Written on November 23, 2014
I always like to dedicate these to someone…but this one is just
for me. WARNING: Read at your risk. It’s heavy and I don’t want your pity. I
just want to record, for my own benefit, the things that have made me who I am
today on my 50th birthday. Be warned…despite this being the season
of Thanksgiving, I’m not taking it well.
WHERE DID THE TIME GO?
My 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Bone, (oh, how I loved her) made us
figure out what year it would be when we turned 25, 50, 80, etc... I very clearly
recall saying "in 2014, I will turn 50 years old!" As if the world
would come to a full stop. The horror of it! I shook it off with a Lucy van
Pelt "BLECH!" then recess or lunch or something and I moved on as if
time didn't matter, because in 4th grade, time is relative and moves like cold
tar down a low hill.
Good times, 4th grade.
Forward 40 years...My official papers say I'm 50 years old today.
I'm not dead yet, however, every time I ascend a set of stairs and listen to my
carbonated knees or empty a brush full of the hair I used to have, I feel that
death is walking slowly down the hall toward me.
When did that happen? There I was sitting at the feet of my
beloved Mrs. Bone and in a blink I’m still sitting in school (there’s half my
problem right there)…but I’m the teacher and I’m signing up for classes about
my impending retirement!
While shopping for props for a show, I saw a black balloon with a
big “50” on it and it said “Over the hill!” When did I finish climbing the
hill? I know I must have, because I have a very distinctive feeling that I am
skidding down the other side of it now. When did I reach the top? Did I not
pause to look out and appreciate the moment? I must have been in rehearsal when
that happened. Damn plays, they rule my life.
I guess I should be grateful I can still see the trail before me
and I can still remember the 4th grade, so that's pretty good.
But what did I do with all those years and what do I have to show
for it? I feel, today, like I showed up at the bank to withdraw $1000 for a
trip and all I had in the account was $87.50. Where did the rest of it go? What
did I spend it on?
THE DEFINING MOMENTS
SEASON ONE AND TWO – The
Classical Period
SEASON THREE – The
Medieval Times
I call this the Middle Ages, not because I was starting into my
middle ages, but because it was dark. Like the Dark Ages. Almost Gothic in tone
and style really. It was this time in my life that I was figuring out who I
was. I didn’t do it in the teenage years like most people, I guess. In my early
thirties I lost a man, a best friend, whom I thought I couldn’t live without. I
gave a diamond back and burned a wedding dress. For about a year after it
happened, I wasted time on hate. Then as time passed, I clung onto the idea
that he might realize his mistake and return.
What I didn’t have the courage to do was to empty my heart of him.
I became a person I didn’t like. I was scared to go into a grocery store for
fear I would run into him. I became a kind of agoraphobic and stuck to my school
and bedroom. I buried myself in my work until I was a recluse. I ate every meal
in my car. In 1998 I produced 8 plays. One every six weeks. No human should do
that. I thought – if he didn’t like me enough to marry me, there must be
something very wrong with me…
…as I suspected.
I spent this season of my life wrestling with my conscience, my
self-image, my natural man. I fought my religion, even my art was stale and
canned…I fought everything and everyone that tried to tell me what I needed to
do to be happy. I was so lonely and I could see my siblings little families
taking off like wild fire which normally would make me so happy! But soon
enough I had a dozen nieces and nephews and I was livid about it. Not with
them, but with God. I built up a wall of bitterness that could be seen from the
moon. I built a house to manifest my singular power. I thought that house would
say “I can have anything a married couple has!”
But the house engulfed me in loneliness further magnifying what I didn’t have.
In answer to the “stale and canned” art I was turning out, I went
back to school and got a Master’s Degree in directing to further prove my prowess
as a single person and I thought it would help restart the creative juices. It
might boost my self-worth at least. When I was finished, with a 4.0, I was a
top candidate for a theatre position at BYU. In the final interview, I was
summoned to the church office building in SLC for my final interview with a
General Authority. It was a polite interview,
more of the same questions and then…he asked me why I wasn’t married.
Gah! My heart stopped.
(This next part is real. It was a defining moment in my life and
that’s why I include it.)
He said “We prefer to hire married women because we’ve had some
trouble with our single faculty members…you understand.” I did not, but I could assume some things
based on his eye-rolling. He asked me if I was dating anyone and I was, sort
of, dating a man I didn’t have romantic feelings for. But I sure appreciated
him. I had dated a lot of men but did not feel the Spirit push me to pursue any
of them romantically. I wanted to say “Do you know what’s out there?” but
decided not to.
