The Ordinary, Epic, Double Nickels Birthday

   

     It’s the night before my 55^th birthday, and my boyfriend Don and I are in bed, at a hotel room in Estes Park, hoping to get a decent night’s sleep before tomorrow’s big hike. “Trying” is the key word. The neighbors above us are clunking around- it’s 2 am and I swear they’re re-arranging furniture. Our bed sags a bit in the middle, the room is not as squeaky clean as you’d think it should be during a pandemic, and I’m already worried about Covid germs; especially after spending a couple hours roaming around a very crowded downtown. I can’t sleep, which is nothing new, but the corona virus worries, and my upcoming entrance into old age, are adding to the insomnia woes.  Suddenly my phone dings, which startles me because usually before bed I set it on silent- I must’ve forgot. I am pleased to see it’s a text from my 20 year old niece, but for a moment I panic. It’s so late, why is she texting? Is she in trouble? Or her brother…or my Dad? Here I go, catastrophizing before I even read it. I open up the message and this is what it says: “Happy Birthday Auntie, I love you so much and I’m so thankful to have a role model like you in my life. Thank you for being so supportive and always being a ray of sunshine to those around you.” 

      WOW.  Just like that, I matter. Just like that, I make a difference. And just like that, I think I might be able to sleep. I read it over and over again, making sure it is indeed a thoughtful and positive message and that it is real.  I think to myself, is it possible to have an “ah-ha” moment in the middle of the night that will change the course of my life? What if my purpose all along has been just that? To make a difference in my niece and nephew’s life. To make a difference period. To spread sunshine, to be a joyful role model.  I swear I felt my body let go, in that moment, of everything I’ve been holding on so tight to for the past 54 years. Is it that easy? Can I just let go of all the pressure, regrets, unhappiness, bad choices, the grief?  I remember years ago, when I was a bartender in Southern California, one of my middle-aged regulars used to tell me to smile more often. Smile, he’d say, it’s not so bad. I’d reply, easy for you to say. You’re rich, you have a boat, you drink during the day. I’m scraping by on your lousy tips, and singing old Pat Benatar songs at night to make my rent.  He’d tell me, you can make a choice every morning to be happy. You don’t have to carry around all that negative energy. Just smile. I’ve thought about that for years, about how it’s so easy for some people, but it seems like it’s so much more than just a choice. What about depression, what about financial struggles, what about my migraines, what about racism and the worldwide pandemic and the creepy man in the white house…with all of these obstacles, how can I just decide to be happy? But the more times I read my niece’s message, the more I thought, what if it is that easy? I matter to someone, to a lot of someones. And can’t that just be enough? Why shouldn’t it be? What if right now I make a decision to let all the bad stuff go, to relax, to live in the moment, and to just feel good about myself? And for the first time in my life it WAS easy. Why have I been holding on to all this pain, for all these years, when really, I am surrounded by love? And love is always the answer. 

     I didn’t get much sleep that night, because I pondered this revelation for hours (leave it to me to overthink happiness). But in the morning, I felt good. Sure, I was tired, but I was happy. My niece loves me, my boyfriend is my best friend, and we are setting off on a glorious hike in the Rocky Mountains. And, it’s my birthday. It’s my day.  I’m 55 years old and I feel fantastic, better than I did at 35 (It must be all the quarantine rest I’m getting).  Our hike that day was one of, if not the best, ever. We had to leave our car at a park n ride and grab a shuttle to the trailhead, normally something that would aggravate me, but it really didn’t take long.  It gave me a chance to appreciate all of our fellow hikers, wearing masks in the shuttle line and following rules (We are living in a whole new world these days and I appreciate the rule followers).  We set off for Sky Pond from the Glacier Gorge trailhead before 9am, which is a whole new record for me. Already I’m starting 55 on a good note. The trail was glorious, a wide path with lots of wooden steps and quaint little bridges, scatterings of Indian Paintbrush and other wildflowers amongst the trees, up close views of the glorious Alberta Falls, the tiniest chipmunks I’ve ever seen, and an ascent so gradual we didn’t realize how far we’d climbed. Loch Vale, a beautiful subalpine mirror-like lake, sits at about 10,000 feet a couple miles up the trail, surrounded by a spectacular gorge and majestic peaks.  It’s really an astonishing trail, with all these amazing views that I sometimes take for granted.  I thought about how much I miss my life in California, the beach and the ocean and the sunsets, but then I realized, the angst I feel about my old life is really detrimental to my current happiness, and why am I still pining for the beach when I’m surrounded by this? I never even got in the water, and the beach itself is so, well, so sandy and crowded, and here I am at one of the most popular destinations in the country, so who cares about the beach? This is my life now, that was my old life, and I’m going to embrace this new life. It’s that easy. Right?  And just as I was opening my mouth to impress Don with this newfound positivity, the most glorious animal I’ve ever seen stepped out from the forest and walked right across the trail, no more that 30 feet from us. A mountain bull elk, with antlers so high that from hooves to tip he was probably 10 feet tall. His fur was a shiny copper brown and his antlers were still covered in velvet. Now, we’ve seen elk all over the place in Estes Park, but never one right up close, sharing the trail, and never one so magnificent that it took my breath, and my words, away.  Just as we gave up trying to take it’s picture, ANOTHER one walked across the trail behind us, and just casually started eating an aspen tree branch. He was so calm, paying no attention to the ten or so hikers taking photos and videos. I will never in a million years be able to describe the magic of this moment, you had to be there, but I swear I’ve never felt closer to God, or some kind of higher power. It’s like the universe said: Here you go, here is a beautiful gift of nature to remind you that life is still full of miracles, even after 50.  

