... the more they stay the same, of course.
I've been thinking about this phrase for a while now, hoping that is actually a thing that people say and not just a jumble of random words my brain has harping on. It's one of those phrases that seems contradictory, but for some reason, really speaks truth to me right now. In some ways, there are differences in my day-to-day life that I've waited for so very long to be able to embrace, yet the gist of everything remains the same. The children are their crazy selves, my husband is as goofy and irrepressible as when I first starting calling him mine over two decades ago. For all of this and more, I could easily throw around the blessed hashtag and express my gratitude 'til the cows come home.
Today, I turned 42 years old. How my age keeps changing is beyond me, and the rapidity with which it advances is astounding. Each year flies by, even though some days I can feel time stretching out forever to get to the kids' bedtime.
That number I check off has changed again, yet inside, in my heart, in my head, I don't understand how 42 is different than 35 is different than 17. I hope there's an increased amount of wisdom and street smarts, perhaps, but otherwise, it doesn't feel as if anything has changed at all.
Sixteen months ago, we moved 355 miles west of the place we called home, leaving behind friends and familiarity from over almost 20 years. I worried that this move would find me unable to find either of those things again, not in their truest forms. Yet, all these months later, fortune has smiled upon me again with friendships that feel life-long already and others still brewing. Today, I vehemently filled in little ovals on a local elections ballot, caring passionately about the future of the community that now has a place in my heart.
Like before, I've spent months without putting words to paper, or screen as it were. Like before, I don't know why. I know that I feel more like myself when I write down what's in my head, but too often, I feel as if what's in my head just isn't worthy of actually being recorded. My lifelong struggle with wanting to call myself a writer but not feeling capable will likely never resolve itself, but as I've thought in the past, it's always a good resolution to make to get back in a regular habit of stringing words together regardless of their supposed value.
About a month ago, I spent a weekend with friends in a rented house in western Maryland. There are no words adequate enough to explain the joy that comes from laughing and crying, and then laughing some more with these dear women. Walking along a trail in the woods to my favorite outdoor spot of all the outdoor spots I've ever spent time in, I tried to breathe in the calm and the love, knowing that a weekend flies by too quickly and that it would be many months until I saw most of these ladies again. No matter my age, I know that friendship is, and always has been, crucial to my survival.
And so, time marches on, as it is wont to do. I will continue to march along with it, noting the changes and reveling in the familiarity of it all.
Missed you!!
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