Reflection on the Eve of 50

Strap in for a long one, friends!

Tomorrow is my 50^th birthday. A half century of life. It is the first birthday which has rocked me a bit, but not much: I see it as a victory, not a loss or source of fear. I’m not young and I don’t look young and frankly, I’m good with all that. My threads of silver hair are punk, my loosening skin and muscles are as much a result of a disease as anything else, my wrinkles are still small and sort of cute, I like the imperfections I’ve earned, and I’m far more interested in comfort than vanity. Ageing is a badge of honor and determination, not a personal defeat – and not for the faint of heart.  

I see every day as a victory really, particularly if that day is lived with a little joy, a little hope, a little love, a little gratitude, and the courage required for all of those. It is a risk to love, rejoice, hope, and look for sources of gratitude. Not every day can be equally courageous, but what a better day it is when I can be brave.

Facing the shadow of mortality inherent in such a milestone birthday requires courage, as it also can engender joy, at what I’ve experienced and done; engender love, for everyone I have and do love; engender gratitude, for all the many blessings of my life; and engender hope. Hope is my greatest gift, my hardest won, my inner warmth. It isn’t easy to have hope with a degenerative disease, chronic pain and illness. (As always, this is not a plea for pity, merely a fact.) In my reality, hope can be elusive, but so very necessary.

Ways I try to keep it alive:

Radical Acceptance:

1.     The thing is real, it is happening, it is undeniable. (I have asthma.)

2.     There is a reason it exists. (It can simply be the will of god, but in my case, I choose a less fun genetic condition.)

3.     Despite it, it is still worth being alive.

Anyone of these can be problematic at different times, but working through it can be perspective altering. My other perspective altering is the “social model of disability.” I am disabled.

Special Note: Not “differently abled,” “special needs,” or “a person with disability” – please, listen to what people want to called, not what you – a non-disabled person – think sounds nicest. I am disabled – that’s not an insult or a slur or bad word. It is a fact and no euphemism you come up with changes that reality. In fact, it denies it. Of course I have abilities, some of which you share, some of which are different from yours. Everyone is differently abled. I do not have special needs; I have human needs. Food; shelter; mobility – which you achieve with feet, me with wheels; access; sleep; love; dignity; laughter; respect – whatever you need, so do I. Of course I’m a person. Saying “I am disabled” does not deny my personhood or humanity. It goes without saying, so don’t say it.

The “medical model” of disability is what most people think of, what I did. I’m broken so I don’t fit into the normal world. It is my fault – even if the problem is in no way my fault.

The “social model” says yes, I have impairments but it is the world which does not fit me. It is the world which “disables me” by not making accommodation for the different needs my impairments require. I’m not the problem, I’m not broken – the world is the problem and it is broken.

You can see why one is more empowering – and hopeful – than the other. My disease is incurable, but a decent public bathroom I can actually use is not.

I have learned and achieved some things over the last 50 years, things that sustain me regularly, that cannot be taken by time, illness, or other forms of attrition. These are the things I tell myself, and now I’ll tell you.

1.     It’s not only ok, but necessary and healthy to say “No.” Unqualified, unexplained, unapologetic “No.” You are an adult with agency – you don’t have to follow any convention you don’t want to. You don’t owe anyone anything you don’t want to enthusiastically give. You can also say “no” to yourself – sometimes it’s the best thing to leave the comment unsaid, the impulse not acted upon.

2.     Change, good or ill, is traumatic. Give yourself grace with any major change, especially loss. Give your very identity, at times, the space to adjust to a new normal. Take as long as you need, hold on to what you need, let go what you can.

3.     Be real. If, for no good reason, you’re just cranky and snappish, tell your loved ones so they can give you the space to get through it – avoid lashing out whenever you can. Be sincere with praise, commitment, compliment, affection; never use them for manipulation.

4.     Don’t lie. This does not mean “I tell it like it is” as an excuse for rudeness or cruelty. It just means be as true as you can with yourself and people you care about. (I care very little for minor lies told to strangers or people I dislike, if it makes my life easier.)

5.     You passed the goddamn Bar. The Texas Bar, one of the two hardest and longest. The first time. It was terrible, there was set-aside time for crying. You watched Everybody Loves Raymond because it was so stupid it let your brain rest. You flipped out on question 178 of the Multi-State and started playing Galaxy Quest in your mind over the repeated word “lathe” – and you filled in letter C for the last 22 questions of the test, something you never, ever did before. Or since. You cried in bed when you got home. But the next day, the first essay question was “Is this a valid trust?” and you knew you were home free. You passed off the strength of your writing and you know it. Fuck the Multi-State, you passed.

And NO ONE CAN EVER take that away from you. Graduating high school, college, grad school, and even law school meant little. You started, you would finish. You never considered another alternative. But passing the Bar the first time when you spent three years of law school being told you couldn’t, meant something. The place was vile and veritably infested with negativity and aggression. “Take off and nuke the site from orbit, it’s the only way to be sure,” got you through it.

And the image of Frodo and Sam on the slope of Mt. Doom: you’re not going to make it, you accept it, so why not – just keep walking? You’re going to fail that final, that one grade that determines passing the class or failing, so why not study anyway? Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, but in survival mode, you do what you can.

