Dear ones,
What’s the best term for friends who have become family? Friemilies? Famends?
Anyway, Julie is one of my those. We haven’t seen each other since before the pandemic, and this year she flew across the country with her eight-year-old son to be with us for her birthday. That night, we curled up on the couch with a couple of glasses of very nice wine and had some long overdue life chats.
“I used to feel that I was just managing a series of deficits,” Julie told me. “Financial deficits, emotional deficits, whatever. But as I reached my mid-forties, I realized that I’m not trying to close a gap anymore. I’m finally able to step forward. Now I’ve sorted my shit out, I can start.”
It was such a perfect encapsulation of how I feel that I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Our culture famously worships youth and fails to value all the gifts of getting older. But for me, every decade of my life has been significantly better than the one before. You couldn’t pay me enough to go back to my 20s and live a single week in that confused, free, brave, scared, lost girl’s mind. In my 30s I did a lot of work—of all kinds. And now, like Julie, I feel as though I’ve graduated to something. I’ve finally learned some basic skills for making this whole life thing work.
“I can actually plan now,” Julie told me last night. “Not just run around tending to whichever of my deficits is most pressing in the moment. I finally got to zero, and now I can move forward.”
Life on earth is pretty complicated. It’s not the weirdest idea in the world that it might take forty-odd years to get the hang of it.
I’m someone who can easily fall for cultural stories about “wasted” years. When the culture talks about this, it generally means that we didn’t spend enough hours under fluorescent lights or achieve enough promotions. And by that definition, I absolutely wasted my youth; I did so very consciously. There was a lot of tumult. There was a lot fun and a lot of music. No regrets.
But now?
I don’t need the tumult to find meaning in my days anymore. I love my stretchy, soft body. I love being a clearer and steadier mother to my kid than I would have been a decade ago. I love living a life that feels emotionally predictable and loving and warm. I love feeling seen, and known, by everyone around me—including, finally, me. I love turning off my light at 9:30pm every night.
So yeah, the orientation program was great, but I’m happy to have finally made it to zero. It’s so peaceful here.
Do you feel like you’ve made it to zero? Are you still closing the gaps here and there? If you’re there, what does zero feel like to you? Is anyone, like, even further along? 😳
Let’s chat in the comments below!
Love, Ro
Community corner
Team, Jessica Bingaman had a really brilliant comment in response to A Radical Heart, which I wanted to share. It’s important that we value the resources that we have when it feels like we’re weak before faceless and heartless systems.
Here’s Jessica:
“…The same can work for women who learn about reproductive health and find health care providers who are equipped to assist during any point in the life cycle. Anyone interested in this idea might like to read Witches, Midwives, and Nurses: A History of Women Healers, a tiny book about the history of women healers and on the fiction side of things, The Birth House. Both give insight into how we have gotten here…”
Jessica, I’m looking forward to reading these!
Some great insights here from Aliyah here too 👇
Poem of the week
Meme corner
👇 Backstage pass! 👇
Below, for paid subscribers, is a video where I answer some reader questions from last week and ask you to help me design the best experience possible for this Wild Inventures community! In future weeks, I’ll use this space to talk more about our family life, describe some of the cool inventures I’m having in work (virtual coworking sessions ftw!) and more.
I’d love to hear from all subscribers in the comments about what you’d like to see more of here. 💚 Ro
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