We stayed perfectly still in that moment for awhile, snapped a few pictures, and as we were on our way, Don hugged me and said, “That was for you honey, Happy Birthday”.  I said to him, this is my best birthday ever. Maybe even my best day ever. 

     The rest of the hike was full of more wondrous views, 3 more female elks, and a surprisingly snowpacked and treacherous scramble to the final destination. I didn’t feel like risking my life just to see a tiny pond, especially after sharing such magical space with our elk friends, so we ate our sandwiches under a windy waterfall and decided to head back. My day was already done, nothing else was going to impress me. On the way down, in between paying attention to my feet and the hazardous rocks that have sent me catapulting in the past, I thought about signs,kismet, serendipity, fate, destiny, chance, karma. For most of my adult life, I’ve been striving. Striving to feel worthy, successful, needed, appreciated. Striving for success, financially and emotionally, striving to be someone my family is proud of. The problem with striving is, it’s exhausting, and you never get there. All of a sudden, I think, I’m done. I’m through with striving. All it took was a loving message from my niece and 2 giant elks on the trail. Signs. Kismet. The universe telling me, You Are Enough. You Are Loved. And because you are so worthy, here is a striking creature of the wild, willing to share his space with you. Here is a man that loves you and hikes with you and nurtures you, so you can stop grieving over your past. The toxic relationships and the failed marriage don’t matter anymore, because you have him. It’s like all the bad choices and mistakes and unobtainable goals and all the striving led me right to this moment. This moment where I feel purpose. I am a very well loved auntie, so maybe I should let go of my “no kids of my own” pain. I am in a healthy, fulfilling relationship, something so many people never experience, and he hikes with me! What more could a woman want? Time to let go of past heartache. Sure, I’m poor and have health problems, and I’m not the rockstar I set out to be all those years ago, but so what? If my life had taken a different, more “successful” turn, then maybe I wouldn’t be such a hands on auntie and daughter and friend and maybe I wouldn’t have time to hike, and then I never would’ve seen my magical elks. And honestly, I think that moment in the wild was more gratifying than any amount of money or gold records or “success”.  It was a moment that stirred something in my soul, and I will never ever forget the peace I felt when that animal crossed our path. 

     My mom, who truly is my biggest fan, has suggested more than once that I write my memoirs. I laugh and say, what is so interesting about my life? I feel like memoir writers should be hiking the Pacific Crest Trail or be previous First Ladies or come from some sort of awful tragedy like schizophrenic fathers or concentration camps. Memoir writers grow up in the Louisiana swamplands and fend for themselves, or travel to Italy and Asia to seek self fulfillment. Memoir writers have drug addicted children or destitute childhoods and then go on to achieve great fame. I told my therapist once, my life is so ordinary. Who wants to hear my story? I am nobody, I have never done or experienced anything epic. She replied, “Maybe the epic is in the ordinary.”  30 years of therapy and finally it all clicked, yes, the epic is in the ordinary. 

     My 55^th birthday hike was epic, my relationships and friendships are epic, my story-my journey-is not always epic to me, but maybe it is to someone else. Maybe my trials and tribulations with cripping depression and anxiety disorders, my tainted past, my tumultuous lovers, my chronic migraines mixed with moments of unadulterated joy, my brief walks with fame, maybe all of this is epic. So maybe one day I will write my memoirs. For now, I’m desperately holding on to the way I felt on that trail, on my “double nickels” birthday, telling myself every day that miracles are everywhere and it’s my choice and my duty to open my eyes to them, and to see the Epic in the Ordinary.