Member-only story
Begin Again
Nature goes in a spiral.
The day I turned thirty-five was not a great day. I did not want to be turning thirty-five, but I also didn’t want to be the type of person who didn’t want to turn thirty-five. Didn’t I think aging was a blessing? Didn’t I think youth culture was a capitalist hoodwink? I did. And yet. Here I was, having a birthday that felt like a door slamming behind me. That I was upset felt like a betrayal of my values, but the truth was: I was sad and alarmed at being so old, so quickly.
But I was thirty-five (an age that, now, seems shockingly young) and I had one strategy for dealing with unwanted and unpleasant emotions: denial. If I didn’t acknowledge the feeling, surely the feeling would go away? If I acted happy about my birthday, surely I would become happy? What’s that Oprah quote about what you feed, expands? Something? I would just fix my features into a mask of pleasant serenity and bulldoze my way through, thereby smothering the feeling with the fire-retardant blanket of my will.
It didn’t work. It never works. I grew more agitated and panicked in the face of yet another failure.
Then, around four o’clock, my sister Jessica called me to wish me a happy one. Jessica is the eldest sister, a high school science teacher, now principal, and the wisest person I know. She said, “Happy birthday!” I could feel the…