He then explained to me “perhaps you have the mentality of the
high school students you teach. Love isn’t about the bells and whistles. You
can fall in love with anyone over time…” This poor man that had been asked to
interview me…he didn’t know how bitter I was, and how I was about to run
screaming out of his office and out of the church. My head was swimming and
then the nail went shattering into the coffin: “Sister Shelton, are you a
Lesbian?” For the record I didn’t scream and go running out of the church
office building or the church. I held it together until I got to my car in the
parking garage and then I cried for two hours before I could even raise my hand
to turn the ignition. In hindsight I wish I’d have said to him “being a Lesbian
might be easier” just to see the look on his face. But I didn’t.
And for five more years it just got darker and darker.
As the years went on I told people “I don’t need a man to complete
me.” I started writing a book about this time of my life called “Ladies in
Waiting.” It’s about patience. I hope someday I can finish that book and share
it with other single women that feel lonely and left out of their very culture.
However, getting married didn’t solve the problem. I still have that feeling today…only
the category is different…but…
…I digress.
SEASON FOUR – The Renaissance
It took me nearly a decade to apply the old Buddhist adage
“holding onto anger is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to
die.” I was positively poisonous
when I turned 40. It was no wonder I was still single. I think I was addicted
to bitterness at that point.
The fact is, despite my catastrophic attempt at trying to get into
BYU, I kept going to church – for one reason: I needed a companion in my life
and I could not deny that Jesus Christ was that person for me during that time.
I leaned on Him. I felt His presence in my life. He was in my home, in my
classroom and His Spirit was all around me. I had no one else. Inadvertently,
through those murky years, I was developing a concrete relationship with my
deity that would prepare me for a Renaissance.
One Sunday, I saw a young family sitting on a church pew ahead of
me with three little kids sandwiched between them and my heart leapt into my
throat. I remained in my seat. I was determined to “grow up” and quit
belly-aching about what I didn’t have and think about my blessings. I have
always been blessed with a great amount of hope and faith. I just kept
adjusting my grip to the proverbial iron rod because I could not deny the
testimony I have that I am a daughter of God and that I am continually
sustained by His angels around me.
So, after getting all of their kids settled into coloring books
and Cheerios, the dad leaned over with his arm along the back of the bench and
rubbed his thumb over his wife’s shoulder blade. They turned, smiled at each
other and locked eyes for a long time, their eternal bond effortlessly
projected. I will never forget that moment as long as I live.
I lost it.
I stood up and left the building.
I drove immediately to the nearest LDS temple parking lot and just
sat in my car. I promised God that if he would take away my feelings of
bitterness, I would serve him all the days of my life. But I was not going to keep searching for a man. I was done.
He was going to have to give me one on His own. I was going to have to be okay
with myself first. I was going to have to be able to see myself as a whole
person and not some “Lady in Waiting.” Waiting for what?
So for birthday number 40 I reacquainted myself with myself. I let
go of all of the feelings of guilt I had for not going to all those singles
dances, I got rid of my account on LDSsingles.com, I buried myself in my work
and I started consciously trying to expunge myself of the bitterness. BUT…I
found out you can’t do it alone. You have to trust God and stay near your
family.
A week after my
40th birthday, Hyrum Smith, not the brother of Joseph, but the guy
that invented the Franklin Day Planner, came to my work and shook my hand. He
said “come to work for me.” And I picked up and left my students, my hometown,
my parents, and my bitterness.
And I started over by myself.
What a person doesn’t realize is that you can do nothing by
yourself. Working for Tuacahn was difficult because of the way I was hired.
Nobody knew what to do with me. ( Chim Chim Cheree blog) I fought to be of value to them by
staying at work for 18 hours a day. But on the weekends I visited my friends in
Cedar City. One of those friends was Andy Hunsaker: August 9th
Within one year of working down under I had married the “The
Renaissance Man” as I like to call him. He was able to take me through a Mormon
temple to be sealed to him for “time and all eternity.” Poor sucker. He could
have had anyone. But we are like Harold and Maude – completely addicted to each
other and living a kind of secret love affair every day. He is everything any
woman could ask for. I was, after 41 years of waiting, rewarded with a spouse
that sent me 50 roses for my birthday and has accepted the fact, that because
he married someone with 50 year-old eggs, he will not raise children in this
life. And he’s okay with that. Or so he says. I’m not okay with it. So I still wrestle
with those feelings in my heart every single day. But every time we attempt to go to an adoption
conference or we secretly look into the foster care system, we have positively
sick feelings about it. And if you’ve never felt the Spirit yell “NO” at you,
then you don’t understand. Take my word for it. I want the kids on the church
bench, the coloring books and the cheerios but God wants us to do something
else with our time.
