Fifty Candles

Two very annoying things happened this week, and they are related to one big thing that will happen later this month: my 50th birthday.

First, after three years of working on my own and some bad work and life situations that have left me financially drained, I need to find a ‘real’ job. I had an interview for a senior position a couple of weeks ago. It was a policy position for which I was perfectly qualified. It was between me and a man who is 27 and right out of grad school. This week, I got a phone call that the job was offered to the younger man. I was immensely qualified, I was told, and my experience was impressive…but they’d decided to go with someone who might have “some longevity with the organization.” 

In other words, I am too old.

Of course I was pissed off. But I also had a chuckle, because this is like some weird Gen X twilight zone. When I was in my 20s, I got turned down for job after job because they went to Boomers who had more experience. Now, I have TOO much experience and am losing out to Millenials. At some point in the past 15 years, for a good three months or so, I might have been exactly the right age to hire. I wish I’d known when that was happening.

The other thing that happened was that the “Oh, what are you doing for your birthday?” questions started. I was at an appointment, and the person had seen my birthdate on my file. 

“Ooh, this is a big one! What are you doing to celebrate?” she asked, breathlessly. 

I shrugged. “Not much.”

She pooh-poohed this, insisting I MUST do something monumental for my 50th. She and her friends had gone to Vegas. Or maybe my husband would throw me a big party?

I shook my head. I had neither the necessary people or resources to make either of those things happen. Plus, as an introvert, my idea of the Bad Place would be a surprise party or a weekend in Vegas. 

“I will be at home, with my cats and kids, eating a lot of cake,” I insisted. It seemed ideal to me, really. But this woman looked at me like this was the saddest idea in the world.

I’ve never really enjoyed birthdays or New Year’s Eve, or any event for which you are made to feel required by law to have a good time no matter what else is going on in your life. Don’t get me wrong – I am not giving in completely to my inner Eeyore and indulging in a pity-party for my birthday. I do not intend to spend my birthday staring mournfully out my window and thinking about everything that’s wrong. But somehow, having a giggly wine-bash just because that’s what social media says I should do doesn’t seem right to me. That’s not what I want. It’s *my* 50th, damn it, and I should mark it the way I want.

There are a lot of good things in my life, and things I’m proud of. know I have a lot of privilege, and I’m grateful for what I have. But I feel the weight of these 50 years. I bear the scars of having survived them when, a few times, I was sure I wouldn’t. Lately, I can’t seem to get out from under the weight of my life, and that weight obscures all but the dark things. My kids are unhappy and struggling. My parents are ill. I have no job or income. My personal life in no way resembles what I thought it would be a whole lifetime ago, when I was 25. I cannot say that I am a success in any of the areas of life that are important to me.

1102420
To no one’s surprise, this was one of my favourite books when I was little. 

Am I wrong for not wanting to throw a party to shine a light on that?

I know there are things I can’t change in my life. There are things I need to just keep pushing through. But maybe I can light these 50 birthday candles and shine a light to find the joy.

To help me think about what the next part of my life will look like (and what I need to do to get there), I recently did a Joy Audit. A Joy Audit (or Life Audit) is a series of reflective questions about key parts of your life — personal, professional, spiritual, financial — that helps you focus on what is bringing you joy, what you need more of, and what you need to cut loose. 

What my Joy Audits always remind me is that I need to be true to the things that have been important to me since I was a little girl: things like writing and being creative, helping people, taking care of myself spiritually, and being independent. This time, my Joy Audit also helped me think about how I want to mark this approaching milestone birthday.

My Joy Audit reminded me that one of the things that brings me joy is doing something to leave a legacy to the world. If my years in this realm are slipping through the hourglass, how can I leave a mark that says I was here? How can I be sure the fact that I existed made a difference? How can I bring joy to others?

So my celebration of this milestone birthday will be quiet and personal, but it will last the whole month (I’m wondering if this means a month of cake, too, and I think the answer is yes. Because 50, damn it). 

