Today I celebrate my 40th birthday, and like so many other women, I find myself reflecting on this new chapter of my life. Actually, some years ago I listened to a CD book by Dr. Christiane Northup, called Mother-Daughter Wisdom; in it, she theorized that women's lives are actually more divisible into seven-year stages. That idea makes sense to me, particularly as I revicw my own life: I've moved from babyhood to girlhood, girlhood to adolescence, adolescence to wormanhood, in roughly seven-year stages. Even the last seven-year marker -- the year I turned 35 -- was monumental, in that it marked both the end of my teaching career (I moved away), and the end of my childbearing (I had my tubes tied). So, perhaps I should wait to start a reflective blog such as this until the next seven year stage, when I turn 42. Life being what it is, though, today seems like a good time to start.
"The Back 40", then, refers to the next 40 years or so of my life. I certainly hope I have a Back 50, or even a Back 60 . . . but the truth is, I think my life will be different after 40, and I want to commemorate that. In my first 40 years, I spent so much of my energy building my life -- growing up, leaving home, figuring out who I was . . . then marrying, having children, starting businesses and careers . . . and figuring out who I am all over again. For the next 40, I'm hoping to enjoy what I've started more, to grow what I've planted. I don't need to "reinvent" myself, as some women are wont to do at 40, so much as to quiet myself to see who and what I already am.
"The Back 40" is also a tongue-in-cheek reference to my home, a ranch in northeastern Wyoming. Here, life is lived differently than in the city, or even in the town 40 miles away. I hope to explore that a little through this blog, and to reflect on the lessons this place has to teach me. I've spent my entire day here, having returned from a Denver weekend yesterday, so that the city girl in me could be satisfied. This ranch is a good place to spend a birthday . . . . this morning, I walked across dry, brittle grasses, through leafless cottonwood trees . . . .winter is coming, and the land is in the final stages of its annual death. It's good for me, turning 40, to reflect on the mortality of all life, a mortality we confront each day here. While the rest of the world is decorating in festive reds and greens, tying bows on packages and searching the Internet for Cyber Monday deals, I've left my orange and gold autumn decorations up. I want to look at the beauty of fullness, of the last glow of a life well lived.
In a while, I will have to leave the ranch, to travel to the vet clinic and pick up my old dog, Max. He was kicked in the head by a young gelding yesterday, and my oldest daughters had to take him to the vet. He'll probably lose sight in his eye. It saddens and humbles me, knowing that he was fine one moment, then seriously injured the next. But this, above all, is the lesson I need today: that, despite all the planning and building, despite preparations, goals, and to-do lists, life just happens. I'm not in control. Here in the Back 40, I have to learn to take life as it comes.
