I’ve decided that most human beings are programmed to start tantrumming around age 2 and–after a period of tantrum decline–ramp up again every decade or so thereafter (i.e., around 12ish, around 20ish, around 30ish, and so forth). I firmly believe that what most of these tantrums are about is the constant push and pull between staying the same and changing. Something deep within us yearns to both cling to our younger selves and to mature…to stay where it’s safe and boldly go where we’ve never gone before.
At 2, part of us wants to be a baby…to be held and cuddled and comforted forever…part of us wants to be independent and separate. At 12, part of us wants desperately to continue pleasing our parents…part of us wants to garner the favor of friends. In our late teens/early 20s, we still want access to mom and dad’s checkbook but we want to make our own decisions, live by our own rules. At 30, we still want to look like we did at 20…have that energy, that body…but we wonder why we haven’t yet accomplished every single one of our “important” goals (e.g., finishing school, making babies, buying our dream house, REALLY making it!, etc.).
And so…at 41…here I sit in the wake of my latest tantrum…fighting ferociously against the inevitable sag and lines that are indicative of 4 decades of (sometimes hard) living while still trying to enjoy tea with my blissfully-aging inner yogi. I’ve done much pondering about what kind of mark I’m supposed to be leaving on the world. I’m pushing and pulling between the woman I want to be now and the woman I want to become before I die…preserving all that has come before while laying the foundation for continued possibilities. As I desperately grab the hands of both my younger and older selves…terrified to let go of either one…I hope that the people I love will forgive the occasional tantrum and will have the good grace to just ignore me until I calm down, figure it out, and move on.
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