I turned 42 back in December but my Hebrew birthday was just last week. Those few weeks between my English and Hebrew birthday allowed me to hang onto 41 just a bit longer, but now that the Hebrew date is past, it’s been settled. No more hanging onto 41. I am firmly planted in my 40s now.
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My daughter took this picture as I crawled out of the Bar Kochba caves on our recent trip to Israel (more on that in another post). Caves that I had to crawl on my hands and knees (and sometimes slide on my stomach) through. I had so much anxiety for the entire day before doing this. I was seriously dreading it. Heck, I almost had a panic attack inside the caves!
But deep inside the tunnels, while I was counting the seconds of my inhales and exhales, the tour guide told us a story about the Jews who lived in the caves, Jews who were forced to hide from the Roman soldiers who would kill them if they found them. In that moment, I was grateful that I wasn’t forced to live in those caves day after day, month after month. This was just a hour-long excursion I was doing for fun.
When I finally emerged (after – let’s be honest – what seemed like the longest hour of my life), I asked my daughter to snap a pic so that I could always look back on the moment and remember how I had conquered my fear that day.
It’s funny. In my 20s and 30s, I simply declined when people asked me about doing things that scared me or were remotely athletic. Ziplining? Rappelling? Snorkeling? Swimming in a lake? Holding a snake? “No thanks,” I laughed. “Not for me.”
But in my 40s, I feel compelled to do all the things. Even if those things make me uncomfortable. If you invite me to go wakeboarding, I just might say yes. Do an improv class with complete strangers? Sure, why not? Join a ballroom dancing class at the community center? Yes, please. I’m not content to sit on the sidelines anymore. I want to get in the game, even if I’ll look silly trying.
At one point, inside the caves, I had to pull myself up through a hole in the ceiling to another crawl space. After many unsuccessful attempts (during which my children couldn’t stop laughing), my daughter finally crawled back underneath me and pushed me up. Needless to say, it was not my most graceful moment.
But it doesn’t matter. Because grace is not what I’m after. It’s trying something new, just because I can. And while I still can, I will. Here’s to 42.