On turning 40

It's a grey and dreary (ie, typical) day in London, perfect for contemplating my latest trip around the sun. (That, and my work is both frustrating and tedious, a deadly combination.) I'm drinking a cup of tea and eating a slice of birthday apple streudel--an inside joke, and a subtle reminder of how clever Jessica is; she has a long memory and a dry sense of humor. She also gave me a hot water bottle, a scarf, and a bread maker, which were all well and truly appreciated, although a less charitable person might note how practical these gifts are. (For her birthday, I may get her some athritis rub, warm underwear, and a vacuum cleaner.)

She also tried to organize a surprise trip to Norway to see the northern lights, but I went to see my family instead (surprise!), so that had to be postponed until January. She may hate working for British Airways, but I certainly appreciate it.

So I've been thinking about my life, and how tightly I controlled everything in it. I did some good things over the years, and I certainly stretched myself, but everything was strictly on my terms, and if anyone challenged that, I left -- jobs, friends, family, it didn't matter. After the divorce, I took the opposite approach: Just like I got rid of the few possessions that remained mine, moving to England was my way of getting rid of the few things that were still under my control. It was an extreme (and probably irrational) move, but I've always seen the world in black-and-white. Perhaps its time I began to appreciate grey. (Which would be perfect for an English winter...)

So I've been learning to accept things that I can't control and, ironically, the more control I give up, the more content and less anxious I am, and the happier Jessica is with me. As you may recall, last February we tried moving in together, but when that fell apart (because of the landlord, not us) I wasn't able to deal with it and I had my little breakdown, resulting in us breaking up. (Granted, it was only for a day, but it was a very long day.) Now that I've been settled for a while, we're going to try again, and last week we started looking at some areas in north London. (Totteridge was very nice, but I refuse to live in a place called 'Cockfosters.')

So this year hasn't been particularly productive, I haven't done anything crazy, it was in no way remarkable--except, perhaps, it may be when I finally grew up.