Every day until my birthday on November 28th, I’m giving myself four gifts:

  • I’ll focus on one thing I’m grateful for, and do whatever I can to amplify the joy it brings.
  • I’ll make time for the gifts I’ve already been given, like writing just for the pleasure it gives me. I won’t let it be pushed to the back burner (helpful that my birthday falls during #NaNoWriMo!).
  • I’ll choose one gift I can give the world, in whatever small way. This might be a small act of kindness. It might be joining a board of an organization where I know I can make a difference. Whatever it is, in a small way, it will help me leave the world a better place.
  • I’ll choose one gift to give to myself. Not a material thing, but something that brings me everyday joy. A walk in the forest with my dog. Coffee with a friend. Reading one of the books piled on my nightstand. Forgiving myself for not being who or where I expected to be.

Fifty candles can shine a lot of light. They can burn down what’s not needed. They can give warmth and comfort.

That’s what I can do, too.

Advertisements

Cold milk, warm cookies, & magic.

Every evening after supper, my son and I take the dog for a walk. And every evening on our walk, we have the same conversation – one of us will ask the other, “If you were at Disney right now, what would you be doing?”

No matter how hard his day was at school, or how intense his anxiety and depression, talking about Disney brightens Puck’s mood. His face animates as he tells me which park he’d be in, and which ride or attraction he’d visit. We talk about which restaurants we’d go to, and which treats we wish we could eat right now (Mickey bars and Mickey waffles are two of our favourites). We imagine which resort we’d be staying at, in which type of room. We even reminisce fondly about the Orlando airport, or the beautiful boat ride from Port Orleans French Quarters to Disney Springs. By the time the walk is over, we’re both feeling happier and have planned out a whole day’s activities for a vacation we aren’t even planning to take any time soon. And we’ll do it all over again the next night.

IMG_0170Yes, we are one of *those* families. We’ve been to Disney – a lot. We’ve been on a Disney cruise. We’ve gone on other vacations as a family, too, but it’s Disney that holds our hearts.  I’ve been fortunate to travel a fair bit. I’ve been (and lived) from coast to coast in Canada, and I’ve traveled throughout the United States. I’ve traveled to several islands in the Caribbean, and several countries in Europe. But it’s Disney that we keep returning to as a family. Some people don’t get it, and question why we go back over and over. It certainly wasn’t what I had planned. I was going to show my kids the whole world. But for us, Disney provides a dependable happiness and a retreat from reality that we haven’t found anywhere else. The rest of the world can wait. We’re searching for a world of magic.

Don’t get me wrong: my history of vacationing at Disney is not one of perfect family time or unbridled joy. We are not the happy family you see in commercials. Each trip has come with its own challenges, but also lessons. As a teen, I traveled with a mother who actually didn’t like Disney at all, and a father who wasn’t keen on most rides. I learned to appreciate everything else the parks have to offer. My first trip with children of my own was as an extended family. At the time, my father-in-law was in the early stages of dementia and was confused and prone to getting lost. My mother-in-law was recovering from a hip replacement but in her typical no-nonsense fashion, refused any help. I learned to slow down and not try to do everything. 

Other trips have been planned to balance my daughter’s “let’s do everything!” style with the ups and downs of Puck’s constellation of challenges. Sometimes, sounds were a problem for him, so we learned which attractions or places to avoid. On other trips, it was the crowds, so we learned where to watch fireworks in a less intense setting.

P1000457
Tinkerbell and Daisy in a deep fairy discussion.

Although we used a travel agent for our first two trips, I quickly became an expert at doing the planning on my own, focussing on my family’s special needs. I learned what Disney had available to help us, and created detailed itineraries that helped Puck understand what was going to happen each day, while still giving us the flexibility to have fun. I learned how to help Daisy do the things that would make magical memories while keeping Puck happy and calm.

We go back because even though Disney can be a non-stop, intense destination, it actually does a lot to cater to families like ours. Never was this more clear than on our last trip. My father-in-law’s dementia has worsened to the point where it is impossible for him and my mother-in-law to travel on their own. We knew it would be hard, but we wanted to take one last big trip together, as a family. 

I was so hesitant. I knew caring for him and my mother-in-law (who is game for anything, although frailer than she’d admit) on a cruise and then at Walt Disney World was going to be a challenge. On top of that, we had our own kids to think about – including Puck, who would turn 12 on the trip, and who had been having a terrible year with clinical depression and anxiety. I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Even though a dear friend and Disney travel specialist helped plan the details of the trip for us, I had very low expectations.

