F is for Fifty.

I’ve been getting very intimate with another F word as of late.

I turned FIFTY this past year. (yes, this is when you rush to the comments and bewilderedly express your disbelief, lol.) To celebrate, I threw one hell of an 80’s dance party (one of my love languages).

When I said 80’s party, I meant it.

And well, every party deserves the perfect soundtrack. Here’s my 50th Bash playlist for those moments when you need this simple reminder: no matter what you’re going through, there’s always room for a dance party in that beating heart of yours.

Most friends who joined the ’50 club’ got a version of this same text from me:

It’s true-what I said. I have less fucks to give for sure. Except for the holy ones. The ones infused with wonder and awe, and gratitude. (I tell you, ‘fuck’ gets such a bad rap. But we’ll save that for another post. ) I hope you enjoy F is for Fifty.

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F is for Fifty (holy fuckin’ fifty).


HOLY FUCK.

As in

I’m still here.


HOLY FUCK.

A half century lived,

endured and imprinted

in this super sensitive body

I’ve been gifted.


HOLY FUCK.

I’m still here-

standing on this sacred,

hallowed ground;

living and breathing in

this sacred,

hallowed skin

I’m still in.


I’ve never felt more alive.

Not sure if that’s because

of my creaky joints

or peri-menopausal points

of no return.


No matter how tired or bleary eyed I might feel

some days

as a fifty-year old mama of two kids under 6,

I’m still bright eyed and grateful

most days.


I still share space with that younger

protective part of me.

The one that still believes

she must

do more,

achieve more,

and be more.


But she’s quieted down quite a bit.


Her fear-fueled visits aren’t as frequent or as long.

Because I’m kinder to her now.

I’ve learned to welcome her in

and show her around our home

and our heart.


Yes, with each visit I now tenderly hold her close.

I remind her that we’re no longer where we used to be,

that we want for nothing,

other than the goodness we’ve already reaped

from life & its harvest.

And, that there is always a harvest

when the heart is full.


And oh man, my heart is full.


As I walk my younger self around the colorful corners of our life,

I sense her soften.

I point out our wedding picture,

the kids’ rooms,

our ofrenda with framed photos of new ancestors,

my graying hair and newly earned lines on my face.

We both have a good laugh,

a deep cry

and a sweet embrace.


Yeah, I’ve learned to embrace myself

and all of my parts;

in a way I found far easier

to do with others.


Turns out our ugliest parts aren’t ugly at all,

just scared.

I now love and own those scared parts of me,

the ones still trying to protect me.


The ones who’ve had me walk a fine line

between being too much

or not enough.

Damned if I am,

damned if I’m not.


As I cozy up on the couch with my younger self,

that dutiful, beautiful

protective part of me,

I let her know this:


I’m not that different

Just louder,

and paying better attention.


I listen and notice more.


It turns out there are Santa Fe clouds in LA,

I was just too busy looking down.


I haven’t changed,

I’m just unchained.


I’m no longer hiding myself

inside myself.

I feel I’ve earned my place,

and deserve to take up space.


Finally.


I’m more unapologetic and still kind.

Sure, I may still want 'their' approval,

cuz ‘hi ego,’

but I no longer need it.


I’m not for everyone,

and HOLY FUCK,

that feels

relieving

and freeing.


Fifty brings a brand new kind of free.

As in Alicia Keys’ brand new me-kinda free.

There’s a steadiness on most days.

With less fucks to give.


I’m owning my own storms,

And very clear that I bring

my own weather

to the damn picnic.


I’m actually starting to feel

the wisdom in my bones.

I know I’ve earned it.

I don’t pretend to know

what I haven’t lived

or felt in my own skin.


And with that wisdom

comes great humility-

in owning what I don’t know.


And there’s a lot I don’t know.


I still cry a whole lot.

I welcome the tears

as nothing less than

proof of my aliveness.


Proof I’m not missing any of this.

Proof that God -like a river-

spills through us

And between us.


I’m now very comfortable

with grief and gratitude

as my co-pilots.

They’re always with me.


I don’t believe one can exist

without the other.

Proof of how there’s no loss

without loving,

and no losing

if you have the courage

to keep loving

through the loss.


