What does 37 look like? Well, I wrote this 6 years ago. Yet, I still sit here trying to decide if I should post this on my blog that has followers in the single digits. I’ll have to write, What does 43 look like? Because, honestly, judgement is rough whether it is from thousands of readers or a handful of people. And to give myself a confidence boost, I put my writing into Chat Gpt to make me sound like a better writer. But even though it is more polished, it isn’t me. I can’t use it. It doesn’t capture the raw, imperfect feelings that I have. And that’s what I want to portray, even if I have grammatical errors or lack some kind of flow that only AI can create. So this is what I wrote.
Thirty-Seven has been a rough year. I have a 19 -year- old daughter in college, a son in middle school, and a daughter in kindergarten. I’ve been trapped, as a teacher, in middle school for 15 years. A life that provides, but not a life that feels alive.
I’m not young, but I’m not old. I’m not up with the latest trends, but I’m not completely out of what’s in and what’s out. I’m not in shape, but I can look ok with the right undergarments. I’m starting to age, but make-up is still working ok. Although, I am seriously considering botox. And, I’ve got to do something with the eyelids. I have to lift them up in the morning even though they slowly make their way back down into the folds that I didn’t know eyelids could have.
I’m tired ALL OF THE TIME. Even my skin is tired; I wake up and think, I should probably drink more water, yet I don’t.
I have enough money for the things that I need, but not for the things that I want. I can’t afford to travel to the places that I want to go, but I can find the money to take the trip that might fill the void of my mundane life.
I’m not really into health/fitness, but I want to look like I am. I know that I’m not in my 20’s, but when I see a girl walking in her matching yoga set, I kind of feel like shit about myself. I act like I don’t care that I’m in raggedy sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, which for the most part, I don’t care. But then the reality of my age and lack of effort hits me like a ton of bricks when I walk past the adorable young girl who I will never be again.
I’m no Martha Stewart, but I can get a meal on the table in under thirty minutes with whatever we have in the house. I guess that it is something to be proud of. And I have a pretty impressive recipe book at this stage of my life. I should be more proud of that.
I don’t love doing kid stuff, yet I have kids. I love my kids, but I don’t want to take my daugher and son bowling with their friends. I want to relax in my bed with a good book. I’m not trying to be the best mom anymore. I’m just trying to make sure that my kids feel loved.
When I get into this negative place, I remind myself to look at life from a place of gratitude. Be grateful. All of the self-help books say that is the key to happiness. It does work a little bit, but I can’t say it has made a monumental change in my life. I know others will have an opinion on this, and that’s ok. I still struggle.
Sometimes I give myself the pep talk to just Do something about the things that bother me. Start exercising. Make time for me. Try something new. But if I’m telling the truth, it ends at the pep talk. I decide to just keep putting one foot in front of the other and brace myself for another day.
It’s weird because 37 isn’t supposed to be a life changing year. Yet, it has been a big transition for me. I finally feel like a real grown-up, and it sucks. I don’t want to go out and drink. I don’t want to go to concerts or clubs with loud music. All of the things that I have enjoyed up to this point I no longer enjoy. But what am I supposed to do? I’m not ready to start knitting sweaters, but I’m not excited for the activities of midlife. There’s just an emptiness or a numbness in me that I can’t really explain. I kind of feel like: Am I really going to do another 50 years of this?
Am I depressed? I have no idea. I guess so. But why? How do I fix it? I’m in counseling, which feels good for the hour that I’m in there, but then I go back to the same life I had an hour earlier. I am not happier. I have this longing to find my passion. But, I just can’t grasp it. I know I have a life of privilege, and there are bigger problems in the world, but I can’t control these feelings that I wrestle with every day.
lovely haze 
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