Post 30

Well.  I’ve turned 30.  I’ve had no revelatory realizations about age, but I did make wicked spelt flour dinner buns in my new mixer.  (No rise, 5 minutes of kneading).

Nothing is different.  I’m just one year closer.  Each day feels like one day closer, this is just another mark of time passing.  Nothing spectacular.  Just another year of my life, gone.

If we are ever on a plane together, and it’s “going down”, like in the movies, and there’s this calm passenger just sipping their complimentary water, who clearly has accepted their fate…. well.  That won’t be me.  I’ll be the one you want to flog during descent, the one screaming hysterically “I’m not ready to die!  This is NOT the time!”

Part of me is terrified because how do you really know what is going to happen when you die?  As much as I used to enjoy a good party, I wouldn’t like to hang in hell, and reincarnation is about as appealing as an eternity of perpetual pap smears.  (ie. Let’s just get THIS ONE over with…)

I have participated in many religious and spiritual rituals.  I have bounded around a Maypole, lit my menorah and sat in the United Church listening to the meditative speaking of whoever that guy is who stands upfront.  I believe in something greater than myself because that was a revelation that I did actually have once.  It was when I was “Working the Program”.  I found “God As You Have Come To Know Him” (I think this is like “He Who Shall Not Be Named”) driving up and down the concession roads. I knew I needed to find something that could save me, that could help me save myself.  Something that would always be there, something both infinite and finite.  That something was pasture.  Dirt.  Both a speck of soil and a layer of life underneath all of us.

It worked.  It got me through the program.  I feel it, I’ve got it, I’m living it.  Except in the end, it all just returns to the soil.  The answer to The Big Question for me is “COMPOST”.  Terrific.  Nice going.

I’m also terrified of dying because I want it ALL.  I don’t want to miss anything.  Not only did I break a bad cycle, I bought 50 acres of my own personal salvation.  I have the most wonderful children, a husband I adore.  The idea of being separated from them, of being unable to help them, makes me feel ill.

I know there is plenty of life I cannot help with.  That should be, and is, beyond control.

I now WORRY.  I am often worried.  Not paralyzingly so, but pretty darn fraught.    I have never hated winter driving as much as I do now.  Every drive into town must be shaving years off of my life in stress.  “Let go and let God”, eh?  We’ll see about that.

So, yeah.  My new addiction is love.  And it’s kicking my ass.

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