This is what 40 looks like

Forty is busy, y'all. I mean it. Today is the first day, and I'm over a week in, where I finally feel like myself. Where I feel in control. Where I feel peaceful.

The past week hasn't been bad. Not by any stretch of my imagination. It's just been busy. So? Forty is BUSY.

And that's amazing. I love it. Almost as much as I love the peaceful feeling of today.

See the week before I turned 40 I helped run the Book Fair at Angela's school for six days. And then I caught a cold. And then I took the Friday night redeye flight to Michigan to say goodbye to Elaine. I had birthday eve breakfast with my parents. And then I flew back and had a birthday dinner/last day of being 39 dinner with eight amazing friends.

And then I turned 40.

I celebrated with a boxful of cards from friends near and far, young and old, that Angela had contacted asking to shower me with words for my birthday. I went through the box for hours Wednesday night. And I am going to go through it again tonight. The people who reached out, the love in those words -- I just cannot express how much they mean to me, the people and the words. And I celebrated with my cousin Jamee and a few days of sightseeing and fun. And I celebrated with Angela, who made cake and cleaned the house, and helped friends pick out gifts and who, along with my parents, bought me an amazing gift -- a brand new MacBook. More words. More writing. More love.

I was talking with a friend today, a friend older than me, though not by much. And we were talking about where our years have taken us and how we got to today. We talked about our paths, and our people, what's made us who we are. And I said I don't feel any different than I did two weeks ago. But I do feel different than I did two years ago.

I feel freer. I feel like I have a voice and I am finally figuring out how to use it the way I want to. I am careful but I am not apologetic. I am strategic. I am myself.

I say what I want to say. I explain myself and sometimes, I don't. I write. I sing. I share. I love. I love loudly and messily and in ways some will never understand. I love those who love me. Those who can't love me. Those who don't love me. Those who won't love me. I love because in my 40 years, that's the best gift I've ever been given: love. Sometimes it's in the form of a hug or a kiss or a word. Sometimes it's in the form of a computer or a mug or a funny little magnet. Sometimes it's in the form of a letter or a cake or a shared joke. Sometimes it's in the form of a question. Sometimes it's in the form of an answer.

I am honestly astounded by what forty looks like. And then again, not surprised at all. It looks like me. It looks like life. It is imperfect and hard and wonderful and full. It is being excited for television shows on Hulu or low-fat ice cream or a meeting with a producer. It is writing something I know will be seen on a screen soon. It is believing I can do something and telling people I can do something and having them believe it too. And then doing it. It is exciting and boring and everything in between.

Forty is wearing shorts and running shoes because it's hot out and I think I look cute even if no one else agrees or cares. Forty is rewriting a nine-year-old script because I am better now than I was then. Forty is getting up at 5:05am (not 5am, those five extra minutes mean everything) to go to the gym and walk on the treadmill even if the scale doesn't budge. Forty is asking your family questions and recording their answers and listening, really listening, to their stories. Forty is knowing when to say yes and when to say no and when to say I have no idea but I'm going to do it anyway.

This is what forty looks like. And it doesn't look like anyone else's 40 and I've come to terms with that. Because my 40 is amazing. Oh so amazing.

Working from home, but not alone

Sunday morning Angela and I were making our way through the backlog of magazines taking up space in the hall basket. I trudged through my "homework" as she calls it -- Time, before getting to the much lighter Entertainment Weekly and my reward for finishing them, Bon Appetit. She perused Oprah and Real Simple and started reading to me from an article about how to be successful at working from home. I told her I didn't think I needed that particular information seeings how I'd been working at home for nine years now. But she read it to me anyway.

It included information about having a designated work space and avoiding the couch. Check and check. The couch is for lunch, and the occasional research break. And I have an office spot I love and work at every day. But what the article didn't touch on was the need to socialize while working at home.

I admit it, there are days when I don't leave the house at all. Sometimes those are good days. Last week I was on a (mostly self-imposed) deadline to finish a draft of a script. I spent several days not feeling the sun on my face without a window screen. But it was important and necessary -- I met my deadline a few hours early. And then there are days when I don't set foot in my home office/bedroom until it's time to go to sleep. Balance is the key for me.

But most days I connect with people in some way or another. I live with Angela, so in the morning and the evening we talk nonstop. But those 10 or 12 hours when she's gone? I like the quiet, for so long. But I have to connect.

This morning that connection took several forms. First, it was a phone call with my mom. The massacre in Las Vegas last night has shaken us all. So we talked about what we knew and talked about how scary it is. Then, after I hung up the phone, I heard the back gate rattle. Tomas, our beloved pest control professional (yes, he is beloved, so much so, for so many reasons!) went to spraying the backyard. I interrupted him when he passed by my bedroom window. He was startled but immediately lowered his face mask and asked if I'd heard about Las Vegas. We talked for a few moments, I learned that his wife works at a local college and he's scared for her just as I'm scared for Angela working at a school. We said our goodbyes and both went back to business.

But those connections, they are crucial to me working from home. Just as volunteering is. For over nine years I've spent most Tuesdays serving lunch at Hollywood UMC. It's almost a job to me. I feel terrible when I have to miss a week. I get reports about what I missed, I check in to make sure nothing is needed before the following week. And what I love about it most? Connecting with our guests and the other volunteers. Starting Friday I'll spend six days running the Book Fair at Angela's school. One of things I'm most looking forward to is those stolen moments of conversations. With kids, with other employees, with parents.

As a writer, I need solitude. I need uninterrupted hours of time to work. To create worlds and stories to run through them. I need time to look at photos on the internet and read hundreds of articles. I have to figure out how to tell a story before I tell it. Then I have to write it. It's a long, quiet process that's involves just me and whoever's playing on a loop on my iTunes that week.

But that solitude to work is colored and shaded and created by the time I spent connecting with people. Telling my story, listening to others' stories. I text friends throughout the day, people who need no small talk before we jump in to the matters of the day. I talk to writing partners, people who lift me up professionally and personally, people who tell me when something on the page works, or more importantly, doesn't. I check FaceBook and Twitter and Instagram way too much but again, it's a way to connect with the world, to have conversations or at least see snippets of life. I Marco Polo with my cousin Jamee, by sending video messages back and forth throughout the days and weeks. We talk about every day life, food we're cooking, walks we've taken, tears we've shed, excitement we've shared. And I wave to the neighbors, saying hello, asking about kids or mentioning the weather, because connection is ultimately, the most important thing I have in the day.

Nothing I write is created without it. Nothing I do is performed without it. Nothing I think or say lacks it. Connection with others.

Friday, when I turned in my draft to my producer, I celebrated. Not by myself because that would have been a little less exciting. I texted with my producer and she texted back celebratory emojis. I sent a Marco Polo off and Jamee and her kids cheered me that night at dinner on video. I sent texts to writer friends who celebrated with texts back. And I enjoyed a very happy Friday night with Angela. All connection. All vital to my work life, at home. And to my life in general.

As birthday month began yesterday, I started filling up a new journal in anticipation of a five year journal I got as a birthday gift five years ago being finished soon. And in that new journal I answered a question of what I want to say yes to (yep, it's a Shonda Rhimes Year of Yes journal!). Part of my answer included saying yes to being in relationship with more people, in every facet of my life. That means reaching out more, putting in more of an effort, networking more, loving more, forgiving more, being more. That means making those connections. Every single day.