The First Taste
I had so many ideas for my 40th birthday jamboree. Hatchet throwing in our dresses and suits. A weekend house party. Others, too. I was desperate for it to be different in some way and I was beginning to see why my guys who turned forty before me were having trouble figuring out what to do. It felt so big and it could set the tone for my next decade. A lot of kind friends were telling me that it’s just a number and I would nod. But in the copy room, I had the revelation that I didn’t want it to be just a number. I wanted it to be meaningful and different. Like if it’s just a number, my thirties have been the same as my twenties and like, I don’t know about you, but that’s terrifying. The idea of juggling so many hedgehogs for the next ten years and running full tilt isn’t at all what I want. I want to streamline. I want to focus. Daintier, smarter, better dressed! Daintier, smarter, better dressed!
That might be my actual mantra for my forties.
To me, the party is the ritual fun part of setting my intention for the next decade. So I started thinking about what I actually wanted versus what I thought I “should” want. Like I don’t need to be slamming tequila shots to express happiness. I’m not twenty-three anymore. I realized that it didn’t have to be done in a day, that’s too much pressure anyway and historically that has never been a great fit for me to feel feelings on command.
So, I arranged a lovely happy hour full of oysters, penne vodka, calamari and St. Germain cocktails with my best bitches, sweet talking us into a table where I got to hold court with some of my favorite ladies. I had dinner with my mom, sister and nephew. We were slated to go to a high end restaurant, but I realized that wasn’t my life anymore or even what I wanted my life to be, unless I was sitting at the bar. And LittleMan is a little young for that still. Instead, we went to a less hive inducing farm to table, one of my favorite places, so we could discuss Harry Potter in the full spectrum of detail Mr. Potter deserves over a rack of local lamb and an old fashioned with a warm cookie sundae with marshmallow gelato that was supposed to be for LM to share but somehow wound up devoured by me and my sister (never fear, he had his own ice cream). I realized while I love evening parties, I hate that Victorian feeling of being all dressed up with no place to go but my parlor. So we decided to do a brunch party on Sunday with lobster mac and cheese, parmesan risotto, roast beef sliders, cheese plate, smoked salmon plate and lots of other goodies. We drank so much champagne and St. Germain and our friends brought us the loveliest gifts. Jow and I took Monday off to spend the day together and we cleaned up and went to brunch. The tone had been set.
My friend Cat (who runs lovely events) had said to me several months ago when we were having drinks and eating shakshuka that she thought I would be one of those women who received a complete lack of fucks to give for my fortieth from The (Goddamn) Universe (Herself). It sounded possible but I didn’t realize that it was going to become my reality the week before my birthday and seems to be setting pretty firmly. If you’ve followed me for any length of time, you know I try to be Neutral AF. I feel like internet arguments are like putting lipstick on a pig. I’m not going to change your mind, you’re not going to change mine. But I’ve come to realize that part of why I do that is because I’m waiting for the other person to say that I’m just a dumb bitch anyway and no one cares what I think. And that can fuck right off. I’ve spent over two decades learning, practicing magic, practicing intersectional feminism, practicing ritual work, speaking and writing and I deserve the voice I’ve developed and more over it’s my sacred duty to say something when my moral compass feels that I can influence a situation. So I’ve been doing exactly just that. Most things still aren’t worth getting involved with, but some are. And I need to speak up for myself and maybe, just maybe, help others be brave enough to use their voices too by using mine.
Sometimes Austerity Isn’t the Answer Because the Answer is Worse
I had planned to make the first forty days of forty an austerity. I was going to give up added sugar and alcoholic and build up all this righteous tapas fire and light myself on fire. Except, as I was progressing, I was noticing that nothing was happening spiritually. All of my usual cues were silent.
(Jow re: time to make significant change, my austerity that became a life change, the gym)
Fix Your Situation: House Edition
(KonMari, Jacqueline Gates)
Fix Your Situation: Inner Terrarium Edition
(Jared: re relaxing, Sunday Funday with Jow – Alchemist Kitchen, beauty regime, new Korean spa, grocery shopping for fun)