So…we do.
We raise other people’s kids.
But we are together…I am not alone.
SEASON FIVE…The Modern
“Us.”
For the sacrifice of marrying me and putting up
with my antics, God has blessed Andy with a new group of kids that are
incredible in every way. He loves them so much and I believe it is a mutual
admiration society. They are bright, well-adjusted, and crazy passionate about
what they do. He works his butt off creating his Kingdom. From the looks of it,
and of him (since he’s now 300 pounds lighter than he was 18 months ago) he has
the amazing ability to look at each day and take what comes with humor, love
and energy. He just goes and goes. I’m so proud of his first musical here – The Drowsy Chaperone. The audiences
never stopped laughing. I didn’t go into one rehearsal. I felt…well I won’t say
I felt good about it, but I felt good about leaving him to do what I know he is
so good at himself…and it was amazing…without me lording over him…and that’s
good. He’s getting a taste of what it was like to be me at 26 and he could
easily spend 24/7 in his theatre classroom and directing his season, but he
doesn’t have to, because…
…he has me backstage. I’ll own that role. It’s just a little bit painful.
Because I, on the other hand, am still fat. I’m still living in
someone else’s house and I’m not teaching the thing I know and love, theatre,
but I am teaching English (in a theatrical kind of way…the only way I know.) My
kingdom has four walls and a couple of bulletin boards that I haven’t committed
to yet. This is the first time I’ve dealt with kids that don’t take my class
for fun. I try to read To Kill a Mockingbird in a way that will make them say
“My English teacher rocks! I love that class!” SAID NO SOPHOMORE EVER. I am not
used to that. I stay in the wings in Andy’s world because it’s his Kingdom. He
deserves it. He is the ruler over his dominion at last and I am not his boss
anymore, but just another faculty member in another building somewhere. Don’t
get me wrong, I love giving that last part away. I hated administration and
everyone knew it. It was me that wanted to get back in the classroom where I
belong. But I am a stranger to this classroom and this curriculum.
I am good at what I do and I’m an actress who pulls off a great
act 8 hours a day…but I am miserable. I am not happy when I don’t have goals
and vision and right now I have neither one. I have become a Lady in Waiting.
Waiting for further light and knowledge…
Again.
That doesn’t mean I haven’t had a funeral (or two) for my
identity.
The only thing I can do at this point is keep working. I know I
will eventually get comfortable and make this my home. I found this quote –
thanks to whoever posted it on Facebook – and it helped me so much. It is
e.x.a.c.t.l.y. how I feel.
So
I have to accept this change. I sat in God’s holy temple and told him I would
be appreciative if he could help me give away this new bitterness and a flood
of memories came back to me reminding me of the dark bitterness I traveled
though without Andy. As I sat there, it was confirmed to me that I was doing
the right thing and exquisite blessings would come my way if I made this
sacrifice work for me. So I will watch and wait patiently because patience is
my gift.
…but I get to wallow for a while.
THERE ARE SOME GREAT
THINGS ABOUT TURNING 50
Just recently, I started to notice that I have completely stopped
worrying about what other people think of me. I am 100% comfortable in my skin
when it comes to other people’s opinions about what I am doing, wearing,
saying, eating, believing… I’m not sure it’s always a good thing (it has gotten
me in trouble on this blog for example) but I feel so free from worrying what I
am doing, wearing, saying or believing. I just don’t care anymore about so many
things.
And I think that’s part of my problem right now. You thought I
might say that the aging process frees you from all your cares? No. You just do
it with no makeup on. AND you acquire this little passive aggressive smile
because you don’t give a $*!&# when someone tells you what you ought to be
doing, wearing, saying or believing. You will find out that someday all those
supermodels you went to school with will be fat and shopping at Lane Giant with
the rest of us. Someday all those wealthy hipsters that celebrate their
birthdays with $20,000 bottles of champagne will realize that there are still
starving children in Nairobi. Someday, all the naysayers will be wrapped in the
arms of God anyway…because that’s how He is. So you just give up worrying about
it.
