Last week I turned 39. Of course, my next birthday looms. One (supposed) friend was quick to remind me that I am already in my 40th year and am merely biding time until the digits actually catch up. Miska and I have a tradition twice a year, at both of our birthdays – a quiet dinner out, usually a little upscale with appetizers and dessert to make it lavish (we love to celebrate). We reminisce the year that is passing and speak of our hopes for the year to come.
This is what I want for the year ahead. I want to be boldly present. I want to move more into who I am. I want to live the life my heart longs for. I want to be a strong, engaged presence for Miska and my boys – and for all the people I love.
I don’t have time for anything less. I don’t have time to tone down who I am when I think others don’t want it – or can’t handle it. I dont have time to piddle around with fear, giving it power and allowing it to swell up from the shadows. I don’t have time to spend lingering with regret or selfishness. I don’t have time to couch my words or, as George MacDonald says, “to reason with the dark.” I don’t have time for cynicism or pride or false-humility.
I have something to say. I have things I believe, with all I am. I have people to love. I have a life to live.
But for all that other stuff – I’ve got no time.