Here’s the absolute truth about all graduations: it is a measure of your stamina. Period. Once you are smart enough, accomplished enough to be admitted, getting through it is a sheer matter of will. Of showing up day after day after day and taking the tests, writing the papers, doing the performances. Graduating from law school doesn’t mean I’m smart, it means I’m tough. I am smart, but not because I survived that hellish time.

After my first final, Contracts, I fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, I couldn’t move. At all. Every single muscle was screaming in pain – I’d been so tense for so long and abruptly relaxed. I didn’t make it to the play I was supposed to see that night. I barely made it to bed. But I studied the next day for the next test because, you know, Mt. Doom. “Why not?” for me, never “why?”

6.     Don’t take things personally. Whenever possible, believe that what’s happening or being said – or not said – isn’t about you. That other personal has a whole world happening and you’re just getting a moment of it.

That said, when it is personal, remember it. Maybe you need to take action – like removing a toxic person from your life – maybe ignoring it is the best solution, but regardless of your decision about how to respond, don’t forget. I don’t mean dwell, just keep it in mind. It doesn’t do to turn your back on some people, and as they say, when someone tells you who they are, believe them.

7.     Try not to make assumptions. You’ve made so many bad ones, attempts, often in humor, to generalize when you were just plain stupid and wrong. Let people tell you who they are and where they’re coming from – stop putting words in their mouths. It’s so agonizingly awkward.

8.     As for moving, particularly traumatic moves like to college for the first time and such: believe, even if you can’t feel it, that it will become “home.” Ultimately home is where you come back to, over and over. It’s where your things are. Go out to class, for instance, and return there enough times, and before you know it, it will be your familiar, your place. Keep at least a few sentimental or comforting things there, things that remind you and make you smile.

9.     Spend your money on a few, important things. Books, food, experiences, maintenance, personal care. What you value, what you use, what you enjoy, what brings you joy.

Forget happiness. If you are doing things you love, spending time with people you love, pursuing work or hobbies that you love, happiness will find you. It’s a different thing than joy, which you can cultivate, and which is mostly quiet, personal, internal and sustaining. Happiness is a by-product that you should absolutely notice and appreciate when you get it, but it doesn’t mean anything – I don’t at all agree that it’s a pursuit. It’s a perk of being alive and definitely a source of gratitude.

Which sort of reminds me: don’t ever say to anyone, or yourself, “Don’t think about X.” If I say “Don’t think about pink elephants.” what do you immediately picture? If I don’t want to think about pink elephants, instead I’ll actively think of something else. “Think about leather bound books.” And that’s where my mind goes. It’s how I conquer some of my insomnia, some of my anxiety. Sometimes it’s incredibly hard, but sometimes it’s enough.

10.  “Have faith and pursue the unknown end.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes

I suppose this sounds religious, but as I am not religious, that’s not how I read it. Instead it means pursuit not of an afterlife, but of dreams. You begin production on a play with faith that you and everyone involved will care about the product and – in a perfect world – one another. You believe in the project, the story, the actors, the designers and crew, and your own ability. And armed with that faith you pursue the goal. You don’t know how it will turn out, you don’t know if it will succeed, but you go forward to discover what end, what play, you have created.

The same is true of any art. Acting, for instance. Novel writing, for sure. This essay. A D&D quest. A sculpture, a painting, a movie. You always have to have that internal belief that you should be doing this, that it is worth doing, that you are the person to do it. A faith in yourself and the task you have set yourself.

11.  And the bonus: my number one favorite quote of all time (and I collect them):

“We will either find a way or we will make one.”

This from Hannibal Barca - yeah, the guy who crossed the Alps with elephants to war with Rome. Clearly he had his fair share of creativity. (All but one died before arrival BTW. See, sometimes you just don’t know the “end” no matter how faithful you were setting out.)

I use this sentiment all the time, particularly when it comes to directing a play. I always go in with a very specific plan, but as I have gained experience and maturity, I also know that the plan has to be extremely flexible. You never know what crisis or issue will rear up out of no where and force you to find a way and often to make one up. The costume was stolen during dark nights. The actor just cannot move around the stage naturally so you have to re-direct and micro-manage their blocking. Your stage manager is the source of chaos and rebellion rather than the back-stop against it. A sexual harassment claim arises between actors well into the run. Someone else needs to rehearse in your space and no one told you. Somebody thinks their untalented buddy should design your production material. The lighting designer got bored so your one actor who can do that is on a ladder in costume – a negligee and feathered lounging heels. Actors drop out or have to be kicked out. Somebody is suffering severe brain fog and despite all their efforts and yours, cannot memorize all their lines. Malevolence and incompetence are vying for first place in the blocks thrown in your path and as I believe everything on that stage is my responsibility as the director, it’s all ultimately up to me. Hopefully I have good, competent, even talented people on my side, but I’m the boss.

Find a way. Make one. That’s the mission.

In conclusion, whatever your age, I wish you much joy. And hope, love, courage, and a feeling of gratitude. Whenever your birthday, I hope it’s a beautiful day and that you have a magical new year.