Birthday Blah Blah Blog, Part 2: It's My Party And I'll Bitch If I Want To
“What are you planning to do? You’ve gotta do something, something, you know, big …” Oh, the pressure. To do something big. Grand. Special. Memorable. To mark. Celebrate. Commemorate. This milestone. Passage. Crossroad. New beginning.
But for something new to begin, something established must end. And letting go, even of a pile of old stinky dreck, can be a struggle -
Now that it’s recently passed, over and done, this birthday milestone, and I have a bit of distance and remove from it, I can see it more clearly for what is actually means, what it actually is -
Earlier in June, as the 28th loomed large on the horizon, its importance inflating more and more, I convinced myself it was a day I wanted to highlight less and less.
Truth be told, I was indeed torn: to fete or not to fete, that was the question. Whether ‘twas nobler to ignore the day entirely, make believe it wasn’t happening, didn’t matter, meant nothing. Distance myself from any significance it may have or impose upon me: “I know! Maybe total denial, complete obliteration. Society can’t shove this number, this arbitrary “milestone” down my throat if I leave the country!” Meanwhile, I must admit, part of me did half expect the 28th to be more than just another day of the week, more than just another birthday. Indeed, a cause for celebration, some sort of transition, shift, ending, commencement. I mean, when it came to others’ birthdays, I heartily believed that - Mark it! Celebrate it! Enjoy it! Revel in your special day, the 1s t day of your “new year!” – And I’d make an effort to show up to prove the point.
So I decided to invite some friends to dance on the pier at sunset. To mark. Celebrate. Fete. This transition. Landmark. Milestone.
… But then, at this juncture, what was there to celebrate, really? The end of youth? The threshold of – what? Adulthood, maturity? Nope, I’ve been playing at adulthood for decades … What, then? Old age? The descent into oblivion? In this part of the world, we don’t respect or revere the wisdom that age and experience bring. No, we favor the energy and reckless impetuousness of youth. (Not to mention the smoother skin.) Our western culture does not smile on its elders. Ironically, we put them out to pasture, herding them into “communities” and “homes” so we can get on with our own lives and ignore what’s left of theirs, and then insist upon every medical measure available (some radical, invasive, and inhumane) to artificially extend life ....
We children of Enlightenment thinkers, who put man, his reason and science, at the center of existence, have a hard time yielding, to aging gracefully, to celebrating the changes that nature brings. Instead, we fight it tooth and nail, we try to seize control, to bend the world to our will, insist on having it our way. Until we no longer can. As if we ever could … Many of us make every effort to cheat time, look young, stay “relevant.” After un certain age, we lie about our age. Physically, we try to reverse the clock, mitigate or undo the “ravages” of time with diet and exercise, supplements, medications, surgery ...
This “passage” has indeed brought some things to light. Icky, unpleasant things. Thoughts I would have preferred to continue ignoring, or denying, or never knowing. (Or, preferably, never had at all.) This June 28th has given me an invaluable gift, the opportunity to practice what I preach to my clients: radical honesty. Permitting hidden, buried, long-avoided, painful thoughts and beliefs to surface, do their ugly dance in the sun, and ultimately wither and die in the light of day. I’m talking the really scary stuff we try to avoid or deny at all costs. That we keep locked away deep down inside and that, despite our best efforts, still somehow manages to escape and wreak havoc. Stuff that traps us in falsehoods, bad habits, excuses, lies and inauthentic lives. Stuff that clouds the truth and keeps us from getting to the heart of the matter. Because, indeed, the truth will set you free. Always. No matter how uncomfortable or painful it may initially feel to face it.
In our workshop, “Like Fine Wine: Growing Up Without Growing Old©”, Darlene Troiano and I explore in depth the whys and wherefores of women freaking out about getting on in years. The belief systems – demeaning and dysfunctional, freakish and fallacious – that we unquestioningly buy into, hook, line and sinker. Despite the women’s movement, sexual revolution, et al, even in the most liberated countries, a pervasive paradigm of womanhood remains entrenched: The Princess Bride, eager to follow fashion and conform to the beauty standards of the day, no matter how painful, expensive and/or time consuming, to be pretty and pleasing to find a prince; she marries and becomes the Queen Mother, strong and competent, but with children dependent upon her she finds herself financially dependent on others. But we’ve come a long way, baby – haven’t we?
