The Birthday Mystery

"An unsolved mystery is a thorn in the heart."

Joyce Carol  Oates uses this line in a prompt from the book, Naming the World, found here:  http://www.amazon.com/Naming-World-Exercises-Creative-Writer/dp/0812975480/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1277836260&sr=8-1She suggests that you meditate on the unsolved mystery in your own life. 

For me, picking that mystery was easy.  The mystery was why I always felt so old even at 17.  Most everyone I know scoffs at me when I tell them this; even those younger than me tell me "You're not old," aftergiving me that sideways look of "Girl, you're crazy." 

One of the unsolved mysteries in my life is just this:  Why is age such a big deal to me?  Or, why does everyone else act like getting older isn't a big deal?

A week ago in the Creative Writing Class with my TIP students, we did a free-write on the word "Birthday," and here's where I started.

In a week, I'll be 28, and I'm not sure what to think.  On the plus side, my car insurance will probably go down, if it didn't on my last birthday.  But on the downside is everything else.  I am really getting older now.  28 seems ominously close to 30 and 30 brings up a host of other issues, among them, "Aren't you married yet?" Or, the ever popular, "So.  When are you going to settle down?" "Do you think you'll ever have kids?  Do you even have a boyfriend?" 

To be getting so close to 30 reminds me, as everyone else my age (or close to it) of all the I (we) haven't accomplished yet.  It seems that life and all its ocurrences become like a game.  A game in which my score is woefully low, and in which I always lose at least one turn. 

In Scrabble, you spell out words with the tiles you draw to earn points.  If the words on my board corresponded to my life as a still-27-year-old-for 7-more-days, my words would be unaccomplished, (probably impossible in Scrabble) lonely, and behind.

I always thought there were things I was going to do in my life and with my life before I got to be 18, 25, 30.  I never made out a list of those things I wanted to accomplish, but I figured I'd recognize them as those opportunities came my way.  But being reminded of what I don't have makes me wonder what I'm missing.

Studying in Ireland for a semester and traveling around the Britisih Isles didn't make my t0-do list, but when I was 19, I did it.  At 25, I'd graduated with a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing and was teaching at two colleges, bartending, and being a nurses aide.  During that year, I worked harder than I ever had, and the next summer at 26, I was hired at East Carolina University, where I am under contract for the next two years. 

Even though I haven't done all I've hoped to: published some of my work, written that manuscript, been accepted in a PhD program, lost the weight, found that Mr. Right, (really, this could be quite a long list) I have accomplished a lot of great things as well. 

I'm an Aunt to a gorgeous neice.  A two-time dog adopter.  An Assistant Professor of English.  A former bartender, nurses assistant, grill cook, and cashier.  A daughter of 28 years and a sister for 21.  In all those things I still haven't done yet, there's the potential for so much more to happen.

But a little ambition never hurt anyone.  Maybe the next time my birthday rolls around (in about 360 days) I'll have something to hold myself up to.  If Joyce Carol  Oates is right (and face it, when would she be wrong?) than the mystery of birthdays will no longer be that thorn in my side. 

Instead of a seeping wound, a birthday will be a real celebration, of all that I've achieved and all that 30 will hold.  Instead of a gaping hole, I'm removing that thorn by writing more.  I'll bandage it with submissions to journals and contests.  Let it heal with the salve of the hard work of writing and teaching.  When the time comes to remove that bandaid, I'll rip it off fast and clean, so it only stings a little.  And I'll remember that scar the thorn left, that mystery, by knowing all that I already am.