It's July. Less than one month until I turn another year older and just a few days away from the anniversary of my mom's passing. What a strange word that is - anniversary. I think of anniversaries as happy moments - memories that make you smile, laugh and remember what it was like to be surrounded by the people and places you love. Should I describe it as commemorate? Remembrance? Maybe anniversary puts a less depressing shine on an event that has changed you forever. In the years since, I've left a career on one coast and tried to reestablish one in the central, but for some reason, my experience in California is of no importance or use to anyone here. Perhaps it's my age. Don't let anyone tell you that ageism does not exist. It most certainly does. It's quiet and insidious and quite laughable when you realize that the same people who think you are too old will one day be that to someone else themselves. There's some comfort in that. There's also a confidence that comes with age. Not settling for things. Not accepting an offer that is clearly beneficial only to the one offering. You also realize that life is fleeting and that the back end of life is scarier than the front end.
Five years ago, I never pictured my life where it is now. In fact, at one point, I thought I would be in San Francisco forever, and the friends I made there would be with me for life. Though I worked hard at maintaining relationships through all of my moves, ultimately, I lost some of them. But, then, you realize that some people are meant to be in your life at a certain time of your life. Some disappearances may hurt more than others, but the good memories of those times together smooth the disappointments and confusion that come later. I like to think of it as a new adventure, and anyone who knows me knows that I am thrilled when a new adventure appears before me. When I was younger, I know my relatives probably saw me moving around as someone who was never satisfied. I like to think of it as I never settled for what everyone expected of me.
It's no mystery why all of these thoughts are swirling around in my head. My birthday is also quickly approaching. And even though I turned 60 last year, this August, I will officially be IN my 60's. There's a gravitas in that statement. One I'm not so sure I like.
Being fully in this decade of life leads me to realize that where you are is because of your own decisions. Any regrets that may have happened have led to the present. Someone asked me of all the places I have lived, which was the best. That was a tough one to answer because I have lived in some of the most amazing (and expensive) cities in the country. My top choice, as surprising as it may sound, is Los Angeles. I was no longer the naive kid who had moved to California. When I was 24, that foggy, beautiful city of San Francisco brought me such joy. It gave me memories and experiences that can never be repeated. By the time I returned, I was fully forged as an adult from my relocation back to Boston. There was another move to the Southland and then one more move to New York. Overall, I was at my lowest and loneliest in Manhattan, with is ironic because there are so many living there. As hard as I tried, I never found my footing there. Coming back to California and re-establishing myself in Hollywood was the best decision I ever made. And it was one that my mom fully supported.
I was afraid to tell her that I was once more leaving for the west coast. I didn't want to break her heart again. But in reality, I never broke it in the first place. True, she was always sad when I would be far away, but she knew I was not meant to stay. Seeing me succeed was always her greatest joy. Secretly, I think she liked it because it meant she had more places to travel. Maybe my love of Paris comes from the fact that it was the first city in Europe that we went together. I do know that she was the first person I thought of when I was first arrived in that city on business in 1995 and she is always the first person I think of each time I return.
My greatest fear was losing my mom before all others, and the universe was as cruel as I had imagined. Five years ago this week, it played that very card. Five years of shifting moments. Five years of change. Five years of finding my footing in a world without her. I think she'd love the life I have made for myself these past few years. I know she would've gotten a kick out of my living in Texas, but even more so from the reason I am here.
When you think about it, five is a milestone in so many ways. A child turns five, and really starts to become the person they will be in the future. It's also, I think, probably the best age to take them on vacation. Interviewers ask that ridiculous question of where will you be in that amount of time, and you both believe the silly answer you supply them. Five years from today, the world will be very different than it is now. I can't even begin to image what it will look like. One thing for certain is I will be even further into this decade and my mom will be gone even longer. The grief of losing her won't fade. But, that's the price of love. The harder you love, the stronger the pain of the loss. I wouldn't have it any other way, really. What's life without love? I've known it. It's lonelier than being single in a crowed New York City bar on a Saturday night.
"Don't be so excited about your birthday," my mom would always chastise me. "Just means you'll be going back to school soon."
Five years later and she's still making me laugh. I'll take her admonishment to heart and try not to be too excited about my birthday. The memory of her and the tone of her voice wraps me in her hugs. I'll hear her again and I will tell her, "Hey, at least this year, I don't have to go back to school."
