The Big 40

I don’t own a car, house, I have no children and never been married. Oh yeah, I am currently without a career too. Am I supposed to have all this by the time I turn 40 years old? Seems like it, the ladies in my workout class have families, careers — they own businesses and homes. I look at them and then look at myself and wonder if I have done it all wrong.

Yesterday I picked up my life partner from work and told him, “I’m having a hard day. I hate my body, my life, the fact I don’t work right now — I don’t know what I want to do, or how to do it, I feel like a loser. An ugly loser.”

He tried to console me, but I sat and sulked anyway. I yelled at him actually to not talk, not say anything to me, to leave me in my cesspool of shit. He did, for a while — but it was dinner time.

“Are we still eating tonight?” he asked. NO matter how low I get, life still proceeds.

As I made dinner I realized that I was being a real bitch. Not so much to my Boo, but to myself. If someone else had told me I was a fat loser, my response would not have been too kind — I would have told them where to go. So why would I allow myself to break my own heart and soul. Because I really don’t hate myself. I have worked so hard to love my life and choices and be kind to my mind, body and soul. Am I really going to let myself down because I don’t compare to these outsider expectations of where I am supposed to be in my life due to age?

I shouldn’t.

I have experienced the kind of life most people only see in the movies, and I have worked hard to get there. I am a beautiful woman inside and out. I am so sorry for letting myself get caught up in the idea that I had to be doing something different associated by some kind of social design.

Today I have been going over my choices, good and not so good, and I am noticing just how cool I am. Not because I do or don’t have things/jobs/kids to show, but because I am learning who I am without the usual outline, and am still solid in my heart’s desires.

I am turning 40 tomorrow, and I have nothing that my bootcamp ladies have, but perhaps I have something they don’t have. And being 40 is just an age, a number to show how long I have been on earth, nothing more. I am as young or as old as I will choose to be, and at 40 I will still wear my converse, ballerina skirts, and crazy hair. I will continue to navigate my life in a way that makes me happy and if society can’t handle it, well, I don’t care. We live in a day where life is what you make it, and the best birthday gift I could give myself is courage and confidence to continue on my path.

I have to admit I am changing, but that’s what happens anyways. Change is the only thing constant in life, so I will embrace my changes hold onto my youth and believe growing old gracefully isn’t a part of my vocabulary — at least not by any modern definition.

Happy Birthday Corrie. I hope the next 40 years are just as exciting, fun, and explorative as the last!!

What’s It Going To Take To Kill Me

I was reading something the other day, the only thing that stuck out and lingered with me was the relayed message, and not verbatim, What is it in your life which you love so much that you’re willing to let it kill you. The article was a basic run down on jobs, work, hobbies and living one’s life under the regard of love. After reading this, even days later, I wondered what in this world do I like doing so much that it transfers to love — I love it so much that it will kill me. Not literally stick a knife through my heart, but what is it in this world that I will do no-matter-what because I love it so much, I will die happy doing it???? Never minding rejection, time, payment, etc.

As I continue to ponder this killing love, I can’t help but think, “Duh Corrie, Writing.” But is that what I really want, I don’t know, because lately I have not been writing. In fact the more I focus on My Love, the more I can’t write. Nothing comes to mind, and I feel like, “Who would want to read it anyways.” Perhaps this is my problem. I don’t feel it, I don’t feel that what I have to say or write about would matter to anyone but me — when did that start to weigh in.

At this point in my life my writing is all I have to work with, it’s the only thing I can think about, and it’s not just a thought any more. It has manifested and taken over my brain. My mind space feels so small.

I keep saying over and over again, “Write Corrie, write. Write something, anything.”  I am almost sure that I am not the only writer in this world who comes to this point in their journey. However, others keep going, get published and make a career out of it.

Am I scared? Do I not have the confidence I thought I did? Am I changing, or dying inside? Why do I not take the bull by the horns and go for it, give it my all. In the past I lived life by the seat of my pants and wrote about it. Why is it different now? If I love writing so much why am I ignoring it, running away from it? And what is it going to take to let it kill me?

I suppose if I am going to let it kill me, I should stop running from it — easier said than done I’m sure, however, I must not be too far away. The daunting thoughts about practicing and exercising my muscle (writing) are grabbing at my heels. I am realizing that running away is slowing me down, weighing me down, making me more still and lifeless. What do I want, the writing to kill me or the thought of it. When presented in those terms, seems like the choice I will make is obvious. Right?

I’m at my crossroads, let the caterpillar turn into the butterfly.

Opportunity Missed


Well, do what you preach, right? All summer I have been telling my boyfriends kids to go out and try new things, meet some people their own age… Tonight I could have done the same thing, but I didn’t. “Why”, I asked myself, “did I not take the time to go?” I busied myself all day with nothing around the house and when I emerged from the shower it was too late. I had a total of 15min to be ready and walk out the door. I was in a towel, half lotioned and the dog still needed tending to. I sabotaged a perfectly great opportunity to mingle and meet people who may have similar interests. If anything I may have learned what it was that drove a fellow writer into showbiz.

I was to attend a panel for the Netflix show “Orange is the New Black.” Jenji Kohen, creator, was supposed to be there. It would have been nice to hear her talk. There was a reception following the panel and I may have been able to mingle and meet some new cool people. I freaked out, silently inside and basically couldn’t leave the house. I felt like I wouldn’t know what to say, or that I wouldn’t have anything in common with them because I am not successful.

WAIT!! What? It was in this moment I found myself doubting who I am and what I have accomplished thus far. I started to think what the bigger issue may be, and realized I am feeling more displaced than ever before. I realized that I am totally alone–and not in a good way. Destructive alone-ness. Not a good place to be, so I did what any one in my shoes would do, I looked up an AA meeting. It hit me that I don’t need to be alone and that I can share my feelings anonymously in a meeting.

I am in a new city, and my only friend is my boyfriend. I need to get out and find a life outside my life before I end up codependent. I don’t want to lose myself, I like me way too much. I started to think about what I did before I moved, and I don’t like what I came up with. NOTHING. No wonder I am feeling displaced, I don’t know what to do with myself–physically and mentally.

YA YA,  last few years I was in school, graduating, pretty big deal. It kept me busy, but what about before that. OH thats right, I was at the bars drinking. Socializing all the time with cocktails in my hands. It was easy to stay away from it all when I was studying, but now, in a new city, no friends, no social life, no existence to the outside world–beyond Facebook, if that even counts… I am finding that I am losing steam, drive, motivation. This is a little scary.

I learned how to live without the alcohol, meaning not drink. But now I am finding that I need to learn how to live with myself without the distractions. What is it that is stopping me from pursuing success, not by anyone else’s standards but my own. Why am I not doing what I really want to do? Do I even know what I really want to do?

Yes, Yes I do. I want to write, be educated, teach others to live up to their potential… hmmmmm, can’t do that unless I am doing it. Coulda, woulda, shoulda… will leave you crying, wondering. I guess next time I will go to the “panel” no matter how displaced I feel, its better than missing out on life.