I cried in church today. More than once.

Tragedy is hard.

I mentally picture me, and my children, and husband, and parents, and family, and friends in that tragedy. My heart hurts.

And I feel scared.

The world in the last 5 years has felt like too much.

I do all the things they suggest. I look for the helpers and the heros. I look for ways to help. I focus on the present with my people. I pray.

And then another tragedy happens.

I stopped watching the news about 2 years ago. My anxiety was through the roof. I felt like crying all the time. I just couldn’t anymore. They seem to focus on the horrific. Everyone is angry and yelling. Everyone seems so intent that their way is the only right way and that EVERYONE should do what they think.

Life doesn’t work that way. There is very seldom ONE RIGHT WAY.

We want our children to be kind and inclusive and helpful. We want them to share and find compromises. And then you turn on any political debate or anything to do with a politician and they are THE EXACT OPPOSITE. It is hard to expect those things from your children when they look at the adults around them and see the exact opposite.

It isn’t just politicians. All kinds of adults think that leaving nasty comments or yelling on Facebook is okay. I always wonder if they would say the words out loud that they write. My money is that 95% wouldn’t.

I did some online thing tonight where it sends an email to your representative to work on gun control. Many of the men in my family own guns. More than one in fact. Some hunt. I don’t think it is wrong for people to own a gun. But not one of my family members owns gun accessories or guns that allow them to shoot many rounds of bullets quickly.

I have had someone argue to me that hunters need those things. Really? You need to shoot 50 bullets into your wild boar or deer really quick? I have never been hunting but I don’t think you need that. Seems to me that you would spend alot of time digging out that many bullets.

I have had family argue to me that no matter what bad guys will still get guns. Probably. People intent on doing wrong will always find a way.

But it doesn’t seem to me like all these recent shooters are necessarily “known bad guys” with lots of felonies. So maybe, maybe we make it illegal to own certain things. Things like being able to shoot tons of bullets really really fast. You cannot convince me that people need that.

I am not against guns. But I also think something in the system is broken because bad things keep happening. Gun laws won’t prevent all bad things from happening. But shouldn’t we try something? Doing nothing isn’t helping. Sitting here and watching it happen over and over and over….isn’t helping.

Compromise means that both sides have to give up something.

Can we try? Something? Anything?

You don’t have to agree with me. I am okay with that. I don’t agree with some of my family and yet…we are still family. I still love and respect them. Hell, I work with them and value their thoughts and opinions. Just because we don’t fully agree doesn’t change who they are to me.

I don’t really think my email will make much difference. But I had to do something. I had to say something. I need to say that what we are doing isn’t working and we can’t keep doing the same thing over and over and expect something to change.

Of course, most people will just yell from their side of the invisible line. It seems like that is all anyone wants to do anymore.

I don’t feel like yelling.

Last night Nathan and I were talking before bed. I have agreed to be a mentor for a confirmand for the coming year. I told him how surprised and honored I was that my friend asked me to mentor her daughter during this very special year. I said, “Out of all the women at the church, she chose me! There are so many amazing women at our church. And most probably have it much more together than I do.”

He said, “I think you have it all together.”

My husband sees me and thinks I have my life together. Or I suppose as together as any person can really have. So much of life is out of our control. No one can be completely together all the time!

To hear him say this…out loud…with confidence and without hesitation…I am not sure I can even think of words to describe how it felt and has continued to feel all day today.

So much of my life feels completely out of control. I feel like I am clinging to the edge most days. But maybe my perception is off. Maybe I am so far into my head that I can’t really be objective and see me as others see me.

This isn’t a new problem. My second year at college my suitemate confided in me during the second semester. She said when we first all moved in to the dorm in August she was intimidated by me. She looked at me and said I seemed like I had it all together and was so confident. I was shocked because she was saying things to me that I never thought or expected. Truth was I was terrified of new suitemates and fitting our lives together in the confines of a shared bathroom! In college I lived by the mantra, “Fake it till you make it.” I guess it worked. I pretended to be confident and at least one person believed that I was!

I have another friend who I value deeply because I can count of her to tell me to get out of my own head. When I start to spiral she doesn’t hesitate to speak truth and be blunt and honest. We have drifted the last year. I put most of that on me because I pulled back from everyone and everything in the last year. I have missed what she brings to my life.

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I spent most of the morning cleaning and making space for the new cabinet Nathan surprised me with for my birthday. I love it. It is an old piece with character and beauty and it fits me perfectly. I cleaned and fussed with it for hours. I stuck a variety of things in it and don’t feel satisfied and I look forward to filling it and getting everything just right.

In the afternoon, mom and I went back to the antique store that Nathan bought the cabinet from. We went last week because mom found the store in her search for the perfect display cabinet. The store is full of treasures and old things. Last week I found an old secretary cabinet that I really liked. I wanted to go back and look at it today.

I like the idea of an old secretary desk. I keep far too much paper crap in my life. The more drawers I have the more stuff I keep. Stuff I don’t need. Stuff that clutters my life. I feel so ready to get rid of the clutter and have purged quite a bit in the last month.

Currently I have a big desk that was my great-grandmother’s. I don’t love it but it is functional and was free. It has LOTS of drawers. Every single one of those drawers is currently full of things that I stuck in there when cleaning up quickly. My friend calls it “the stash and dash”. The desk is big and full of things I need to purge. Getting a smaller desk kind of forces the issue.

Plus, I am ready to downsize from the giant Mac we bought years ago. It is old and slow and I can’t even remember the last time I worked on that big computer. I need to deal with the photos stored on it and it wouldn’t fit at a smaller desk. Forced clearing out is sometimes the best for me.