Darlene and I were excited about the dawning of a new age, where we saw women, once finished with maternal mandates and free to pursue their own passions, evolving into the Empress, beautiful and rich in the wealth and experience of a life lived to the fullest. Now able to contribute something in addition to, or other than, children to this world. Rather than judging ourselves and being judged on our husband’s bank accounts and our children’s schools, we can bask in our own achievements and merits.
But as I myself arrived at this crossroad, I did not find the Empress reflected in the mirror, but rather the inherited images of old, archaic, outdated and unattractive archetypes nipping at my heels. Images of the needy, demanding dowager or the creepy crone knocked on the door of my consciousness: Past my prime. Looks beginning to fade. Old and in the way. Adrift and alone. No longer useful. And worst of all: No one cares. Because despite my years of coaching and spiritual training, a part of me is still influenced by centuries of conditioning, asserting that when we lose our youth and our fertility, we begin to lose our beauty – and our value. Because a woman’s value is based on the man she is able to attract, and her attractiveness to men decline with age –
Blah, blah, fucking blah -
So the 28th of June approached and these internal demons (my Chilean friend Luis calls them the “duendes”) began to do a jig on my spirit. For weeks I struggled with the sound of these nasty, critical voices in my head insisting upon everything I learned growing up about growing old – widely-held beliefs about age, beauty, options, relevance which you’ve probably heard a million times so I’ll spare you here. Additionally, newer monsters (again, I’ll spare you; I mentioned them in my last Birthday Blog) threw fuel on the bonfire and joined the dance. But instead of fighting them in my usual fashion – tuning them out with distractions such as food and entertainment, whitewashing over them with positive new agey reframes, crying “uncle” and surrendering in agreement to their onslaught – I let them do their dance. Cut a rug. Go hog wild. And regardless of the filth or insults or slights or remarks they hurled about, I neither ran away nor jumped into the fray. Using a releasing technique I developed based on The Sedona Method®*, I just watched, impassively. Observed, detached. Listened, with curiosity. Learned what they had to say. And some interesting things happened.
1. It hurt. Physically hurt. A lot. Initially, I just wanted to make it stop, the tightness in my throat, the pressure in my chest, the shortness of breath. But instead of running from it, I sat with it, breathed through it.
2. I really heard the chorus of thoughts and beliefs – lies, really - that I’ve been carrying for decades, yet expending enormous amounts of time, energy and money trying to avoid.
3. The more I allowed them to express themselves, the more the duendes relented; as if, like a child, they just needed and wanted someone to witness their tantrum, someone to listen their hopes, dreams, fears, beliefs.
4. Eventually the duendes screamed themselves silent; once they released their negative energy into what’s left of the ozone, once they realized they were heard, they chilled out.
5. I began to appreciate that the duendes, though misguided, first and foremost had my best interest at heart; their intention is to protect me, keep me safe and out of harm’s way by having me conform and “follow the rules” fearing that rocking the boat may capsize it.
6. As things quieted down, other calmer, clearer voices began to rise – less critical and hysterical, more loving and wise, more hopeful and optimistic
Since then, whenever the duendes come calling, I simply open the door and welcome them in. I allow them to do their dance, rant and rave, vent and unburden, say whatever stupid or fearful or untrue or uninspired or insulting thing they have to say. And I just listen attentively, sit with the momentary discomfort, and smile. Until they stop. Which they always do. And then I can hear the song of the angels …
Happy Birthday to me and to America. So what if the “prevailing wisdom” claims that our best years are over, that we are past our prime, our empire in decline? The 21st century Empress knows better: If she is willing to let go of what was, of the past and its the false gods, and embrace what is unfolding in the now, she sees that every stage offers opportunity. Limited only by our beliefs and expectations. In letting go of the empire of youth, I see that the Empress can enter the paradise of infinite possibility … and there I’ll dance.
And that’s become my truth.
*The Sedona Method® by Hale Dwoskin
© 2010 Theresa Quadrozzi A-Muse-In-Manhattan
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