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Ideal conditions



The weather is perfect right now. It’s 77 degrees. The sun is still up, but it’s late afternoon on a summer day. The most perfect light breeze is blowing, and with our windows open and fans on, all I feel is fresh air gently blowing all around me. We are content and comfortable, having a lazy weekend afternoon at home together.


Conditions seem ideal right now. Not just this exact moment, but this general moment of my life.


I may be jinxing myself by saying anything. But, I feel compelled to tell my stories, and this is my story right now. My present tense.


I feel content. I feel confident (but not overly so). I feel like I am more capable than ever of figuring out what I want to do with my life and actually doing it.


Like writing, for example. I never would have imagined myself writing and publishing stories from my life, even just a year ago.


I feel like turning forty has something to do with it. I know age is just a number, and how you feel about your age, or where you are in life, has a lot more to do with circumstances than it does with your age. After all, plenty of women the exact same age as me are in a completely different headspace.


But this is what forty has been for me so far. This is my reality. I want to acknowledge it, be grateful for it, and, in a modest way, celebrate it.


I have more self confidence than I’ve ever had, or at least than I ever remember having. Not in a “I’m so awesome” kind of way, just in a “I want to try new things and I actually believe that I can be good at them!” kind of way.


Self awareness in a positive way. That’s new.


I should acknowledge, at this point, that I do not, in fact, have my shit together. I still don’t feel like a fully capable adult sometimes.


It’s just that I’m more ok with that now.


But I am afraid to say how good I feel out loud. (does writing it count?)


Because what if it’s all just a phase?


What if it’s a mid-life crisis?


What if it’s because I’m not around other adults on a daily basis except for my husband? (I’m a dog-walker)


What if I have a brain tumor and it’s affecting my personality?


What if it’s not real, and it’s all just in my head?


Dumbledore would say “why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”


And he is right.


So, whatever I’m feeling, it could be real. It could also be some kind of magic. Maybe it’s a little of both.


The conditions are perfect for finding out.


Originally published on Medium.com

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