Today is my birthday! As of 12:30ish a.m., I am 42. When I turned 37, I wrote this letter about what I want in this life. Here I am rewriting for 42. To remember that I am living the life I always wanted and, yet, as a reminder of what is still to come.
I always thought that by the time I was 40 I would have it all figured out. Now that 40 has come and gone I have let go of that. I want to continue to learn and grow and heal…always. I want to remember healing and growing are not destinations…they are forever journeys…and the most worthy ones. I want to live with grace, not perfection. I want to laugh and love loudly. I want to breath and hug slowly. I want my eyes to always be open to the beauty and heartache of life. Life is constantly both, at the same time. I want to soak every bit of it in. I want to dance in my kitchen (pro tip…make a playlist just for kitchen dancing). I want to say yes to what’s important and no to what isn’t…and I want the wisdom to know the difference and the courage to stand by it. I want to use every single fall along my journey as a chance to grow and heal the deep lessons that only the falls can teach. I want to know that my unique sensitivity to life is never a weakness…it is my strength, even when it feels like a heavy burden to bear. I want to dip my toes into the ocean as much as I can. I want to collect all the seashells I can carry in my hands. I want the sand to find its way into every nook and cranny of my car, my towels, my hair, and anywhere else it tends to find because it means I was there. I didn’t worry about the mess…I worried about the JOY. Life is, after all, a beautiful mess. I want to sit alone with God every morning when I rise. I want to sing even though I never seem to get the melody…or the words…right. I want to walk and run and hike because I have healthy legs that will carry me. I want to cry…I want to cry every tear that needs to escape my eyes because tears mean I feel and feeling means I am alive and I am human. I want to hold hands with my loving husband and my growing son. I want to witness the majesty of God’s creation ALL around me, in all the ordinary moments because He created every bit of it…and He created ME. I was worthy of creation. I want to run through the sprinklers. I want to embrace my wild curly hair and my thighs. I want to wear the swimsuit. I want my life to be dictated by JOY…not anxiety…not fear…not depression…not worry of what others may think or the need to please. I WANT to say yes to that which NOURISHES my body and soul…that means eating the salad…and eating the damn cake…because every now and then we need cake in our lives people…but eating MORE of the salad. I want to blow out all the candles and make all the wishes on shooting stars. I want to kiss more. Oh how I love kisses. I want to dig in my garden and eat fresh tomatoes before they ever make it to the kitchen. I want to love “my people” (those which God has put in my path) with fierceness. I want to breathe in my family and my friends that bring such richness to my life…and I want for them to know just how much I love them.
On our last day of elementary school (for us that was 4th grade) I cried and said “but things will never be the same”. What I didn’t realize then was the same is true for every single day of our lives. The day will never be the same as the day before. I will never be the same as I was the day before. Life will continue to move quickly and things will continue to change. Time, like all the best things in life, is bittersweet. It gives us life and love and moments that we will always cherish, but it also takes them away. My sweet little boy is now too big to pick up, no longer asks for “night night tickles”, but still asks for me to lay with him “one more minute” from time to time. The spins and kisses and hand holding and snuggles I get from the one I said “I do” to are not guaranteed for tomorrow…I want more of those moments. The only choice I have is to love. The only regret I don’t want is the one that says I didn’t love enough.
This is the way I WANT to live. Life has taught me to see the brutifulness (the beautiful and the brutal) of it all in real time. It’s a gift I’m so thankful for. But some days, it weighs me down. On those days, I see the brutal parts more than the beautiful parts. I feel like I can barely move from how heavy it all is. It’s hard to love the way I want and showup the way I want. The way I was made to. It’s hard to even breathe. Yet…even on those days…there is always breath in my lungs. In front of our house is this pin oak tree that I tell Bret I am going to have cut down. It’s not a healthy tree. Many of its branches are bare. In the morning, though, as the golden sun rises behind it, its leaves AND its bare branches cast a shadow in our house. As the wind blows, the shadows dance across our living room floor and my office. It’s one of my favorite parts of the day…the dancing shadows part. I want to live a little bit like that tree. I want to live in this space where the parts of me that seem broken, my bare branches, and the parts of me that are full and alive, my leaves, all come together to create beauty and joy. To dance in the wind with my imperfections and create art out of shadows. And like the dancing shadows, always supported and surrounded by that warm light of love, joy, friends, family, all the beautiful little things…and, of course, our creator…who I call God.
May this life I’ve been given be full of creating dancing shadows with my light and my dark, with my bare branches and my leaves. And may I and we see and feel love in every single bit of it.
So much love,
Cilla
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