Chapter one- Hi I'm Niki. I think.

 I have mixed feelings about aging. On one hand, I enjoying knowing a lot more shit. About myself. About who am, how I identify. What's important to me. 

On the other hand- why the fuck can't we Benjamin Button? Do I really have fat rolls now when I move in certain ways? Was the cellulite, or that wrinkle there too... this is ludicrous. Don't even get me started on my slowing metabolism, or inability to process alcohols or most foods. The audacity of the human body.

Do men think this shit too, or is this just what aging as a woman feels like? An unmarried, childless woman. So you know, lots to unload there.

One who fought hard to become highly educated in a male dominated profession, (aka most professions) has had several long term relationships- you know that have obviously crashed and burned respectively all in a row. Hey! Throw an early marriage and divorce in there, just for a pinch of interesting. Am I just clarifying I'm not a spinster? Whatever, this is my story.

So what comes next for me? I haven't the faintest foggiest. I'm currently working on a doctorate, dreaming randomly of kids, but still longing for adventure. What that adventure looks like- traveling, maybe lovers? Hell if I know. I'm only 37. 

Yes, I just flip-flopped from feeling old to being young. It's a woman's prerogative. The most unhealthy people in my family live to be in their 80's anyway. I have so much more time to make life altering and possibly poor decisions. 

I am in a relationship, but I don't want that to be the focal point of this introduction. I feel like it's the first question people ask women my age- as if it's not my own uterus yelling to the high heavens. Listen fam, I don't need any help being reminded I'm a ticking time bomb, and men have all the time in the world.

I guess I want to talk more about, well- me. I'm a caretaker type who has spent the majority of my life allowing others to be the center of my universe. I have a gift for attracting narcissists for example... I'm getting off topic again. Me, dammit. 

So I wanted to begin writing some short stories. Vignettes really, of my life and what it's become thus far.

A life filled with a lot of choices I thought were right, that amounted to bupkis. A lot of "wrong" choices that have defined and enriched my existence. Partners who were female, male, trans. A life filled with some big dreams, and my getting over trying to fit into the tiniest of boxes. 

So hi- my name is Niki. I have things to say. Maybe just on this wee little blog. Or other people will read it, and it will become the backdrop for a feature film! A broad can dream. There aren 't enough female lead stories out there anyway...

Still black, still mad.

 How do you write about this feeling? 

The violation played out across television screens and social media, in the constant heightened state I live in, we live in. 

You just can't describe this kind of tired. Some would label it as a victim mentality. I'd have to disagree. There's something about always being here. Never having a choice. My cards being dealt even before I was born. Founded on antiquated ideas of differences because of skin. 

I vacillate between extreme bouts of anger, depression, and survivors guilt. I want to light the world on fire, walk in every march, scream at every cop.... and roll up in a ball and cry. Me and mine having what happens to us played out in a political arena. It's such bullshit. This isn't right or left fodder. This is our lives. My fucking life. 

I hold onto the triumphs- how much we as a people have overcome, how times have changed, though it feels only incrementally. But it feels like there's something just beneath my skin. When will the other shoe drop? Sadly this is a learned reaction. Heaven forbid I can appreciate those moments. 

Am I writing this from a place of anger? Of course. Will it pass...

I dream of being less mad, but not less black. 

In the weeds.

I just remember feeling less. Not realizing it in the moment, but knowing it in the aftermath.

When I was younger it was referred to as moodiness. The older I got I said things like I was going through a phase. I wasn't educated enough, didn't know what I was going through. I just understood there was a difference whenever I came out of it. 

I call it by it's name- depression. 

Now I'm older, and I just got out of the weeds again. I wake up with energy, look forward to the day. My brain is less foggy, and I have energy. Those close to me began to comment on my disposition, on my losing weight again. It always fluctuates either up or down when I'm in it. 

On the bad days, I feel like I'm drowning. Or I remember someone referring to feeling like butter being spread over too much bread. Too thin- not enough to go around. 

No one knows how dark my thoughts go because I don't talk about it. I can see now though, how people can think that choice will solve it all. I didn't understand, was judgmental for the longest time. I don't feel that way any longer. I've learned mechanisms to get past those days. Don't isolate. Don't drink. Distract. It'll pass. Breathe. Breathe again. Feel that? Smaller steps, smaller bites, smaller thoughts. You got through another day. Now do it again. 

I look back on the worst of the days in a kind of wonderment. How did it get there? If I had the answers, I'd never get there again. I'm still learning the best ways for me to ask for help. How to distance myself from those who don't enhance my happiness. Letting go of the toxic, the attachments that don't do me a service. 

I never know when it's coming, I just know when I'm standing on the other side. It's best this way, I think. Can't dwell when I don't know where I'm standing. 

37.

 The sunset years of my thirties are nothing like I expected.

Put aside a global pandemic- none of us saw that coming, of course. It's just wild how differently our lives can turn out than we planned. 

I thought I'd have a forever partner by now, be a mother. Maybe a proper home, and a pup too. Instead I'm working on a doctorate, own a business, and continue my ability to long term date. My self talk reminds me this is my life. I need to stand in it presently, work towards what I want. Not compare to others. 

That's the easy bit- telling myself not to. At this point beyond comparison to others, I'm comparing to my own dreams. 

I don't feel like a failure. I did when I was younger. Divorced at twenty-six, just finishing my undergrad. Again when I was single on my thirtieth birthday, growing a fledgling business, flourishing in my career working with elite athletes. Once more after a disastrous breakup at thirty-four, finally deciding therapy might show the mistakes and thought processes I was repeating. Realizing I needed to take less of the fault onto myself, and be honest about what I want and need. 

Looking back I see a theme- my thoughts of failure attached to my personal relationships, rather than my professional shortcomings. Or the friendships I've lost along the way.

I feel loved and appreciated by those I hold dear. I'm still working on not living in a future just in my imaginings, but in a present filled with hope and possibility. 

I don't know if I feel old, but I know I no longer feel young. I know I'm not content, not disappointed either. 

This is my life. I'm living in it currently. I think now what I ponder the most is if this is the pinnacle, or if there's more? Too soon to tell, I think. Stay tuned.