Some things become null and void at 50 at last. The sliver of hope
that I might be able to bear my own living child is officially gone. And that’s
a good thing, believe it or not. I know what you're thinking. What about that
woman in China that had a baby at 62? “Why don't you adopt? There's always foster
care…” First: If I end up having a child at 62 you'd better start locking down
for Armageddon because that will officially be a sign of the times. I’m not
attending any high school graduations at 80. And secondly, see the paragraph
where God says “no.” He sometimes says no. And He needs you to be okay with
that because He’s probably trying to make something else happen for you.
Sometimes, we need to step out of His way. Sometimes it takes 50 years or so
for you to be able to look back and say “OH. I didn’t know that’s what you were
trying to do. Excuse me for standing in the way…for being the obstacle of my own
progression.”
50 takes your nagging hope away for good. I mean, for a while -
all the way up until my last miscarriage (at 48) I lived with a little light in
my heart that I might deserve the miracle of Elizabeth and one of those babies
would live. But no. There were officially ten miscarriages total and ten is
nine too many for any person’s heart to survive without some hard core therapy.
That is coming.
And so, believe it or not, 50 is a good thing. I
need closure there for sure. There is nothing worse than being pregnant when
you know you probably won’t carry the baby full term and if you do there might
be something terribly wrong with the child, and is that fair to a baby being
brought into this nutsy world with aging parents, and what if it’s perfect in
every way…shouldn’t we keep trying for that
opportunity, he could be the next Abraham Lincoln…oh $*?&*! SEE WHAT I MEAN?!? Yeah, that tightrope
across a river 3000 feet below has been crossed. I did not fall, but my heart
still aches when we sit among the young families in our ward during church. I’m
told, from others who have been in my situation longer than I have, that it
will never go away. But at least the anxiety of “whether or not” has gone.
SOME NOT SO GREAT THINGS
ABOUT 50
My body is literally falling apart. I sleep until 4 or 4:30 every
morning and then my shoulders are on fire or my feet, so I have to get up and
move. Then I’m wide awake and I spent an hour lying there thinking “Why don’t
you just get up and study your scriptures or exercise?” But I don’t. I just lay
there and think about what I’m going to teach that day and make lists…so many
lists.
When did I go from taking a single multi-vitamin every day to
spending 30 minutes a week filling up my pill dispenser? If you saw my bathroom
you would think I was addicted to supplements and every time a new trend comes
out I think...maybe I should take that. I’m panicking in part because of a
decision I made nearly 9 years ago when I married someone so much younger than
me.
My husband is still in his 30's and now I am in
my 50's. I sometimes have the feeling that one day he'll wake up, turn over and
say "when did this old lady crawl into my bed? What kind of trick is
this?”
WHAT I KNOW FOR SURE
Mormons are blessed in their early Mormondom with a thing called a
Patriarchal Blessing. It is given to us by someone that has been given
Priesthood authority to channel God’s promises and blessings that I will enjoy
throughout my life should I remain faithful and live a good life. It’s the
greatest thing about being Mormon! The prayer, on paper, is about 2 pages long
single-spaced. When I was on my mission, my mission president suggested that I
memorize it. Have the promises in my blessing come to pass? After 50 years I can
now look back and say yes, yes, yes. Amazingly, yes. But one promise in
particular has not been as literal as I would like it to be.
Here’s the passage that haunts me. It reads: “You will be blessed to be a mother in Zion. Your children, and their
children, will sit at your feet, and called you blessed for your honesty and
your fairness.”
There was a moment a few years ago after my last miscarriage, when
I was wallowing in my depression – I was pretty down – and I went to a
rehearsal as usual, and after the rehearsal I said “carpet up!” as usual –
which means “come-sit-at-my-feet-because-I’m-not-leaving-this-chair-and-I-will-give-you-notes-about-your-performance.”
Everybody knows that after rehearsal, the director gives notes to the cast to fix
for next time. They aren’t always positive, but my job as a director is to make
them look good, so the notes are always honest. This is the part where I have
been known to say “let’s take the suck out of that scene next time.” But over
the years I have learned to add a lot of humor so the notes become less
chastening and more “you can do it, we’re all in this together!” It was in that
moment that I looked around at the setting and remembered my blessing… “your children will sit at your feet…”
And my heart was full.
And the memories flooded back of kids sobbing in my office, asking
my advice, preparing for college auditions, hanging out in my classroom at
lunch, saying “we heard you laughing in the audience!” hugging me on closing night.
All of those memories are mine! All of those blessings –my kids gave me all of
those blessings.
I need to slap out of this 50 thing. I need to listen to my own
advice! It’s all about patience… and now – even the blessing of being 50 allows
me to look back and see how blessed I
have been!
And will be.
This I know for sure.