While we were there I saw a different secretary desk that I noticed last week when we were in the store. Last weekend the dealer was cleaning it up and getting it ready for display so I didn’t bother him. But today it was on display and it was so beautiful.

It is old. It isn’t too big. It has useful drawers but only 3. It has an old key that locks it up. I sat at it. I stared at it. I listed pros and cons between the two desks for about 20 minutes. Mom pointed out that it doesn’t really match much in my house. That gave me pause. Of course, most of my house is IKEA furniture because it is inexpensive and because of I have boys who aren’t very gentle with things.

I thought it over as I stared down the two different desks. They were very different in style. Finally I said, “One represents where I am now in life. The other represents who I feel like I really am and where I want to head.”

I chose the second one. The old one. The one that is English and has superb craftsmanship. I chose the one that represents who I feel like I am deep inside. The me who is becoming. My future.

I sat at that desk again in the store and wondered at its story. The dealer said it is from the early 1900s. I honestly have no idea. It looks old. It smells old. I wonder who sat at this desk before me. How many owners has it had? Were they male or female? What letters did they write while sitting there? What treasures did they lock away with the old key? If it truly is English, when was it brought here and how did it get to Texas?

I am part of its story now. What will I do at the desk? What will I write? What will I add to the story?

I love old things. I love the history of those things. I love to poke around old shops and look at old photos. There is a shop in Ardmore, OK (where Nathan is from). They clearly purchase entire estate sales and then bring it all back to their store to sell. The store is HUGE and full of so much stuff. Last winter I was fascinated by the photos and yearbooks and framed certificates. All those things represent people who lived. They had lives and dreams and goals. Part of me is sad that their stories end up in some random shop, no longer wanted. Their stories are lost and I wish I could capture them.

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I created this new space at the beginning of summer. I was eager to start writing in a new place. Really, I was excited to just start writing and recording again.

Then, summer happened and I didn’t write anything.

To be truthful, I tried. I wrote and deleted and started at the blank white screen multiple times. Then I gave up. I gave in to the crazy this summer has brought and decided I would just wait until the time was right.

Last night, as I sat contemplating the arrival of my birthday, I felt ready. I want to record this coming year. My birthday feels like a great day to start.

About a week ago my mom said to me, “In 8 years you will be turning 50.” That was a big sucker punch that I certainly didn’t expect to feel. Age is a number. It has never bothered me or concerned me. I embrace it. I feel proud of it. Life is truly a gift.

But all this week her offhand comment has whispered through my head.

50.

Wow. That feels so different than the number 40 did. 42 feels like nothing special or unique. Just a number. My kids will turn 11 this year. My husband turned 44. We started our 7th year of homeschool. He is starting his 15th year at his school. My dad turned 68. Mom turned 66. My brother turned 39.

These are just ordinary numbers. Steps along the way. They aren’t milestone years.

50.

That’s a milestone. People who are 50 are old, at least that is how I felt when I was 16 or 22. But I don’t feel old. And as I sit a mere 8 years away from 50 I certainly don’t consider 50 old anymore! I don’t necessarily even feel 42. What should 42 feel like anyway?

My children recently learned about the idea of a mid-life crisis and asked if I had ever had one. I told them I had one this last spring. Life has been chaos for about a year. My step-father-in-law was fighting a hard fight with cancer and we found out late spring his fight wouldn’t be won here on earth. We were rushing through ISO certification at work and most of that responsibility fell on me and it was very stressful. It was becoming evident we needed another stint of physical therapy for one of the boys. And then there is the world. Everything about the world feels desperate and draining. I was worn out, overwhelmed, and at a breaking point.

I asked my mom if we could move into their shed.

They don’t really have an ordinary shed. Their shed could fit about 4 or 5 tiny houses in it. We could purge everything and live on the minimum. My husband could quit the job that sucks so much of him away (but that he also loves). We could travel with the boys and enjoy the last of their childhood years.

I was dead serious. I was ready to sell and live in their shed.

I was running. Running back to the place I have always felt safe. Running home where mom and pop would make sure everything was safe for me and my family. I am, and always have been, a flight person. I have never been a fight person.

This was my mid-life crisis. No new wardrobe or haircut. No job change or fancy car.

Running.

Running back to where I could right our world and feel safe.

I’ve pushed through and mom pointed out that we have far too many LEGOs to live in her shed. We made it through our first grandparent death. I am currently waiting to receive the ISO certification. The boys and I just finished our first week of 5th grade. Nathan is back at work. Life is settling and I feel better.

But to be honest, a tiny bit of me still feels like running. I still feel a bit wide-eyed and desperate. Maybe more than a tiny bit.

Carole shared a breathing technique she read about one night in the midst of a pretty epic panic attack. It actually worked and I practice it every day. I have spent more time in prayer. And I picked up a new hobby.

I think I might feel like fleeing most of this 42nd year. After all, politics are starting to ramp up as we get ready for the 2020 election. I don’t really watch TV because I have to protect my mental health, but bits and pieces still filter in. And, I am in charge of teaching my children which includes current events.

Seriously though, I feel a deep shift within me. I cannot quite name it yet but it is forming and growing. I am trying to sit with that swirling mess. I want to let it happen and watch it develop. I am curious about what will emerge and how I will ultimately change. Perhaps that is the real heart of a mid-life crisis. There is a bit of crisis about it. Change makes us uneasy and a wide-eyed. It is normal and natural for us to change. Really it wouldn’t serve me to still be like I was when I was 19.

But crisis feels dire. So maybe this is my mid-life changing. My mid-life becoming. Because I do feel like I am becoming, like I am stepping out and forward into who I have always meant to be.