Once upon a time, there was a little girl with long, brown braids, tiny freckles, and a big imagination. She loved to sit in the tree in her family’s backyard and write poems about pigeons and squirrels. Her soul was transported by birdsong, blue skies, books, and big dreams.
She knew—she’d always known—that she was somehow strangely different from the rest of the world. She felt too much and dreamed too much and hurt too much. Everything about her was either too much or too little. She watched other girls and didn’t understand how they made friends so easily, played with such abandon, and never seemed to worry or hurt like she did. She became more and more certain as the years passed that everyone else had been given a road map to follow—some kind of guide to life that she had missed. She watched and wrote and read, trying to make sense of a world that seemed insensible.
And when she couldn’t make sense of it—when the world, like her, became too much—she hid from it, trying not to feel the enormity of its pain. She fell headlong into a pit of addiction and despair so deep that she was sure she would never climb out. Her pain grew and grew until all she saw and felt and wanted was darkness. Silence. An ending.
Obviously, my story didn’t end there. I got sober, and my life changed in ways I never could have imagined. But that wasn’t the end of my story, either. I had thought it would be. I had thought I’d get sober, finally figure out my life, and spend the rest of it drifting through metaphorical meadows of wildflowers, hand in hand with Monty, searching the sky for rainbows. Because really—what would be left for me to do, once I’d arrived at my destination—clean and sober, with solutions to all my problems?
That was a lovely dream, but of course it didn’t happen that way. Sobriety, cliché though it may be, is a journey, not a destination. A couple of years ago, I was talking to a friend, and he said, “My life is half over. I have to figure out what I want to do with the second half.” I felt immense pity for him, thinking, Wow. Half over. You must be older than I thought. But even while I gave him a supportive smile, I did a little math in my head and—uh oh. The pity shifted to me—my life is half over, too! Later that night, self-pity turned to near panic as I started ruminating on the enormity of that thought: My life is half over. What’s the point in changing now? Why did I waste so many years? Is it too late? And if it isn’t too late, then what? What am I going to do to make the second half matter? I could almost hear the theme song for the “Jeopardy” countdown playing over and over in my head.
I spent hours thinking and panicking before finally writing down my fears and then praying for answers. God didn’t give me answers, at least not the type I’d hoped for. He didn’t give me that road map I’d wanted since I was a little girl. Instead, He reassured me through His word that I was exactly where I needed to be. He led me to books about people who had had journeys similar to mine—people who didn’t really get started until their second half of life, either. Through their examples, He showed me that the first half of my life hadn’t been a waste; it had been a training ground for the second half. (He also showed me that He has a sense of humor. One night when I’d been particularly whiny and melodramatic in my prayer journal about my life and how my time was slipping away like sands through an hourglass, I decided to check my email before I dragged my aging bones to bed. Waiting in my inbox was a newsletter about the “Poet of the Month.” The featured poet was Stanley Kunitz, who became the Poet Laureate for the second time at 95 years old. I felt like God was saying, “Relax. You’re not dead yet. You’re not even 95—yet.”)
Stanley Kunitz
One of the hardest parts of coming to terms with my life at that point was comparing myself to other people: Wow! She’s ten years younger than me and published two books already! Look at that lady—she has five kids—and not only is she amazing, her youngest kid has accomplished more in his life than I have! Whenever I compared myself to others, I always fell short. I felt like I’d been trying to catch up with everybody else my whole life.
Again and again, through the books I read, the music I listened to, even my own journaling, God reminded me that I was on my own unique journey to find my place in the world—to discover my voice and begin to use it. God has shown me, and continues to show me, that He can use the traits of that little girl whose spirit was awakened by birds singing, who never felt like she belonged, and whose heart was so easily wounded that pain nearly broke her. He’s using those years of feeling different to develop in me a deep sensitivity to others who feel like they don’t belong. And He’s using the pain I still feel—physically and emotionally—to keep me very close to Him.
