girlonahalfshill

There is a resistance to leaving campus tonight, to checking my voicemail, turning the key in the ignition, going to bed. I’ll be one day older tomorrow, crossing over a threshold from one decade of existence into another, living one more day, which ticks the tally marks up a notch, which makes me older.

I get to get older. Not everyone is stepping into this next year of my life with me. There was a moment during thewelcoming ceremony several weeks ago at Bryn Mawr, when I think that it really sank in for the first time that my father was not there, was no longer available, had died. We were on stage, being welcomed by the Bryn Mawr community with the parents looking on from the audience, and my father was not there. I did not have the opportunity to tell him that I was accepted. During the last months of his life, I cannot say with any confidence that he would have welcomed the news. My mother’s diagnosis was already announced and he did not want to see me move out of the area.

Mark is not here. Brad is not here. Helen has long since departed, but she’s in my memories. Others are not gone, but absent. Still others have shifted in their roles; the seating chart has been rearranged. And, as is true during transitions, new participants, allies, friends, influences and sources of inspiration are arising on a daily basis. Other connections who have long been fixed points in the fabric of my life, shine as never before.

And, at this juncture when the contrast between darkness and light has rarely felt more extreme – exacerbated, really, I find myself terribly hesitant to step forward. And frightfully aware that, despite the rich tapestry of friends around me, I am tonight alone. This is not uncharted territory, but it is. Hopefully, with some small pinch of luck, all of you have either turned forty, or will have that experience soon enough. But not a single one of you is me and I am not any of you and no one else can do this for me.

Spencer, my youngest, said the other day as he looks forward into his adolescence, that the only thing worse or more frightening than the idea of facing puberty and having his body change and develop, is the idea that it won’t; that any intervention that disrupted that natural process would be worse. I can relate.

There are studies that have shown that disparities between people and their surroundings often matter more to people than their own personal degree of wealth or affluence. I have yet to determine the degree to which turning forty in the midst of an undergraduate class composed primarily of non-quadragenarians has elevated my awareness of my age. But, I think that, perhaps more than anything else, my hesitancy to leave this decade stems from an appreciation for it.

My thirties have been good to me. They have brought me a wealth of friends, many new, some returned and others who have stayed the course. With the help of Douglas and with the inspiration of the boys, I found stability and benefited from the growth that generates. I have found love, more than once, and I’ve learned how to value it. I rediscovered my dreams and have learned how to embrace them and chase them down. I have found respect and appreciation for oh, so very much because life is amazing. I have experienced grief and loss and have been held by dear, dear people on dark, dark nights. And the sun rose the next morning. I have found and lost gratitude, and found it again. I have been crazy lucky. And I have had the opposite of luck; I have been the direct beneficiary of friendship and love and warmth from people who have believed in me and from people who I have done my best to cherish.

And I am not ready to let go of these days… so I won’t. I’ll just take a deep breath and step into tomorrow and make the most of it and find that I’m still here and you’re still here and that’s delightful. And, look. Just like that… It’s tomorrow.