Chasing Happiness

I consider myself painfully lucky for a number of reasons. I have a husband I have been married to for 15 years and still patently worship more now then the day I said "I do". I have twin 8 year old sons that are caring, self-appreciative, funny children that despite my parenting skills (or lack thereof) somehow seem to be on a morally sound path in life. I have two healthy parents, that I consider to be my penultimate friends and confidants. I have a dog that I define as my "first born" and love to death. I have a group of carefully chosen girlfriends who seem to like me, regardless of my lack of depth and in spite of the ridiculous things that come out of my mouth on a regular basis. For all of these things and more (including my extensive shoe and handbag collection) I acknowledge how mind-bogglingly lucky I am.

Unfortunately, luck and happiness don't always go hand and hand. I'm turning 40 in a couple of weeks. I'm not one of those people who gets upset about aging. Age is just a number and doesn't define who I am. In fact, I was relishing turning the big 4-0 because I think I will get better gifts this year. That's why I'm more than a little surprised that I 've been finding myself questioning why I have no life-skills at this juncture of my development. I'll try to clarify, although I'm uncertain as to what the hell I'm talking about. I've liked myself for a number of years and suddenly I'm wondering if that's been a wise decision. What's so great about me? My parenting skills are less than stellar, my poor husband works and I piddle away his money on shopping (I never thought I would use the word "piddle" and "shopping" in the same sentence), I earn no income of my own to piddle away, I have no talents or abilities that anyone would pay for and I have no interest in learning anything that would cause me to be employable. I can't even write a decent blog lately. Not really much to be proud of if you ask me. Meanwhile, my husband and friends are amazing parents and people. Over the last month, I'm suddenly feeling like I bring nothing to the party that is worth the time they spend with me. Mid-life crisis? PMS? Peri-menopause (being "very-peri" as I like to call it), temporary insanity? Who knows.

Anyway, I'm foolishly trying not to be overly concerned. This too shall surely pass and if it doesn't there's always medication. In the meantime, I will try to look on the brighter side of things. After all, my friends must have some reason that they're still inviting me to hang out with them. My kids and husband love me despite all of my nuttiness and lack of usefulness. Most importantly, Mike will always be 7 years older than me which makes me a spring chicken in comparison.