39

Today, May 3rd, was my first full day on the road. Today is also my 39th birthday. It feels selfish to have a heart so light and full of joy when my heart is also so heavy with the possibility of the Supreme Court overturning Roe v. Wade. As many people, I have feelings and thoughts about such a Supreme Court decision. But I leave those opinions for another post… as today is about birthdays. Or, more particularly, my birthday.

I am typically not a big fan of birthdays. It is a little bit about getting older. Before I let go of the idea of having biological kids, every birthday felt like a nail in the coffin of my empty uterus. Then there was the fear surrounding my career; that I was somehow running out of time to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up.

After law school, I clerked for Judge David Schuman on the Oregon Court of Appeals.* He was one of my favorite people, the best boss, and the best mentor a young lawyer (or person) could ever ask for. He died unexpectedly in the fall of 2019. At his memorial service, his son reminded us that Judge Schuman got his PhD in English, taught college, and then started law school at age 40. I remember sitting there and feeling my shoulders unclench and relax. Schuman went to law school at 40. I’m not too late. Too late for what? I don’t know. But something in me shifted that day, and I think put me (unconsciously) on the path I am on today.

But back to birthdays. Mostly the reason I don’t like birthdays is because I always want the day to feel like it did when I was 5 years old. I want it to be special, and amazing, and I want to feel like a princess with clowns and tiny horses. (This did not happen when I was 5. Well, there was a clown. But no princesses or tiny horses). But birthdays just never feel that magical anymore. Those that love me can never live up to my expectations (mostly because I never voice them) and I’m inevitably disappointed, get through the day, and silently hope that the next year will be different.

My birthday the last two years has been particularly hard. First, I was single for both of them. I know, I know. Poor me. But I’ve been in a relationship pretty much constantly since I was 18, so being single on my birthday was… an adjustment. And then there was that global pandemic that kept us all away from all our loved ones, friends included. So I was really alone.

This year I kept debating whether I wanted to hit the road before or after my birthday. I had already had a few goodbye parties (three, I think?) so making people get together one more time seemed… anti-climatic and awkward (we had already said goodbye after all). But did I really want to be alone alone on my birthday?

But by Monday, I had my answer. I was ready. I can’t really explain it, but I knew it was time. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew in my bones that it was time to leave. So I organized my stuff, got the pups into the van, and drove away.

And today? The big day? I slept in. I walked the dogs. I made breakfast tacos. I talked to friends on the phone. I explored Pendleton, Oregon. I responded to numerous texts from friends and loved ones. I got a milkshake. I found a dog park. I did some homework. I heated up a can of soup for dinner. I walked the dogs again.

And you know what? It was fucking rad and perfect and exactly what I needed. No expectations. No pressure. Just me and my dogs and my thoughts. Staying curious. Staying present. Staying grateful.

Maybe we don’t lose that magic we had as kids. Maybe the magic just shifts. Becomes subtler. Maybe it’s as simple as catching the perfectly puffy clouds dotting the sky over the seemingly endless valley below you. The sound of the rushing river. The taste of a chocolate, peanut butter, and banana milkshake. (Yes, you should be jealous. It was magic).

Sometime in the summer of 2019, I was walking in Laurelhurst Park. I had this wave of knowing come over me that by age 40 my life was going to be different. I didn’t get anymore information than that. Just different. I stopped in my tracks. Momentarily forgot to breathe. Looked up at the leaves in the trees. And said, “Okay.” And kept walking.

Then a lot of life happened. Judge Schuman died, I got divorced again, then the pandemic. And I forgot about that day in Laurelhurst Park.

As I was walking around Pendleton today and passed a park, that memory of Laurelhurst Park came flooding back. And I had to just laugh.

Sometimes you just know. And sometimes you don’t, and you do it anyway.

Here’s to 39 and finding the magic.

_____________

* I highly recommend checking out the collection of Judge Schuman’s writing that his wife, Sharon Schuman, collected and compiled after his untimely death. The book is available here.