve never been to Maine before, I encourage you to visit in the month of June. But if you can’t be here right now, I hope it’s lovely wherever you are. And if it isn’t? May you find something to bring you joy this month.

Remember, if you need a fresh start, this is as a good time as any other.

So let’s do it. Let’s begin again. ❤

I first began to read at the age of 4. I got my period when I was 12 years old. I fell in love when I was 16, 20, 21, and 22. I got married and received my Master’s degree when I was the ripe old age of 24 and had a baby at 34. I first began running when I was 37 years old.

All of those numbers? They are not “just” numbers. They mark significant events in my life, important time periods. And I’m hoping that 40 will also be one of those meaningful yet amazing years.

I’ve had MANY people in the past few weeks say to me, “It’s just a number. There’s no reason to get freaked out by 40.” If you know me, you know that I have indeed, been very worried about my upcoming birthday. But why? I’ve never really cared much about my age. Of course I wanted to be older when I was a kid (who didn’t?), but once I turned 21, I just enjoyed the years as they passed. I had a HUGE party when I turned 30, told everyone what to bring me, and had a fantastic time.

Yet….these past 6 months I’ve started to fret about turning 40. Logically, there is no reason for me to be upset. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been, in the best shape I’ve ever been. I have a good husband, an incredible son, a decent home and a fantastic job. I have a family that I love and friends that I could not live without. Unfortunately though, I am periomenopausal. I don’t sleep well, my menstrual cycle is completely out of whack, fatigue overwhelms me each afternoon, and tweezers have become my dearest friend (seriously, what is up with the excess hair?!?).

Subconsciously, I thought life would be over at 40. That’s why I ran my half marathon less than two weeks ago. I HAD to run it before I turned 40, or I thought I would never do it. I thought my body would fall apart the minute I turned 40 or I’d gain weight or lose motivation. I felt like as soon as I turned that corner on the next part of my life, everything would turn to shit.

The other night, as I tossed and turned, desperately wanting to sleep, I finally realized what was bothering me. Reality and the first kernels of acceptance had started to settle in.

I now know and can finally admit that I will never achieve the body of my dreams, no matter how many miles I run.

I will never win the lottery.

I won’t ever be able to read everything I want to or learn everything I’ve ever wanted to learn or visit every place I want to see.

Life will never be long enough. Ever.

We already know all of this, though, don’t we? We’ve always known it, but *I* have never accepted it. Apparently my brain and heart were fed up and decided to have an intervention. “Holly…..you have to accept the fact that your muffin top? It will never go away. Your doctor told you, remember? And those arms? Yeah, they’ll continue to jiggle and will get worse as you get older. It’s time to get over it.”

So, my friends, that is what I must do.

Does this mean I’ll never get on another scale or buy the occasional lottery ticket? No. I’m sure I’ll continue to whine about that damn fat roll as I do crunches and planks in the morning and will cringe each time I see my arm wiggle. But I want this to be the year that I finally takes those first steps in accepting who I am, no matter my weight or my pant size or how slowly I run. Life is just too damn short to worry about any of this, isn’t it? I need this to be THE year that I finally give myself permission to love the woman I have become. So many other people love me for who I am, so why shouldn’t I?