37 is the new happy

I can’t stop grinning.  I got some great news this morning, but it’s not about that.  It’s about right now, this minute, this phase.  I am happy.  It’s strange.  To feel fulfilled in all realms of life.  I am staring at the screen trying to put it into words, and for the first time ever, I’m not sure how to do it.

It’s been a long road.  I’ve often felt that if I had one thing about which I could be proud, then I was doing pretty well.  In my teens that was hard to come by.  I always felt like the sidekick, the tagalong.  The little girl with the big voice and the caustic wit.  I got to college and there were boys, suddenly, and well, that was fun.  But still, the age old insecurity…I wrote poems and played with the boys and danced at gay bars and surrounded myself with New Orleans, and I could feel myself living and laughing, but always cynical...always waiting for the shoe to drop, the façade to fall, for everyone to find out I didn’t belong.  It nagged me, held me back.

I graduated from college, moved to Boston and temped and went to graduate school for teaching and played too much and drank too much and waited for my life to begin.  I had this future constructed for myself, but could only go through the motions to reach it.   I met a guy who was bad for me and I stayed with him far too long and then a restraining order and then 9/11 and then I was back home.  And something clicked. 

My mother is the most confident person I know.  I have rarely seen her falter.  My father, on the other hand, is one of the most insecure people I know.  He seems to trust only his skill as a physician, and assume the worst about every other trait.  I was raised between these two extremes, and rather than be the convergence of the two, I often just feel schizoid.  I at once feel extremely confident in my teaching ability, and fear that someone will find out that I am nothing but a poseur.  I love people and need to be social, but am terrified of new situations and always worry no one at the party will talk to me. 

But, I moved home and got a teaching job, and over the next few years met my husband online, moved up to teaching high school from the middle school, acted in community theater, popped out a couple of kids (which curtailed the acting), and now I am 37, in love with my life and writing about it.  I feel…settled and comfortable, and tired and stressed and worried for my kids, but…finally content. While the insecurities will always be there, at this stage of the game, I know which ones to listen to and which ones to brush aside.  God, I love my late 30s and who would have ever thought I’d say that?