Somewhere Between Winter and Whatever Comes Next

If you also follow my newsletter, The Writer in the Wild, then you may be aware that I turned 50 on Saturday, which feels like a strange sentence to actually be saying. I somehow still think of 50 as "my parents' age," even though they're both a lot closer to 80 these days.

Naturally, milestone birthdays carry a lot of cultural baggage. There’s always the implied expectation that you’ll either spiral or up and decide to reinvent yourself overnight for no real reason. I did neither of those things, because that just isn't how I roll.

If memory serves, I had coffee with Seth, spent a small amount of time writing, worked on the yard a bit, and enjoyed a hefty bowl of tortelloni with pesto for dinner.

At no point did I have an existential crisis of any kind. This birthday has actually felt more like stepping into a room that had apparently always been there waiting for me, only now the lights are on, and I can actually see what’s in it.

And what’s in it, apparently, is a house in mid-transformation, a growing collection of delightfully unsettling objects, and a version of me who has completely stopped trying to pretend she doesn’t like any of it.

The House, Which Is Part of the Point

The house has continued to change in small, persistent ways. No HGTV-style overhaul, where everything gets ripped out and replaced in a weekend while someone cries over backsplash options involved, though. Instead, we've been orchestrating something a lot more deliberate (and a lot slower, as I'm a busy girl).

We’re still spending a lot of time and energy clearing space, and every cleared surface reveals another one that needs attention. This has been equal parts frustrating (because the cleanout crew was supposed to handle all that) and satisfying (as it's been good for me to find out I'm capable of a lot more than I thought).

Either way, though, the house feels like it's finally willing to cooperate, now that we’ve shown some initiative.

My workspace, in particular, has started to come together in a way that finally feels personal rather than thrown together, the way maybe it has in the past. Because for years, it was honestly just a place to get things done, rather than a curated space to really spend time, exist, and enjoy my productive time.

That’s changing.

In addition to a space to write in peace, I also finally have a proper space for accumulating and organizing spiritual supplies — a potential aspect of my practice I'd been avoiding, as I just didn't have the space for the stuff before.

But there are jars now, waiting to be filled, labeled, and situated. Cute, small vintage ones, I can line up in a way that suggests purpose rather than clutter. Herbs, crystal chips, and little bits of color and texture that catch the light at different times of day.

It feels a bit like I'm opening a very niche apothecary that operates exclusively out of a corner of my office space. Give it another month, and I might start charging admission. (Gotta get that Cheddar, yo.)

There are also skulls.

A fox. A cat. Both placed carefully, and both completely unbothered by anyone’s opinion about them. There's no attempt to recontextualize them as something more "acceptable," because Seth likes the same things I do. They exist as exactly what they are, which contributes to exactly the energy I want in that space.

I'm assembling a small court of other bio specimens, as well, including an octopus, a crab, a bat, and multiple preserved insects.

In other words, I'm building a right proper Frankenstein-style workspace that accurately reflects all of my interests, really for the first time in my life. This includes my interests in magick, spirituality, meditation, and science.

Feels good, man!

Unexpected Contributions

Seth is actually the one responsible for my awesome desk and filing cabinet (which now doubles as an everyday altar). And my mom has been contributing to the space in her own way, as well, which has been really nice.

She gave me some crystals to hang in the window and catch the morning sunlight, plus a chakra-themed crystal lamp for next to my computer.

And there’s something beautifully interesting and comforting about the fact that some of the things in my new space came from people other than myself — really the only people who've consistently and voluntarily been part of my life all the way through.

It's had me thinking lately about how this isn't how I pictured my life playing out by the time I reached 50. But with the house clean and room to decorate and make it our own to a greater extent than it has been up to this point, I feel like it's shaping up to be a good life regardless.

Somewhere Between Seasons

The spring equinox is tomorrow, which feels appropriate to what's going on in a way that borders on suspicious timing.

This is one of those really weird springs so far, though. The flowers came up early, including all the calla lilies around the property. Usually, we're lucky to see a lily bloom by Easter, but this year, we had quite a few in full bloom by the time my birthday even rolled around.

We're also having a weird heat wave this week that has things feeling a lot more like summer than spring, despite the fact that it's still technically winter for one more day.

And that’s where things are right now.

The air feels strange. Part of that just has to do with the fact that I'm actually in a position to properly do springtime house things for a change, like open more of the windows, hang things that catch the same light I used to avoid, and partake in the kinds of cleaning tasks that haven't really been possible around here for a long time.

But I've always kind of liked the equinox. Right now, what I’m doing with it looks a lot like continuing what I’ve already started.

What Stays, What Moves, What Finds Its Place

There’s still a lot of work to do. There always is, and some days, it feels like it's never going to be finished.

There are still spaces to clear and decisions to make about what stays and what goes. More small adjustments that will probably lead to even more adjustments after that. But for the first time in a while, I feel like I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.

I know what I like and what feels right in my space. I know what belongs near me and what doesn’t.

I’ll keep adding things that feel aligned with who I consider us to be at this stage of our lives, even if they’re a little (or a lot) weird. I’ll keep writing, because that’s always been part of the process, whether I acknowledge it right out loud or not.

And thankfully, 50 doesn’t feel like the dead end I was worried it would for a while. Instead, it feels like a proper continuation with better lighting (and dead butterflies everywhere).

So, I guess if there’s a running theme that connects all of the things I'm babbling about here today — if there’s something tying together that birthday, the equinox, the house, the skulls, the jars, and all the quiet contributions from unexpected places — it’s that fact that things are finally figuring out where they belong around here.

Including me.