Swinging with Sadness: Lessons from My 35th Birthday

I turned 35 a week ago and have been in a small funk ever since. A wave of sadness hit me, which seems to happen often on my birthday. But aging has taught me that sadness carries important information, and I'm not as scared or inconvenienced by it as I've been in the past. I no longer feel the need to waste time listing all the good things in my life. Spoiler alert: there are many. But that doesn't mean sadness can't have its space too.

"I've learned that sadness shows up to invite us deeper into the things that are important and meaningful. It often has a gift for me."

I've learned that sadness shows up to invite us deeper into the things that are important and meaningful. It often has a gift for me. Even as I write and believe this, I'm not quite sure what this sadness is saying. And so begins the practice of inviting sadness to sit on my imaginary front porch swing, where we can sway in silence for a while. I wonder, sadness, what do you have for me? But sadness just continues to swing, wordless. And I have no words for her either.

So we swing together until a deep emotion wells up and tears begin to fall. They build slowly, then thicken as they rush down my face and land in my hands. I cup my hands, holding the tears until they fill up and spill over my palms. As I look at my hands, I see pictures in the small pool. I see myself: a woman tending to many things. In the pool, I see my children, my husband, my family, friends (close and far), clients, my business. I see longings and dreams. I see regrets. I see a woman trying to tend to herself while tending to others. I see a woman afraid she's not doing enough. Not enough. Who worries about her children. Who wonders how to balance work and mothering. Who fears dropping balls. Who is dropping balls. I see a woman who wants to make the most out of life and also learn to just be. And I see a woman who is tired of swimming.

I feel a warmth in my chest and love welling up for her. I raise my hands, draw her to my lips, kiss her on the forehead, and place her on my lap. I tell her that life is beautiful and awful, and that there's so much love available to her. That she doesn't need to swim anymore. She can just float, and the other things will float too. They can float together, and that is more than enough. And so is she.

"I tell her that life is beautiful and awful, and that there's so much love available to her. That she doesn't need to swim anymore. She can just float, and the other things will float too."

She smiles at me, thankful that I finally noticed. I look up at sadness, but she's gone, and I'm swinging alone with the gift. Until next time, sadness. Thanks for the visit. Next time I'll give you coffee, and you're welcome to stay as long as you like.