Been thinking more about my conversation with Cindy earlier today. We talked about discontent, disillusionment, disbelief. We talked about the fact that there is no going back. We talked about the fear we have in moving forward, given the tired bleakness we see in the faces of the fourty-something women dragging through life around us. We talked about grieving—all that is that shouldn’t have been, and all that should have been but isn’t. We talked about getting older…

But, see, here’s the thing. I’ll be thirty-five a week from Monday. It is what it is. I will never completely fit in with the hip twenty-somethings on staff because I’m TEN YEARS older than they are. Once I finally GOT that (albeit a few short months ago), I started to become okay with it. I’m not a young adult anymore. I won’t ever be again.

But here’s the other thing—I LIKE my life. I really do. I couldn’t say that even five years ago. Despite the lack of time, lack of freedom, lack of spontaneity, and lack of sanity, I am, if I am completely honest, living the life I always wanted. Is it perfect? No. Do I struggle with discontent? Yes. I see friends who are dating, friends who are traveling, friends who are doing what they want to do when they want to do it. I see friends who don’t have tuition payments and ballet lessons to sit through and bedtimes to tie them down. And I struggle with jealousy big time.

But at the end of the day, I have a husband of almost thirteen years who still thinks I’m hot, and a son and a daughter who adore me, and I come back home to cheers and smiles and hugs every time I go away. I have a job I love and a home I love and a family I love and the time and resources to enjoy them. I know who I am and I know who I am not, and I have friends and family who love me anyway. I can live with turning thirty-five.

This is one of my favorite songs, ever. It’s not Bono, but it’s true. I thank the Lord that I am living my dream.

The Stuff that Dreams are Made Of

Take a look around you
change the direction
adjust the tuning
try a new translation
Don’t look at your man in the same old way
take a new picture
Just because you don’t see shooting stars
doesn’t mean it isn’t perfect
Can’t you see—

It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s the slow and steady fire
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s your heart and soul’s desire
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of

So what’s this about your best friend?
She’s got a brand new shiny boy
and they’re moving out to Malibu
to play with all his pretty toys
And you feel closed in by the same four walls
the same old conversations
with the same old guy you’ve known for years
but use your imagination
and you will see—

It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s the slow and steady fire
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s your heart and soul’s desire
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of

What if the prince on the horse in your fairytale
is right here is in disguise
And what if the stars you’ve been reaching so high for
are shining in his eyes

Don’t look at yourself in the same old way
take another picture
Shoot the stars off in your own backyard
don’t look any further
and you will see—

It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s the slow and steady fire
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s your heart and soul’s desire
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s the sails against the sky
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of
It’s the reason we are alive
It’s the stuff that dreams are made of

Carly Simon

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