On Birthdays And Uncertainty

I turned 35 last week.

Somewhere between Beyoncé winning the Grammy for Album of the Year and Kendrick Lamar putting on the blackest Super Bowl halftime performance as the Philadelphia Eagles blew out the Kansas City Chiefs in the Super Bowl, I turned thirty-five.

My birthday week was black-jectively the best of the year so far, and I love that for all of us. (PS: You can catch my thoughts on the Super Bowl & Kendrick’s performance over on threads.) A boost in morale was much needed for everyone, including myself. It helped distract me from the complicated feelings I’ve been having about my birthday this year.

Don’t get me wrong, I love birthdays, but this year was hard to get in the mood for. The tension isn’t coming from the growing older part. I mean, my age is starting to sound a tad more serious than I’m used to, but I’m also a black woman with good genes, looking my age is one of the few crosses I don’t have to bear. The mixed feelings have more to do with where my life is right now, or rather the big question mark I feel looming over it. I’m constantly surprised by how much I thought I’d know by now that I don’t. Accepting how long things can take to make sense in life is tough. I don’t know a single person who isn’t struggling to understand one or more areas of their life, whether it's career and finances, love and relationships, family and children, or mental/physical/emotional health-related – being a human is hard. And even when we get a handle on some of these things, it’s not guaranteed to last. The numerical succession of aging is deceptive because life is not as linear as the way it's counted.

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”

– Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

Zora Neale Hurston said, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” I’ve always been the kind of person who entered each new year hoping it would answer more than it would make me question. I like answers, you know? It’s why I was good at school. It’s why I’m a good journalist. It’s also why one of my recurring themes in therapy is how I have difficulty trusting what I can’t understand. Uncertainty disregulates my nervous system, and if it goes on long enough, it can trigger feelings of emotional unsafety. My thirties, however, which started in 2020 just a few weeks before the COVID pandemic rocked our world, have felt like one big lesson in how to make peace with the unpredictability of life.

This last year, especially, tried me at every turn. I put my trust in people who let me down. I earned less than I ever have in my four years of freelancing. And that’s nothing to say of how scary what’s happening in America and the world was and continues to be. It was like God was showing me one by one why all the things I’d been placing my protection in weren’t as solid as him. When I reflect, I can see how he’s used each struggle to bring me closer to him, to learn to rely on him more and rest on his promise to make sure all things work together for my good.

As a result, I’ve been gaining a different outlook on the years that question. I’m starting to see them less as frustrating haikus and more as calls to evolve. And the healing that comes from embracing this kind of growth has ironically been more helpful than any answers I’d been seeking outside of myself. Turns out the clarity we need the most is often tucked away in those conversations we tend to avoid or get too busy to have with ourselves… with a therapist… with God. Perhaps that’s why the years that answer feel farther and few between, because we’re looking for them in the wrong places, avoiding inner work that allows us to arrive at them faster.

“If you surrender to the air, you could ride it.”

– Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon (1977)

Either way, finding peace and joy in the waiting is essential. Life is a journey, and I refuse to miss it because I’m too focused on the destinations. So I’m going into year 35 trusting that it’ll be whatever kind of year that’s necessary to push me closer to the version of myself God and I talked about before he ever put me in my mother’s womb. I can surrender to the waves of life, knowing he’s always at the helm, keeping me safe. Even in the years like this last one, where my circumstances did not improve – I did. And that’s worth celebrating, too. One might argue even more so. Happy birthday to me.

Sincerely,

Sylvia