Life’s changing. I have questions. And coffee.
Does anyone else put on a movie they have absolutely no intention of actually watching? Not because you don’t love it, but because you’ve seen it so many times that you can picture every scene without even looking up? I’ve got Love Actually playing in the background this morning, and honestly, it’s more about the feeling it gives me. Bill Nighy’s singing, Liam Neeson’s accent (who the hell cares what he’s actually saying?), and that soundtrack. It’s familiar, comforting, and makes me feel like Christmas is right around the corner. Which it is, except it’s currently 70 degrees in Upstate New York. What the actual f*ck, November?
It’s Wednesday morning, Evelyn is at school, the dogs are settled, and I’ve got approximately seventeen tabs open on my computer and another seventeen running around in my head. I’m working on giving my blog some direction while my Apple Watch insists I’ve been sitting too long. Never mind that I’ve already been out for my morning walk. Granted, it was shorter than usual, but after weeks of fighting a sinus infection, I’m finally finishing my antibiotics and trying to listen to my body instead of bullying her into cooperating. Add daylight saving time and perimenopausal hormones to the mix, and sleep has been an absolute shitshow for both Evelyn and me. Whoever thought changing the clocks twice a year was a good idea clearly never tried reasoning with a four-year-old at five in the morning.
Anyway, remember last week’s conversation about picking up other people’s shit? I’m happy to report that things have been relatively calm around here, and I’ve actually been enjoying it. Not everything is resolved, but I’m making a conscious effort to appreciate what’s happening in front of me instead of mentally revisiting everything that isn’t. Nick and I have been laughing more, too. The other morning, after dropping Evelyn off at school, we went for a walk together and came home to shower. I found myself standing there completely naked outside the shower, bathroom door wide open, realizing how long it had been since we’d both been alone in our own house without worrying about someone walking in or coming upstairs. I actually said it out loud. I’d missed that.
It’s not that Nick and I don’t spend intimate time together. We absolutely do. But if you’ve been married with a full house and a schedule that looks like it was organized by a drunk air traffic controller, you probably understand that intimacy isn’t quite the same as it was before life got so full. Sometimes you’re listening for footsteps, calculating how long before somebody needs a ride, and leaving your damn socks on because who knows how much uninterrupted time you’ve actually got. We love the life we’ve created, Evelyn included, but there’s something wonderful about being able to enjoy each other without treating it like a covert military operation. I think I’ve spent so much time looking forward to the next phase of our lives that I occasionally forget to appreciate these little moments when they happen.
And that got me thinking about what I really want to do with Still Me in Here. I’ve spent over a year writing about perimenopause, motherhood, marriage, grief, and whatever other nonsense happens to occupy my brain. I’m also working on expanding The Unguided Woman because, while perimenopause is certainly along for the ride, she’s not the only passenger on this crazy train. What interests me most is everything happening around her. Marriage when the years of just keeping everyone alive start giving way to something different. Motherhood when you’ve got adult daughters building lives of their own, teenagers preparing to leave the nest, and a four-year-old who still needs help with practically everything. I can be discussing college plans one minute and explaining why we don’t eat things off the floor the next. Meanwhile, I’m somewhere in the middle, watching my daughters look toward their futures while wishing my mom were still here so I could ask her about some of the things I’m experiencing now. It’s a strange place to be at 45, knowing you’ve made it through so much while still wondering what the hell you’re doing half the time.
I’ve realized that the common thread in so much of what I write is change. We’re constantly moving through different versions of ourselves, whether we’re ready for them or not. And sometimes all we really want is someone who understands what that feels like without offering another five-step plan to improve our lives. Good Lord, aren’t we tired enough?
Last week, I sent my friend Marisa an Instagram Reel of two women dressed for Halloween, carrying what appeared to be a dead body and baseball bats. My message simply said, “Next year.” We both laughed. Dark humor? Absolutely. But that’s the beauty of finding your people. You don’t have to explain the joke or reassure anyone that you’re actually a decent human being. Sometimes somebody says or does something completely inappropriate, and you immediately send it to the friend who’ll appreciate it just as much as you do. Other times, someone shares something so painfully honest that all you can respond with is “SAME!” before forwarding it along. That’s what I’ve loved most about connecting with women through writing. We’re not necessarily looking for answers. Sometimes we just need somebody else to say the thing out loud so we know we’re not the only ones thinking it.
And that’s what I want more of here. Conversations about the things we’re living through, the things we’ve survived, and the shit we don’t always feel comfortable saying out loud. I’ve written about a lot over the past year, but I’m curious what you’d like to hear more about. Marriage after the survival years? Motherhood when the job keeps changing? Grief, friendships, rediscovering intimacy, or trying to figure out who you are when everyone doesn’t need something from you? What have I tiptoed around that you’d like me to actually stand in for a while? I genuinely want to know because I’m still very much in the middle of figuring things out myself.
In the meantime, Love Actually is still playing, and I’m increasingly convinced that my retirement years should involve living somewhere in England. Between this movie, The Holiday, and Last Christmas, I’ve developed a rather romanticized vision of life across the pond. I realize Nick and I are planning to move to Buffalo in the next couple of years, but a girl can dream beyond her next ZIP code. For today, though, I’m going to finish my second cup of coffee, pick Evelyn up from school, and hopefully convince my equally exhausted four-year-old that we both deserve a nap. Between daylight saving time and my hormones, neither of us is bringing our A-game this week.
Until next Friday, let’s keep growing together. And if you’re the kind of woman who appreciates a little dark humor with her coffee, subscribe and pull up a chair. Invite a friend while you’re at it! I have a feeling we’ll get along just fine.
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