Birthday Wonderland

2013.  Hmmmm.

I didn’t really plan this far- Mayans or no Mayans, I had visions of my life only up to the ripe old age of 32.  Ask anyone.

Because of that, my b’day snuck up on me this year and before I knew it, the world didn’t end, Christmas and New Years had passed, January was gone, and through the bubbles of pink champagne, I suddenly realized I was 33.  Weird age indeed.

I feel… strange.  Not necessarily old, certainly not that young (as my 25-year-old brother will attest to), but almost a little like Alice, just before she got distracted.  Waiting… for what’s about to happen...

I woke up slowly the day after my birthday, with a bit of a headache and my pockets full of life’s little charms, wondering what this new year would bring. Suddenly, I felt a need to re-establish who I am, redefine what I think I want, and reconsider which white rabbit I will choose to follow now.

I’ve been looking for direction every which way… in my spirit and in my heart, in the moments of silence that have begun to speak to me again… in the company I keep, in sips of wine, and in the words of my friends…

At my birthday party, one friend advised me that 33 was my ‘Jesus Year’ and handed me a bottle of smooth, Okanagan red called The Passion. 

Oh Christ.

Delicious wine, thoughtful (?) concept, (but being that she’s a staunch atheist, I’m really not quite sure how to take that.) 

Another gorgeous soul, who has come to know my spirit, gave me a stack of birthday books to help me find my way- everything from ‘The Art of Possibility’ to ‘The Celestine Prophecy’, ‘A Little Book of Aloha’ and the ‘Sayings of Buddha’… (I’m hoping this will lead me to the possibility of the prophecy of doing yoga on a beach in Hawaii.)

I looked around and saw faces I wanted to see and I thought of the ones I wished could be there.  I ate my cupcakes and I laughed myself silly, and I felt blessed and incredulous at surviving the roller-coaster that is my life thus far.

I examined my scars and pondered which ones have truly healed and which ones keep ripping open and I dreamed of the sunshine that I know is still in me. 

There are ways I will always be, like impatient and silly and overly hopeful.  There are things I still love, like presents and champagne and Frank Sinatra, and there are other ways and things that I am willing to put on the shelf for awhile.     

Last night, (over a couple of bottles of catching up with one of my longest friends), I was told that the French call your 33^rd year, ‘L’année des Miracles’… I like that one.  The year of miracles. (This is where ‘overly hopeful’ comes in handy.)

So, call it what you will… my year of passion, miracles, scar tissue 

and white rabbits… 

Here’s to living as if the world was supposed to end, but instead, we get to start all over. 

And of course, pink champagne. 

My liver hurts.

 As do my head, heart, body and soul.

I’ve been sipping and twirling through the holidays (and everything else) for a little too long, not paying attention to the whimpers from my body (or heart, for that matter,) that the whimpers have suddenly turned to screams.  A meltdown.

I keep telling myself that I`ll get back to the gym… tomorrow.  That I`ll deal with my personal life… soon.  That I`ll stop spending half my rent on crappy cocktails and go back to ìnvesting` in my wine cellar… just after I pour this drink…

So as New Years approached, I sat down to contemplate, poured myself a nice glass of champagne (my favourite, as you know,) and realized that I couldn`t even taste it.  The champagne.  My life.  My spirit.  All the bubbles were gone.  Meltdown.

I`ll spare you a description of what spilled out over the next several hours, because it wasn`t pretty, I can assure you.  I left only one witness, and he can assure you as well.

I woke up this morning, resolved to actually USE the gift of the New Year for once… and

so I’ve decided to endure the infamous “cleanse”.  Mind, body, spirit, heart, liver, colon… you name it.  It`s time.

Day one involves a cup of coffee sans sugar (yuck,) some herbs, some fibre and a stop at the Kitsilano Mecca: Whole Foods.  I’ve actually never been inside for more than a few minutes, in search of a last minute dinner-party offering, a bunch of flowers or a fancy cheese… but alas, in I go.  Kinda scary. No offence to anyone, of course.  But it is.

I couldn`t believe the selection of strange and expensive necessities that clearly are the true source of life and balance!  I browsed the brown things, perused the juices, and left feeling vicariously healthier, enlightened, overwhelmed, and substantially more broke.

Morning: accomplished.

Here`s hoping that in a week`s time, I can enjoy the subtle flavours of a nice pinot again. Stay tuned… time for some yoga. J