I am writing this at midnight on my 29th birthday.
October always stirs up bittersweetness for me. I grieve for the end of warm days and sunshine for the year, dread the coming cold and snow, and watch the days get shorter and shorter. At the same time, I am desperately soaking in the stunning beauty that is Michigan in the fall, and celebrating the beginning of another year in my life.
Turning 29 feels especially bittersweet. I remember childhood birthdays when all I had to do was pick out which treat I wanted to bring to my class, and which decoration theme I wanted at my party. This week I went to work, spent two hours on the phone with customer service, got a flu shot, and chose my health benefits for the next year. Not as fun as Rice Krispie treats and purple and blue balloons.
Just like October is a threshold between seasons, 29 is a threshold in my life. I’m soaking in the last bit of my 20s, a decade that has held college, seminary, my ordination, the start of my career, the start and end of relationships and friendships, moving across the state, coming out, finding my voice, learning who I am, and changing all the time. I am looking ahead to my 30s with a bit of fear and a lot of excitement. I am feeling the sadness that comes with an ending as well as the hope of a beginning.
A beloved poet of mine, John O’Donohue, writes this about thresholds:
A threshold is not a simple boundary; it is a frontier that divides two different territories, rhythms and atmospheres. Indeed, it is a lovely testimony to the fullness and integrity of an experience or a stage of life that it intensifies toward the end into a real frontier that cannot be crossed without the heart being passionately engaged and woken up. . .It is wise in your own life to be able to recognize and acknowledge the key thresholds; to take your time; to feel all the varieties of presence that accrue there; to listen inward with complete attention until you hear the inner voice calling you forward. The time has come to cross.
from To Bless the Space Between Us
As I enter this threshold space, I am trying to do as John says, and “Feel all the varieties of presence” here. The nostalgia, the hope, the fear, the grief, the anticipation, the joy. Throughout this year, I will take time to reflect on the decade behind me and the bittersweetness of all that it brought.
O’Donohue closes this piece with these words: “Whatever comes, the great sacrament of life will remain faithful to us, blessing us always with visible signs of invisible grace. We merely need to trust.”
I trust that my 30s will also be filled with sweetness and bitterness, as well as many more “visible signs” of grace and goodness. I trust that I will change and grow, there will be beginnings and endings, firsts and lasts, newness and familiarity. When 30 arrives, I will welcome whatever it brings me.
This is enlightening. I want to contemplate the thresholds in my life.
The endings and beginnings within life … so well written, and with a fine quotation from your poet friend. It’s not as much fun as purple and blue balloons – love that comparison … and the Rice Krispie treats. I, too, btw, am a Calvin grad (66) and WTS (69) – have served my entire career in the PCUSA, now living in Pasadena … still working, as interim … still crossing thresholds … with sadness as the earlier recedes and some delight in wonderment about what remains of my journey. You’re a fine writer, and I suspect a fine chaplain. Blessings and Peace. Oh, and btw, I was a minister at St. Paul’s in Livonia for 16 years, so I know AA well. Zingerman’s and all.
Thanks for this wonderfully moving article. I too am a fan of John O’Donahue. From his book “To Bless the Space Between Us,” I have copied out and sent to friends on their retirements, Fr. John’s entry “For Retirement.” It too speaks of endings and new beginnings, even at the other end of life from
which you now write. I miss John O’Donahue, who died too young. I often wonder what he would have written if he had lived a notionally-full life span. He was a mere 52.
Since age is the subject here, I hope you won’t mind hearing a thought from someone more than a half-century older than you. In term of “bittersweet,” please try to glory in the friends you make along the way. That’s the sweet part; the bitter part is that they might not be with for long — like Fr. John.
I was unable to send O’Donahue’s retirement poem to many Calvin colleagues who never made it to retirement. May I say their names, and also say how much I miss them: Harmon Hook, Stan Wiersma, Paul Henry, Howard Reinstra, Peter DeVos, Ken Konyndyk, David Englehard. RIP my friends.
Keep on writing Alyssa. You have the gift.
I was unhappy in my 20s. I was very glad to turn 30. I would live my 30s again and now my 60s are good too.