I don’t know what the second half of my life will hold. But that doesn’t scare me anymore. All I ask for, in the years I have left, is for God to use me for His glory. I don’t even want a road map anymore; there’s tremendous freedom in living one day at a time and trusting God to lead me to each next step. Monty will vouch for the fact that I can’t read maps, anyway. There are still moments when I start to hear the old “Jeopardy” countdown song or have a sudden visual of an hourglass running out, and I have to remind myself that God is holding that hourglass, and I trust Him. I also remind myself of Stanley Kunitz, the poet I mentioned earlier. He lived to be a hundred. And he wrote a poem a day until the day he died. Inspirational? Of course. But I also take solace in the fact that I’m not even half as old as he was when he died. So I might have more than half of my life left.
Where are you on your journey? Whatever your story is, no matter how different it is from mine, you’re somewhere on that line of life with me. You might still be in your first half of life. Or maybe you’re many years into what you think is your second half. Wherever you are on that line, it’s not too late to make your life matter. And it’s not too late to change the ending. None of us knows when that ending will be, anyway. Stanley Kunitz probably thought in his eighties that his ending was getting close. And he had twenty more years of poems to write. What will you do with the rest of your life?
“No doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.”
Stanley Kunitz
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Comments 15
I love the “hour glass”, we actually had one as an egg timer? The first two paragraphs describe me as accurately as you describe yours, except for sitting in a tree, I think my mother would have killed me if I did. I hid in our little library where noisy kids could not disturb me? And where my slightly younger sister would not ask me to play with her! At 12 we moved to new Zealand and that was a tough one without the language but at the same time great with a big house to roam in and be left alone. I made only one friend in all the time we were there, but then my mother could not adjust and back to Holland we moved. Never did make another friend when I got home again and would not speak to my mother for a long time because she took me away from my one friend?
I am now, what some describe as the last third of my life, the previous generation all gone and it will be our turn next, our grandparents and parents have gone before us. If anything I think I am leaving a legacy of loving others and trying to make this a better world for all and a legacy for my children and grandchildren in always accepting them, loving them, sewing for them and doing with them. I want to be remembered by my actions and deeds and always leaving room for yet another person to be welcomed into this home–always leaving that extra place at the table for one alone!
I trust God He has a plan for me and as such I will continue to putter, create and find joy in each moment given to me, however simple it may be–and be thankful I have a life, a home, children and grandchildren to love and care for.
I loved your comment about its a “journey” and accepting that is how we need to approach our choices, past experiences and anxieties of the future. Making the “second half” of our lives matter.
Thank you, Sarah. I do want so much to make my second half matter! Thank you for taking the time to read my words.
I sure do love the way you wield words, Renee. It’s like a film projector casting living color images onto a screen framed by a black and white world. Thanks for stirring and quickening the soul as you do.
Thank you so much for YOUR words, Ron. You’ve given me an image to keep in mind and strive for. I so appreciate you taking the time to read my words.
What a beautiful insight and revelation! I too look at my life in this way. Acceptance came to mind as I read your words. Words if hope and inspiration, a belief in something larger than our own lives. Could this be what all of us with an addiction have been looking for. I say many times when I share, God had me where he wanted me to get sober. Everything I had gone through, was a test for the time I came to believe. This journey will be never ending until I am called home.
Thank you so much, Mark. Yes, I do think that all of us with addiction are looking for something bigger–I know if I didn’t have “something bigger” than myself to believe in, I’d be in some serious trouble. How blessed we are to have found that, and have found others in the recovery community to share our burdens with. I love what you said, “God had me where He wanted me to get sober.” Oh, such truth there. I know enough about your journey to know how much you mean those words. Your journey and your story inspire me and others, I’m sure. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts.
Another brilliant post!