I’m still mastering the art

of holding all things.

Being the holder

of all things:

Beauty and cruelty,

the miraculous and the mundane.


But I’ve also learned to let go more.

I’m getting better at handing back

what isn’t mine to fix.


I can’t save you,

but I can remind you

that you’re not alone.

That you matter.

That if this feels hard,

then it is hard.


And we can do hard and

still hold on to our softness.


Turns out loving harder

Has kept me softer.


So, I’m holding on

to my softness

a lot more.


Yes, I still fall apart.

I just recover my parts quicker.

Yes, I still over-react.

I just lean in to repair a lot sooner.


I’m not afraid

of the hard conversations,

I desperately rely on them.


I’ve been burned enough

& learned enough

to know that

not every disappointment

is a problem;

and not every inconvenience

is an offense

pointedly directed at me.


HOLY FUCK.

It’s just life.

And God has far greater things to tend to,

then to pick a petty personal fight with me.


Every day I am reminded of this big truth-

that every single one of us

carries pain,

but that pain doesn’t give you the right

to be an asshole.


So, keep choosing

not to be an asshole.

God (and my husband) know I’m trying.


There is plenty of proof in our world today

of the over-used therapy speak

that ‘hurt people hurt people’.


Well, guess what?

Hurt people also HEAL people.

By doing the brave vulnerable work

of healing themselves;

Of alchemizing their pain into service;

and into a salve that heals

hurting hearts.


And well, a heart that hurts is

A heart that works.

And what you choose to do

with that hurt can be a beautiful thing.


I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes.

That’s probably why I cry a lot.


So, wouldn’t you know it-

flawed, fucked up and fumbling

still gets you pretty damn far.


Turns out all the wrongs

will do you right,

if you’re paying attention.


All the wrongs

will lead you right,

if you’re willing to do the work

to recover and repair

unlearn

and learn again.


Until one day,

maybe well into your 50th year,

you’ll glance back,

and laugh at how very right

those wrongs were.


How every scar,

every hurt,

every lousy heartbreak

informed you of your strength

and your grace.


One of our favorite family books

and mantras is Beautiful Oops

(just another way of saying HOLY FUCK really).


The book magically illustrates

how our mistakes are ladders;

frustrating yet forgiving steps

towards all that’s possible.


And the possibilities are endless.


So, all your mistakes and missteps?

They’re portals of adventure and discovery.

An invitation to get to know

what you’re really made of.


And all those ‘wrongs’

and ‘not quite rights’?

Keep trying.

Keep going.

They’re just another

beautiful oops.


It’s through our holy- fuck ups

that this world is perfected.


Wouldn’t you know it;

all these years

in this beautiful oops of a life,

I thought I was the crazy one.


Turns out I’m not crazy.

I’m just first.


First in my family,

in my lineage,

in my big little world

to do what I’m doing

and brave into

who I am continuing

to become.


All these years

in this beautiful oops of a life,

I thought I was lost.


Turns out I was never lost,

I was leading.


Leading my life, my way.


HOLY FUCK.

No wonder it’s felt so lonely at times.

Questioning and doubting myself.

Forging my own path

with no map.


Just me and all those

who have continued to love me

relentlessly,

and forgivingly.


I am realizing now

that just as it pays to look up

( hi Santa Fe clouds in LA),

it also pays

to look back.


Look back

long enough,

and you just might notice

how far

you’ve come.


Look back

long enough,

and you just might notice

what once broke you,

and led you to save yourself,

may have helped you

save someone else.


Never underestimate how many lives

you’ve touched

by choosing to stay and heal.

By choosing to live and love

after the hurt.


So, keep questioning.

Keep doubting.

And keep going.


The greatest leaders do.

They brave & blaze new trails

through their very own

beautiful oops of a life.


And if that ain’t a road to holy fuckin’ freedom,

I don’t know what is.


HOLY FUCK.

I’m still here,

I’m still me.

Just a lot more free.

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Alicia Keys’ Brand New Me was playing on repeat while writing this. Over 10 years later and it still hits deep…

Here’s to freedom and whatever that looks like in your precious world. Love you.

Az xo

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Maybe there’s a certain someone who needs these words today. Feel free to share. xo