On Turning
Today I turn 40.
And what does that even mean…”turn”.
/tərn/
verb:
move (something) so that it is in a different position in relation to its surroundings or its previous position.
"we waited in suspense for him to turn the cards over"
noun:
a change of direction when moving.
”the vehicle slowed and made a turn to the left"
Holy shit.
40.
It’s just another day, sure, but this one feels big. I feel big. I mean, I have big feelings.
Forty years is a long time to live and learn and fail and love and listen and speak and fight and fall and forgive.
I feel all the memories of all those things.
I remember the day my mother turned 40. She taught literature. (I loved to watch her teach. Especially Shakespeare. Or Anne Frank.) She’d just gotten a new perm (it looked fabulous), and we were going to the grocery store after school because that was her life and she had to feed her family and going to Sunflower during rush hour in a rainstorm to get dinner is exactly what she wanted to be doing on her birthday, no doubt. It was pouring outside. She was wearing a bright red lip and a beige blouse and I remember agonizing through hopeful prayer that the rain would let up so she wouldn’t feel tousled, that she could shine like every 40 year old birthday girl should. It was February. She’s an Aquarius.
Cars slowed as she drove our big maroon Oldsmobile through the busy intersections along Highway 82, blinking headlights illuminating the dark sky. Drivers were honking their horns, waving and shouting to us, but we couldn’t understand what they were saying because windows were streaked. “What. On. Earth,” I think she may have whispered.
I remember waving back to every single person. I remember giggling the whole time. I remember feeling such joyful curiosity. The moment was full of signals and they were all pointing to us. Something GOOD was happening. I could feel it. I could feel all of it.
We parked and rushed inside the store, and when we walked back out the clouds had parted and the rain had ceased. (There was probably a rainbow, come to think of it.) Approaching our car we noticed a laminated poster board adhered to the front bumper: Lordy, Lordy, Pam is 40! Honk & Wave 👋
My ten year old heart was overcome with so much love for everything that moment represented—thoughtfulness, joy, birthday laughter, my Mama.
As I write this, I’m on my way to the third of many meals and festive occasions I’ll share in celebration of my 40th. Driving to my favorite little French restaurant (cheese and bread and wine await!), I’ve intentionally turned to park alongside the harbor. I’ve ventured out of my car to come and sit outside for a moment. I need to write this down.
There is an elderly man sitting on another bench close by and when I arrived he said, “Do you believe it is love?”
Caught off guard, I stammered back to him, “What do you mean…love?”
“Your Subaru. They say Subaru is love. Is it? Do you believe it is?”
(Oh, the car. My station wagon. Of course. And to think, I though he might just be an angel, asking if I believe in love!)
YES.
Yes, I absolutely do. It’s all love, silly. It begins and ends with love. It is the truest, most natural desired feeling.
And if I am turning to something new today, this 40-year marker, may it please be love. Abundant, radiant love. May I reflect it so brightly.
And may we all remember to honk and wave when it’s pouring and it’s Wednesday after work and there’s somebody out there trying to get where they need to go (who might have a daughter that’s by her side, watching her all along the way) that might just be delighted to get a honk and a wave. It might even be her birthday.
May we all take pause to remind a stranger (and, perhaps, even ourselves) that it’s all about love. Love, after all, is our greatest truth.
To love! To my Mama! TO FORTY!