Unless I have an historically long life, I am most definitely into my second half. I’ve found that when I was young, I never worried about my life span. In my late 40’s, thoughts of my mortality started to pop into my head. Now, as I’m about to enter into the second half of my 50’s, I find that the thought of death really doesn’t bother me and in fact it seems quite peaceful. Oddly enough, what bothers me is not knowing. Not knowing how things will turn out, what will happen, what life might be like in a couple of centuries. I want to live longer than others in my life – not because it is a competition, but because I don’t want them mourning me. My life has been great, is great, and will be great. No mourning!
I’m in the final decade of my professional career, and that also brings a peace. Now I focus on legacy items – helping develop those I’ve hired, mentoring young professionals – trying to help them avoid mistakes that I’ve made. I find comfort in that thread of experience continuing through others.
Uncle Brent, thank you so much! I’m definitely following that life path of thoughts that you had. I hope in my fifties that I feel the kind of peace you talk about. I’m working on it. I’m so with you on being bothered about “not knowing”–what will life be like in the future? how will the younger generations turn out? and what technology will develop?
Your phrase “legacy items” has made me think all day. I often wonder what my legacy will be–not having children makes me wonder who will even remember I was here. So I really love what you wrote about a legacy through your work and through teaching and mentoring others. Thank you so much for that thought.
And thank you, more than I can say, for taking the time to read my words and share such a thoughtful comment.
Renee, you continue to amaze, with the depths of your topics. Now that I have reached age 75, Wow. On your Poets scale, I am 3/4 through. But, I am Not through. First phase of my life, “Growing Pains”, High School, college, Uncle Sam. Next, “Reckless Years”, 2 failed marriages, But, 3 Beautiful Children, producing 5 Beautuful Grandchildren . When I say Reckless, deliberate self destruction of the the two marriages. Third stage, through the Grace of God, Imet Debbie, almost 16 years my junior. After 3 months of dating, marriage. Almost 39 years later, some “dips” in the road,But, Debbie is My Rock. , . Now, today. With a Focus in God, much prayers bymydeceased mom, Marion. I am totally committed to , not only The Lord,,But Senior volunteering. Still,some dark thoughts,but, I steer back on the Lord’s path. I am not perfect, by a log shot, however, am doing what I feel, the Right Things. I always like to it a song, I in to my ”verbalizing”. I did things, “My Way”, up to Debbie. Two songs I would like for my funeral, 1)Ler’s Take The Long Way Around The World (Debbie):and “I’ve Had TheTimeof My Life”, beacause I have. Regrets, yes, but……Thank You Renee.. p.s. I have had some great dogs. “skipper”, “Schultz”, and “Mickey”.
Harold–you have taught me so much about “not being through” with your life. You are so blessed to have found Debbie when you did. And you’ve definitely found your purpose and mission in your work with your seniors. I love how you traced the hand of God through your life. And “I’ve Had the Time of my Life” would be an amazing song to be able to relate to at the end of your life. Don’t want to think about your funeral, though! Thanks for sharing, my friend.
Ha ha ha! You don’t need road maps where we’re going!! ??
Just follow the ride and get off where he says!!
So true!
Sweet Rennee
This was so succinct to me I have difficulty describing my parallel life.
I’m going to have to put some serious thought into this input.
Where am I on my journey??
I’m on the best gift God could have given me.
I have the absolute best friend of my life and her hard working daughter and some of the sweetest big labs I’ve ever known.
All this after I squandered my adult life.
I ramble here but you started me up:-)
Peace out!
You have touched a part of my life that I have buried many years ago.
I could use you as a private sounding board but I have long come to grips with my mistakes and loses.
Steve–you didn’t ramble, and you can use me as a sounding board any time. I like that you started out answering the question of “Where am I on my journey?” by listing your blessings. I don’t believe that you squandered any part of your life; God redeems and uses all of it. ALL of it. I definitely understand that feeling, though. Thank you for saying that I made you think–there’s no higher compliment for me as a writer. Oh, and if you’re interested–the quote by Stanley Kunitz is from a poem of his called “The Layers.” Every time I read it, I’m encouraged. Thank you for blessing me with your words tonight, Steve.