Recently, in one of the many women’s magazines I receive at home and that pile up until I can read them cover to cover, there was a profile of a young, attractive, engaged woman, age 32, who was asked, simply, “What’s the perfect age?”  Her answer, “Forty-two. Accomplished, glamorous, with a story and a future.”

I remember my life at 32. I had a gorgeous two-year-old baby boy and was happily pregnant with my second child. Looking for a new home, I eventually found and was able to purchase a beautiful house in the suburbs of LA where I would raise my kids, send them to school, and become involved in the community. My husband loved me, supported his family, and, although he was absent quite a bit due to work, was a great father and my best friend. Oh, and girlfriends galore! Luncheons, parties, baby and mommy playdates. In retrospect, my life was really busy, really happy, and I felt that I had finally created and achieved the life of my dreams. A life that would continue it’s upward mobility and keep on getting better and better. And it did. For a while. The glamour kicked in as we were suddenly able to attend the Academy Awards and industry parties; to buy and wear designer clothes and shoes; to be invited to amazing holiday parties with friends; and to take adventurous vacations with the kids. I had lived through many a trial and tribulation to get to this point in my life, so I felt I had started my story. And it never occurred to me that my future would hold anything but more of the same and become even more glamorous, more accomplished, with new stories to create and tell. That was me in my mid thirties.

Well, I am 42 now. 42 years and 37 days. I don’t know why the days seem important but in this moment they do. And I can admit to you, with hot, flushed cheeks, anxiety churning in my stomach, and tears stinging my eyes, that I never thought my life would become what it actually is at 42. In the struggle of that admission also comes acceptance. In that acceptance comes surrender, and through that surrender, a new life will emerge. A new 42 will be experienced. So I share with you my reality, which is my today, but not, necessarily, my tomorrow.

My life is completely unmanageable when I think I have power over  it.  It is what it is.

My kids are growing up and separating from me more and more each day, which makes me feel sad and wistful.  It is what it is.

I never thought I’d go through the pain of divorce.  It is what it is.

I feel lonely at 42. And I don’t like being alone.  It is what it is.

I am struggling financially.  It is what it is.

I don’t like to be out of control – emotionally, financially, physically, or spiritually.
It is what it is.

I know now that I can’t direct life or anyone or anything.  It is what it is.

I fight off anxiety and fear on a daily basis, and move forward, on my own.
It is what it is.

I am realizing that I have lived my life without any appropriate coping mechanisms.
It is what it is.

I have lost dear friends.  It is what it is.

I have willingly self-destructed rather than ask for support.  It is what it is.

I feel sad, yet hopeful at the same time.  It is what it is.

I have let myself go.  It is what it is.

I alternate and vacillate and lose focus – all to my own detriment.  It is what it is.

Yes, this is painful to confront, to admit. It’s also embarrassing. And I remain disappointed that 42 is not what I thought it would be. And I don’t know when that will go away.  Any day now. But it’s over. I’ve turned it. It’s done and it’s time to move on. Like the young woman at 32 dreaming of and describing her future at 42, I need to see mine for what it is at 42, then dream of a new one, even if it is me at 42 and 38 days. For if I look at my life I have indeed, like she dreamed, accomplished a lot. I now have a much more complex (and longer) story to tell, one that I hope may someday be of help to some one else. And I have a future.  And I am finally able to glimpse the endless opportunities and choices being presented to me.

So, at 42 years and 37 days, I am at once shattered and renewed. I am showing up for my kids, for others, for myself. And today, if someone were to ask me, “What’s the perfect age?” My answer would quite simply be, “My age, today.” And it just so happens that age, on this day, is 42. How glamorous!

I am grateful for my health and the health of my family.  It is what it is.

I am grateful that I have a good relationship with my ex-husband.  It is what it is.

I am grateful that today I have a home and food in the pantry.  It is what it is.

I am grateful that I am able to smile at others and be of service.  It is what it is.

I am grateful that I can now be fully present for my kids.  It is what it is.

I am grateful for my self-awareness and that I am able to grow as a person each and every day. It is what it is.

I am grateful for all those who have come into my life. For those who have remained. And for those who have not.  It is what it is.

I am grateful for my ability to share this struggle. For ultimately, life, at any age for me, is about connecting with other human beings, about developing and sharing a sense of community, about being true to self, and being open to what we all can learn from one another.

No matter what age they get to be (even now as a teenager, gasp!), my kids still crave the traditions created throughout their childhood – when they were “little.” The ones that let them continue to believe in the magic of childhood and the ones that let them still be “little” kids in a world that wants to turn them into small adults by the time they age out of Baby Gap are all the more cherished – because those traditions give them permission to be the kids they are, still, on the inside, regardless of how old/mature/cool they appear to be on the outside.

I have tried my hardest to institute and create a bevy of family traditions over the years. Some flat out failed and some were downright disliked for whatever reason, but there are a few gems that stuck, that resonated with all of us on one level or another, and that we (and especially me, I admit, as the facilitator) guard and cherish more and more each year as their elusive childhoods seem to be slipping away each day.

One special annual tradition that lives on in our household is that of “The Birthday Fairy.” Weeks prior to his birthday this year, Kendall was dropping hints that The Birthday Fairy was still expected, and he very was excited about it, regardless of the fact that he would be turning thirteeen.

The Birthday Fairy arose out of the magical fairy dust that surrounds childhood like an impenetrable force field.  Akin to Leprechauns and Santa Claus, The Birthday Fairy comes to you on your birthday, when you are sleeping, and only if you believe and honor that belief.  Like the jingle of the sleigh bell from Santa’s reindeer that only children whose belief is true can hear, only those who truly believe they have a Birthday Fairy who watches over us throughout every year can experience and feel the magic of this special once-a-year visit.

On your special day, The Birthday Fairy showers you with many surprises: Fairy Dust on the floor – a veritable treasure trail of sparkles that indicates through which minute crack or hole they were able to access your room (it changes every year); magical and festive streamers hung on your door – one streamer per each year of age; gold coins – again, one coin for each year – left in a collectible keepsake satchel; and, the most prized treasure, a handwritten note left by your Birthday Fairy, addressed only to you, recounting your accomplishments throughout the past year with pride.  Your Birthday Fairy always expresses how lucky they are to claim you as their very own.

As time slips away and the magical, mystical creatures of childhood are brought into question, endlessly scrutinized, and proven false by our kids who once so fully and willingly believed and defended it all, we parents are left to search for the last of the magical fairy dust that remains, to guard it, to preserve it, and to pass it down.  In doing so, our children, as adults themselves one day, may experience these magical moments and traditions once again – through their own children’s wondrous eyes and pure belief in possibility.

1.  I am officially the parent of a teenager and I am not dealing particularly well with that information OR with my teenager….

2.  Guilt is like reverse pride – and thus, not a good character trait.   What a relief!!!!!   I can let it ALL go.

3.  I miss the Time Lady.  853-1212.  Or 853 any four numbers – from any area code.  I can honestly still hear her voice, “At the tone the time will be…….beeeeep!”  I now have no beep to set my life to in questionable times….hmmm…something more to ponder.