This January, I celebrated my 37th birthday. I have vivid memories of my mother at this age. I recall us walking along the street, her pushing my little sister in a stroller while I trailed behind. Out of curiosity, I asked her how old she was. She turned with a smile, her dark hair dancing in the wind, and replied, “Thirty-seven.”
To my younger self, thirty-seven felt like the epitome of adulthood. I watched her as she hurried ahead, her bright dress and sandals blurring into a rush as she pulled me across the street. My mother was navigating a lot at that moment; she had separated from my father shortly after my sister’s birth and was now responsible for two young girls. I absorbed the tension of those times, yet in that fleeting moment, I saw her for who she was—a strong, beautiful, and wonderfully imperfect grown-up, fully herself beyond just being my mother.
The years between her 37 and when she began to dye her hair and wear stockings have faded from my memory. Now, I find myself in the same phase of life. Each morning, I catch sight of new wrinkles, and as I pull my dark hair into a ponytail, silver streaks peek through, as if they were waiting for their moment.
Yet, it’s not the physical aging that strikes me about turning 37. It’s the realization that, regardless of my expectations or desires, this is my life. I am an adult. I have two energetic sons, a caring husband, a rented duplex, a trusty old Honda, and a fish named Bubbles.
Many of the milestones that frightened me as a child—marriage, childbirth, raising kids—have already unfolded. I know that there are more significant changes ahead. I can hardly imagine my boys transitioning into their teenage years or eventually leaving home. I’ve been warned about menopause and the various physical changes that come with aging, and I irrationally dread my first colonoscopy, though mammograms don’t faze me.
The thought of losing my parents is one I can barely contemplate. I hope to have many more years before facing that reality, ideally after my children have grown. They mean the world to me, and their presence is a steady guide as I navigate this journey.
However, I understand that life is unpredictable. People lose their parents when they least expect it, and readiness is an illusion. So here I am, surrounded by my family, my smartphone addiction, a hidden stash of chocolate on the top pantry shelf, and running shoes that are just beginning to shake off the winter dust. As spring arrives, I remind myself: “I can do this. I can tackle this life.”
One of the most significant lessons I’ve learned as I step into the later part of my thirties is how to manage the anxiety that has accompanied me since childhood. My anxiety has fluctuated, rising during certain life events, but even in calmer times, it often casts a shadow over my perception of my life’s blessings—my marriage, my children—leaving me questioning if they’re truly mine to cherish.
Being a child of divorce, it’s been challenging to believe that my family life, which I’ve cultivated, won’t be disrupted. Yet, I’ve found ways to cope. I meditate, I breathe, and while these practices help, it’s the passage of time and the distance from my childhood that has allowed me to embrace my life, fears and all.
I often wonder how my children perceive me at 37. Do they ever pause to view me as I did with my mother? During our walks to school, do they notice how I squint against the winter sun while crossing the tracks? Can they feel the way I cling to their hands, holding on tightly while simultaneously letting them explore the world? Are they aware of my imperfections, my openness, and the harmony I strive to maintain amidst the chaos?
As a child, I always looked forward to growing up, and now I understand why. They say you can’t reverse the aging process, and that knowledge comforts me. I am ready to embrace my present, to be fully myself. This life—beautiful, fragile, complex—is all there is, and I intend to immerse myself in it, cherishing every moment with my loved ones and recognizing how fortunate I truly am.
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Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares her journey into adulthood at 37, drawing parallels with her own mother. She navigates the complexities of life, including family, anxiety, and the inevitability of aging, while embracing her current reality. It’s an exploration of growth, acceptance, and the beauty of life’s imperfections.