We didn’t get off to a good start. Puck’s anxiety about leaving his routine kicked in at the airport, and he was in the bathroom being sick right up until our flight boarded. My father-in-law had no idea why we were on a plane or where we were going. We spent the five hours of travel explaining to him, every ten minutes or so, that we were all going on a vacation together. 

Everyone was tense.  I was sure we’d made a big mistake.

We were leaving on a cruise the next day. But first, we’d have a night at a Disney resort. We got settled in our rooms and headed to the Magic Kingdom for the evening. My father-in-law had been agitated and confused, asking repeatedly where we were. Puck was weak and anxious from being sick and was popping ginger tablets like candy. The rest of us were tired and a bit defeated, feeling certain the trip was going to be a disaster. 

But when we got off the bus, got everyone through security, and walked onto Main Street, everything changed.

My father-in-law stopped and stared at the castle in the distance. “Oh!” he said, a big smile spreading across his face. “We’re at Disney!”. And he proceeded to tell us stories from visits 40 years earlier, when he’d gone there with his young children. He could remember those trips in detail, and while sitting on Pirates of the Caribbean, he marveled at how things were just as he’d remembered. He grabbed Puck’s arm and said, “Oh, the jail scene with the dog is coming up next!”

He couldn’t remember how we got to Florida or why, exactly, we were there, but somehow, he remembered what scene was coming up in a ride he hadn’t been on in years. He was smiling and relaxed and having fun — something that happens too little, these days. 

Puck, too, changed as soon as we were in the Magic Kingdom. The anxiety melted as he saw familiar sites he loves. Puck’s challenges make him a bit less mature than his age would suggest, but that doesn’t matter at Disney. Everyone – even me, who was just turning 49 — can be a child. There is no pressure to be mature, and no one judges you for acting like an excited child. He can act younger than his age. I (a grown woman) can get excited to the point of tears over hugging Eeyore. It’s all good.

10505510_10152192182686471_4534765150992812887_n
You’re never too old to hug Pooh bear.

Later that night, when we got back to our resort, my father-in-law wanted a ‘bed snack’. We went to the quick service restaurant, and my mother-in-law chose some cookies for him. At the cash register, my father-in-law became distraught: he couldn’t eat cookies without milk, he wailed. He was on the verge of tears. My mother-in-law panicked; she didn’t know where the milk was, and she couldn’t leave my father-in-law to go look. She was worried about him making a scene, and not being able to calm him down. The cashier came to the rescue.

“Of course you need milk!” she assured him. “You can’t eat cookies without milk! Let me get you some.” 

My mother-in-law was fretting, though, because she hadn’t brought enough cash for milk (and didn’t understand she could charge things to her room).  The cashier waved off her concern.

“Don’t worry about the milk,” she told her. “It’s a gift from Mickey. He wants Mister to enjoy his milk and cookies.”

When my mother-in-law told me this,  we both cried. She didn’t remember the name of the cashier, so I went to the front desk and thanked asked them to thank the restaurant staff for their kindness.

When we got on the cruise, warm cookies and a glass of milk were magically brought to my in-laws’ room every night at bedtime. Screen Shot 2018-09-29 at 11.52.44 AM.png

THAT’s why we keep going back to Disney. 

Yes, it can be a crazy, overwhelming place, but even for a family like ours (with proper planning) it can be the best vacation you’ve ever had, with people who work so hard to make magic for you. For families like mine — with parents exhausted from trying to manage and micro-manage every detail of the day, who have come to expect that people will not understand, will judge, or will let you down — this is amazing. That’s why my son and I talk about it every night when we’re walking the dog. It’s an escape, to be sure, but it’s also familiar and warm. It’s a place where burdened adults can be children, even just for a while, and where children who sometimes don’t feel confident can discover they are actually brave enough to ride Splash Mountain. 

Even though we talk and plan every day, it’s not likely we’ll be going back anytime soon (our finances don’t stretch to that, at the moment). But still, we dream. We talk. I help other people plan their vacations and live vicariously through them. In fact, I’ve actually thought about becoming a Disney vacation planner, so that I can help other families with special needs realize that spending time together on such a trip is not logistically impossible. I’ve done a lot of work in my life to improve services for people with special needs and mental health issues on a policy level. Maybe I could also create some magic for people at a family level. 

Families like mine need some cold milk, warm cookies, and a heaping serving of magic to keep going. Really, these days, we all do.