In a galaxy far, far away (at least it feels that way), I had a melt-down. Hindsight is a beautiful thing and I wish I had known then what I know now - peri-menopause is not fun. I turned into an emotional raging phycho bitch, able to change moods quicker than the incredible hulk could turn green. I saw a doctor, I started taking anti depressants, but I wish I'd asked more questions. The problem was, I didn't know the questions to ask or who to ask - in part my own fault, I've never been very good at asking for help. OK Jules, you've got this. Problem was, I didn't "have this" and instead threw myself into what I do best. Making plans. Doing things. Travelling. Putting a smile on my face. And I am a very good actor. Inside, the demons raged their own little war.
Death was not something I had ever really feared or thought about. I'd lost both my parents in 2003, my mum was only 70 and my dad was 73. 50 loomed and my own mortality hit me hard. If I was to die at the same age as my mum, that meant I only had 20 years left. 20 years to do all the things. Panic set in. 20 years was not enough time.
So I put together a list. First there were the 50 things I wanted to do in the year I turned 50. That kinda grew to over 100 things and it became a bit of an obsession. The 101 things to do in 2015 list was born. Then came the "bucket list", the big things, amazing places to visit, things to do. Many things were unrealistic but adding to it was nearly as much fun as planning days out to tick things off. So 50 came along and it wasn't so bad. Until it was. Bad. Not something I care to go back and revisit, but god I wish I'd made changes during the 1st half of 2016. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
The following years I kept putting together these lists of things to do and it wasn't all bad, there were lots of fun times. I was super list girl and I was on a mission!! There were trips and holidays and adventures to be had. If I stayed busy, the demons were kept under control.
Until those Covid years. They seem unbelievable now, looking back, did they really happen? And then came along the shit show that was 2021.
But I survived (and I grew strong and I learnt how to get along) and in 2022, I began my new life. And what a life it has been! My first Camino helped me heal. The second Camino taught me that I probably won't do another one, but never say never! 2023 passed in a blur, filled with fun and friendship. And here we are well into 2024 and I can say I now have my dream job and I am living my dream life. Not perfect, life never is, but it's pretty damn good.
However, one thing that has been missing is that along the way I stopped writing. Oh I've made several half arsed attempts at picking it up again (and I continue to have way too many notebooks with different scribblings everywhere), but nothing regular. So this could just be another one of those failed attempts. But it's 1 September 2024 and next month I turn 59. Fifty fucking nine. I can't believe it. I don't feel nearly 59. I don't think I look or act nearly 59 (I could just be kidding myself). But I have this sudden urge to put together a new list. And to write again. 60 things to do before I turn 60. Easy peasy, I admit I can cheat a little as I have a few fab trips coming up, but hey ho off we go.
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