I Died At 40 and My Pubic Hairs Are Gray

When I was in my 20s, I had the energy of a teenager. I was on fire! I was beginning my career, I was enjoying life, I was head-over-heels in love, I had spiritual peace and I found strength being a mom. I learned a lot through the daily hustle and bustle of keeping up with my children, teaching them new things, watching them learn about life and the world around them, "listening" to them grow. I was fortified.

In my 30s, I still had the energy of a 20-year old. I was back in school, still learning, still teaching my children, still loving love and confronting my spiritual views. I got a kick out of being the "oldest" student in my class, but instead of feeling out of place, I felt empowered, capable. My classmates enjoyed learning from me. They wanted to hear what I had to say because my knowledge flowed. My professors enjoyed the challenge from me. I became a dancer again.

I didn't want to change the world, but I was determined to get the world to open their eyes and think, one magazine article at a time. My mind was reeling with ideas and invention. Between the kids' nap time and dinner time, I developed strategies to make them all a reality. I also cooked, cleaned, did laundry, dusted, vacuumed, had sex, wrote, had more sex, picked up toys, read to the kids, got them bathed and into bed, then had more sex before I wrote one final time.

Living was great! Sex was priority. Several times a day, unthinkable times a week. I was in my bubble with the people and things around me, within me that I love, fulfilling me. I was proud to be a stay-at-home/work-from-home mom. I practiced until I learned how to be a devoted mate. I developed.

I noticed the first gray pubic hair when I was 33. I found it amusing. It was an indication that I was maturing. I was arriving! If I could have worn pants with the crouch out to show the world I'm a mature woman, I would have. It was exciting. It was my right of passage; my badge of honor. It was sensually revealing. It was like wearing that one earring that screamed, "I'm different; mysterious." So I walked around smiling all the time. Brilliant.

By 37, there was a small patch. I thought it was cool. Eclectic. So, I got a bunch of meaningful tattoos on my body. I was looking for and finding my natural, eccentric self. I was rad. I stopped getting perms and continued my vegetarian lifestyle, inventing and creating wonderful, scrumptuously, palet-pleasing dishes. I took naturalism to the next level. No pills, no traditional doctors. No insurance. Just me, nature, healthy foods, my naturopath, herbs, natural remedies, wholesome sex and an all around healthy lifestyle.

I lost 50 lbs. by walking and doing 200 jumping jacks, 3 times a day. My energy level was amazing! I was a teenager again. I found Green so my kids and I walked to the grocery store instead of driving. We played outside, went swimming often, we turned cartwheels. We danced. We had wonderful conversations. I was the cheermom for my daughter and the team mom for my son, and I was preparing to send one off to college. We were busy. I checked my patch of gray pubic hair often throughout the day to remind myself that I'm every woman.

I had sex outside on a blanket when it was chilly with just us and the moon. I had sex in the car right outside my door. I had sex at the club when everyone was gone. I wore tastefully revealing clothes, walked with my head a little higher and my career was at its peak. I glowed.

But somewhere between 38 and 40, I guess I stopped looking at my gray patch, because now, there is no black and I have no life. I'm dead.

At 40, I wake up with no purpose; I go to bed with no plan. My mind has the energy of a 20-year old, still. But my body..it just does nothing. There's no sign of life. This is not what I envisioned 40 to be. I always synonymated myself with the likes of Janet Jackson, Mary J. or Halle. The looks, the energy, the success: getting it in at 40 like Beyonce at 27. They problem is, they are. I'm not.

I'm not sure what happened. Most days it feels like I'm walking backwards, away from civilization into a cocoon. The wind currents are taking me back fast. I'm in "Nightmare on Elm Street" because I want to wake up, but I can't open my eyes. They're glued shut. I can't get a grip.

The dreams are still there, but the plans to make them reality are a blur. There's no energy to sort them out. I don't know where to start; how to start. I'm out of sync. I'm off-balance. I'm mortified.

My kids are just humans now. While I still enjoy watching them grow, I find it quite silly that they're going one way one minute, then like a flash of light, they morph toward something strange, different. Odd, I guess. But I'm sure my parents felt the same way about me. Probably still do. They definitely still do.

As one of the most romantic, sensual, sexual people that I think I know, my sex life no longer exists. Strangely though, this part just ceased fire over the past few months--well into my 40th year. So something must be up there. There's no more affection. No more cuddling. No more consideration. Just seems like obligation. Or habit.

Maybe that's an indicator that the relationship is over after all these years. Maybe it was only supposed to last from babies to college. Or could it be that the 60 pounds I gained, the full-blown gray pubic area and my natural d0 is not that appealing. Who the hell knows? Do I even have the energy to care?

I guess I should since my energy is not spent on anything else. I'm not sure, but I don't think I'm cooking, cleaning, socializing or hoping anymore. I'm just not sure. Although...I have to be eating and doing something: I'm fat, my house is not too shabby and I catch a movie once or twice a year. That's social. Right?

My career is...laughable, at best. My life is a rhombus. People are passing me by. Life is passing me by. Success. is. passing. me. by. My brother says I'm like Jay-Z. Great for 40. That is amusing.

I'm not real sure how to tame this nothingness that I've become. I want to, but..but what? I'm out of sorts. And if one person tells me to turn to God again, I'm going to scream! God and I are out-of-sync, right now. He knows it. I know it. The solution is not turning to Him. He's still right there. He's letting me do it. So spare me. Or not. Maybe the right person hasn't given the right advice. I think I go for the profound before I move.

I just have to be still right now because I'm searching for something and I won't know what that is until I find it. Hinduism fascinates me. Buddhism intrigues me. Scientology scares me. Kabbalahism impresses me, then pisses me off. So I'll keep studying.

But for now. I'm dead and my pubic hairs are ALL still gray. Maybe I should just cut them off. Maybe I should just stop looking. They're no longer my muse.

But I will rise again.

Or not. It just sounds dramatic; climatic. I probably won't though.

...until next time.