(audio version available at the end of this post)

I heard from an old friend yesterday.  He emailed to wish me a happy birthday.

My relationship with birthdays has a troubled past.  When my dear mother planned elaborate themed parties for me I would complain and always cry during the performance of the birthday song.

And that was just last year.  

She probably never expected to raise such a peculiar five year old curmudgeon.

I am no longer curmudgeonly . . . well, maybe sometimes.  Yet my present relationship with birthdays remains fractious.

So when my old friend asked me what I had planned on my milestone birthday (I am now 45), I thought about the word milestone and wrote back half-jokingly, “Birthdays feel more like marathonstones to me.”

Life is Three Marathons

Then I fixated on the concept of a marathon.  A marathon is about 26 miles, and if one mile equals one year of our lives, then we live about three marathons (26 x 3 = 78 years, for those challenged by math) before we die.

In my first marathon I so desperately wanted to be just like everyone else.  This is what I assumed everyone was then: straight, normal, calm, and a believer (in something).

And here I was gay, abnormal, incredibly high energy, and very conflicted about what I believed and who I believed.  I agonized about me, and this attention I gave to me created multiple periods of extreme personal crisis.  Gosh if only I could have gotten out of my own head.

But let’s face it, conformity sells during this first marathon.

When I began my second marathon I came out of the closet.  I was praised for my authenticity, even though I had spent years lying to me and everyone else around me.  This irony was not lost on me then or now.

I noticed how all of those people conforming during their first marathon were now desperate to differentiate themselves.  Think about the classic interview question: What unique gifts and strengths would you bring to bear to solve such and such a problem?  Heck there is a reason why all the geeks in high school end up with the hotties later in life.

Different sells during this period of our lives.

I got cocky, and I thought I had so much figured out.  Not then and I still have a long way to go.

So as I now approach the end of my second marathon here is what I know (I think) . . .

1. Just because we “come out” of whatever closet helps us to live more authentically, watch out, because the door may hit us in the butt several more times over the proceeding years.  I sometimes think I suffer from more internalized homophobia than the most rabid rabble rousing anti-gay cleric’s external exclamations.  Well obviously not quite, but you get my point.  They trigger me in part because I continue the journey of self acceptance regardless of which marathon.

2. Being authentic in every situation is not necessarily in our interest or in the interest of everyone around us.  I get to choose how to express my energetic personality and with whom I express it.  Oh boy, life is so much more nuanced than the mindless self-help platitude of “be who you are all the time!”

3. The struggle of the first marathon, if you can survive it in one piece, makes the second one more peaceful and enjoyable.  Trust me, there were still enormous bumps in the road for me, like broken hearts, business missteps, and family tragedies.  Some in fact I thought I would not recover from, but the drama subsides if we take responsibility for our part in creating it.

Let’s now leap a bit forward to my final marathon.  First, I want to develop a quiet peace with getting older.  And I love this idea of developing a sense of peace.  It is something I must experiment with each day.

Second, I know I will get away with so much more because I can use my advanced age as an excuse for my candor.  But only if that candor is tempered by a great deal of compassion.

Finally, I get to witness the fruits of my familial labors.  My niece and nephew (and any future kiddies my hubby and I may have) are my legacy, and I cannot wait to witness all of their accomplishments and screw ups.  I want to be a source of comfort and compassionate candor for them as often as they wish.

I still hate the happy birthday song . . . come on it is creepy.  But writing this blog does produce a degree of personal peace as the finish line gets closer and closer.  Yikes!

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