Today’s the day my studded snow tires come off. Insufficiently caffeinated, unshowered, make-up-less, decked in sweats and sneakers under my winter coat and hat (which I’m keeping on to cover up untamed hair), I’m now in the waiting room. Initially the sharp smell of rubber was jolting, the blare of the waiting room TV sharp. But here I am, eating my ½ bagel from home, with the cheerful smell of fresh popcorn and the shop’s first pot of coffee of the day, typing away.
I can almost feel the rubber under my nose, as if each air molecule is burdened by hauling unprocessed and loose tire bits from place to place. It’s possible some of the tire dust will be in my lungs after the “on the hour side of just about an hour” I’ll spend here. I’m unshowered and under-dressed for a reason – the smell of rubber will permeate my pores, my hair follicles, my clothes. I’ll need a full body decontamination shower when I leave. I won’t be able to clean my lungs, but not much else toxifies them (urban smog and such notwithstanding), so they’ll just have to clean themselves on their own. At 32 degrees, I’m not going to sit outside on a stoop while my tires are being swapped. I’ll be right here, warm and slightly sore-bottomed on a hard wooden chair, in my aromatic, loud, angular, brightly colored man-cave. A man-cave with early morning popcorn.
I’m unexpectedly happy in this short-term den. I have spent much of the last few days coming to terms with two things that I will forever live without, until the end of my days: wealth and youth. I’ve never had wealth, so it’s not new to live without it. Youth, well, as those who remind me that I’m turning 50 this year, is moving to the past tense. I had my youth. No matter what people say about fifty being the new ________, no one has youth in their fifties. I will at most have (relatively) good health and a (sufficiently) functional body, but youth is what others will have and squander, while I watch from the post-midlife sidelines. I probably don’t have my youth now, in the way I don’t have wealth now, but I guess what’s shifted is the idea that one day I might have these things. I have wanted money to rain down upon my head. Not obscene amounts, but a good, long downpour of money, shifting me out of Excel spreadsheets for the household budget to Abundance. The illogic of wanting a future which includes youth is nothing compared to the absolute stupidity of seeking the holy grail of wealth. Sages and philosophers since the dawn of time have suggested that financial wealth offers nothing, certainly not happiness. Instead, we are told that happiness will only come from inner riches and the wealth of love and community and important work. Yeah. I get it. But a little wealth would be nice.
Here’s what I have instead: a happy home, a well-balanced and happy child, a marriage that is a lovely place to be, friends and family who love me, work that is meaningful and challenging, a roof over my head, conversation and laughter around my dining room table, a body that mostly works, a positive ratio of good-to-bad hair days. I have a happy life. I like this version of life so much better than any that came before, in my years of actual youth. I’m not sure I’d be happier with wealth, but in case I’m wrong, I’ve asked my husband to continue to buy lottery tickets. I hold on to the fantasy that if we won the lottery, we wouldn’t be like the rest of the lottery winners who spend all their fortune and are back to their miserable pre-lottery existence in a year or two. I’d be the one person worthy of a lottery win, because I could make it last. I have proof – I can eat just one chocolate truffle at a time, leaving all the rest in the box for another day.
I will not be wealthy – ever. I will not be young – ever again.
I will, instead, be immersed in a good life, enjoying abundant moments of happiness and acceptance, even on a day when I wake up fully to a tire-shop waiting room, popcorn popping, tire dust settling in my lungs.