This is 45

“...I think we are well-advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.” — Joan Didion

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1996: Nice. La Promenade des Anglais. Freedom. Marlboro lights. Malibu and Coke. An unlimited credit card and a wad of francs. Ice cream sundaes for everyone and the Negresco afterwards. No adult supervision. I felt like I was the coolest kid in the world. I felt like everything. But also, nothing. I wanted to kiss a boy. He was from Texas and tall and handsome, and I had never kissed a boy and I wanted him to be the first. Sigh. He didn’t want to kiss me; heartbreak number one, killing me softly. I turned 15, but everyone thought I was turning 16. I didn’t want people to know I had skipped a grade and was a year younger. Insecurity. Teenage years. Chantilly cream and the Fugees. I was trying so hard to figure it all out. Ready or not, here I come.

sadly no pics of the glitter bathrooms :(

2006: A solo trip to Shangri-La. To…paradise? I don’t know about that—the girl sitting next to me on the bus kept vomiting into a small plastic bag. I sat in a square, listening to Tibetan folk music and dancing, while my students/my charges spent yet another day in the Yunnan village that we called home for 10 days. I imagined an adulthood of promise, joy and exploration, but Michael shat his pants while I was away, and threw the evidence into a field so the decade started out…questionably. An Australian paramour sent me a text that made me swoon, while the one I loved broke me for the millionth time. A meditative day. Solitary. Beautiful. Momo and Fugazi and Graham Smith and the Tiger Leaping Gorge. Here comes the argument…and the cusp of adulthood. Promise and pride and belief in myself despite the heartache. Life and limb and a quarter century and the possibility of the future. “My, you look ravishing tonight”…but you didn’t want me enough to tell anyone. Thank God that wasn't the end of the story. I met Ed, and I didn't have to cut myself in half.

A Quarter of a Century of ME

2016: A boat in the sea. A husband who adores me. An inflatable tube that looks like a donut. Spaghetti alla vongole. Puglia before the influencers knew where Bari and Brindisi and Monopoli were. Deep depression despite the charming little bottles of Campari spritz and a lot of cheese. Did I even listen to music? It looked so beautiful. It was so beautiful. And I was so full of sadness and so empty. Why did I move to the UK? I had purpose and drive, but it all felt stymied. Why work so hard for so long only to be told there was nothing for you? Ed gave me a light pink Charlotte Olympia kitten card holder and we had pasticciotto for breakfast in a golden Lecce-ian square, and I was lost despite how it looked.

35 and just trying to stay alive

2026: Provence. Fires all around us, but I danced when the clock struck midnight. Grinding up against Ed in a way that would have shocked 15- and 25-year-old me. Love is palpable. Joy is present. Everything 15-, 25-, 35-year-old me wanted: it’s here. I have it. I listen to the Fugees, Fugazi, Sheryl Crow, the Shins. I think about the last 30 years. I don’t remember it all. I recall moments, memories. Good, bad, tears, smiles, friends, family. I don’t recall every day of the last 30 years, but I know where I was every single July 23. I remember where I was, who I was, often what I was eating and listening to, what I thought happiness and success looked like. I reflect on the places, the people, the music. Myself. Presence.

At 15, all I wanted was to be kissed.

At 25, all I wanted was freedom.

At 35, all I wanted was to find purpose.

At 45, well— who knows. What do I even want? I just want to be present and see what the next decade brings. My child is asleep upstairs, and he brings a light to my life I didn’t know was possible. Gratitude is what I have. And I know I’ll remember where I was on this birthday, so I’ve got that.

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