Welcoming the Laughter

I am all the ages I've ever been. -Anne Lamott

Once in awhile I stumble upon a quote that makes me stop, cock my head a bit, and mull it over. I have written so many times about how, no matter the age, I still feel like me. But I think this quote nails it: it defines the wisdom that we gain through the years; it incapsulates our experiences and pains and joys and life-lessons all together into a solitary sentence.

I like Anne Lamott. I don't know much about her really--only that she is often featured on Oprah and shares experiences and thoughts that I appreciate. She's a cool lady.

Last night I was up in the mancave when suddenly the wind decided to roar. It was a whole lot of crazy outside. It picked up the the awning that we have staked down, covering the golfcart, and whipped it into the air, somersaulting it a time or two until it landed upside down by the side of the house. Jace came running upstairs from the living room: Mom! What's going on?!!

A bit later, the wind nabbed it again. I could hear it banging against the toolshed we have by the side of the garage, but it was so pitch black outside that I couldn't quite grasp what was going on. But when things came to a halt, I went outside to look. There lay the awning, peacefully on its top, legs sticking up like a beached spider. About the same time, Roy was closing up shop in the gym, so together we folded up the awning and lay it by the side of the house until we can put it back in its rightful place.

Once we came back inside where it is warm and cozy, I couldn't help but smile as I remembered the time we spent Christmas in California with my sister Lori. I don't remember if Tami and her family were there that particular year. The kids were little--I don't think I had Jace yet. It was chilly outside as it was, of course, December, so a fire blazed in the fireplace. Gary, my brother-in-law at the time, emptied the ashes from the fireplace into a trashcan, stuffed all of the Christmas wrapping on top, then shoved the lid down over the whole concoction. Then he hauled the trashcan outside by their boat and suburban. That night, pitch black outside, the kids were playing in the den when suddenly Trevor, my nephew, pointed outside and said, "Look at the fire!" to Roy. The problem, however, was that Trevor had a speech impediment at the time so it sounded more like Look at the fy-oo! So if my memory serves me correctly, Roy ignored it.

But it wasn't long before the fire that was now blazing outside from ashes that ignited wrapping paper and spread to the boat got everyone's attention. The guys rushed out in a panic and Roy quickly moved the Suburban as the fire was roaring dangerously close to the gas tank. The fire department was called and it was contained fairly quickly, though the boat was destroyed in the process.

That story has become one of the stories that I've heard Roy tell countless times: So the moral of the story is, don't put your Christmas wrappings in a trashcan with hot ashes from the fireplace and then shove the lid on top!

Of course, on a catastrophic scale our canopy experience doesn't compare to the blazing fire that we experienced that cold Christmas night. It just reminded me of how one moment we are relaxing, enjoying, lazing--minding our own business and living our lives...and the very next second we are in a panic as the unknown beckons and we scramble to preserve life as we know it.

Our lives are comprised of moments that turn into hours that turn into days and then weeks and months and years. And before we know it, we wake up and realize that a lifetime has gone by and we forgot to enjoy it. We've been so busy living that we forgot to live. We get caught up in the day to day monotony, not recognizing that this monotony is what makes life beautiful.

And yet, when the monotony is threatened, when we get a glimpse of what life could be like if our monotony was stripped away, we are suddenly spurred into action, desperate to preserve our normal.

I am all the ages I've ever been.

When I look back over my life, I can easily be overcome with regret: regret for choices I made, regret that I didn't enjoy my children more when they were little, regret that I didn't save more money, regret that I frittered away the years...

And yet...those same times in my life taught me so much. Those years gave me depth and understanding; they gave me friendships and memories that bring laughter...and sometimes tears. They gave me wisdom that I can now share with my own daughters who are welcoming adulthood with open arms.

And I am grateful for all of that.

Sometimes I feel like, in some respects, my life is just beginning. I can focus on what I want as my kids are practically grown. Granted, Jace is only eleven, but his teenage years will fly. And so for the first time in my life I get to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life. That sounds exciting, filled with opportunity and possibility. I am no longer fearful of the future as I was in my early twenties.

The other day, one of my freshmen asked me what I want to be when I grow up. And though the other kids laughed at her question, I didn't find it funny. I answered her seriously: I'm not really sure yet, Janet. I'm thinking seriously about that!

I am grateful that life brings second chances, new beginnings, opportunity for a new normal. And this next phase of my life? I want to seize the day. I want to conquer dreams and live with no regrets. I want to embrace all the years I've ever been while welcoming the future, one day at a time, handling those moments of panic with grace and confidence; embracing the good times and welcoming the laughter.