I lay in bed last night listening to the wind rush through the trees, and I felt comforted. It was late, long after John had fallen asleep next to me. The dog was curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, and I could hear her whuffle as she chased something in her dreams. The cats had settled in for the night, Natasha at the end of the bed and Keiko right between me and John. "This is what I want," I thought. "This is all I ever wanted." But that's not true.
There's something that comforts me about night, and scares me, too. It's either the safest time of day, or the most frightening, and how I feel about it seems to rest mainly on how well I'm facing up to my problems. No insomnia stalks me, whether I'm tense or relaxed. But lying in the dark for an hour after turning out the lights is one of my favorite times to compose in my head, and to think without feeling pressure. I do a little therapy then, asking myself how things are going. How do I feel about this or that? What am I really protesting when I get so worked up about something even I recognise is insignificant? What do I want to do with the rest of my life?
Many of my friends online are half my age. They're still unsure of who they are, and are in the process of defining themselves. I don't miss that a bit. They think I'm hugely self-confident, and I am. They think this is admirable, and it is. They think they'll never get there, but they will if they have enough courage. I don't know when I learned all my lessons, but I know how much sheer bravery, and sometimes bravado, I had to muster in order to face up to my faults and my virtues and decide how to live with them.
I don't know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I don't have to decide, of course. I could just bumble along. I have enough skills to keep me working until I expire, if that's what I decide to do. I could be a self-employed wife person thingie, if that seems good and right. But the question that's keeping me awake lately, just a little longer than usual, is the open-ended question I've always been afraid to answer: what would I like to do if I didn't have to worry about whether or not I'd make a success of it, but only had to consult my own inclinations?
No quick answers, I'm afraid. But I'm getting closer to hearing the small voice inside, the one that hid away a long time ago because to say what I wanted was to chance having that desire rebuffed and mocked, and mockery has always devastated me. I'm brave, and I'm afraid. But that's okay. That's okay. Because I know now how normal that is. All I have to do is keep trying.