[2022-05-17] All the other ages
Author Madeleine L'Engle said: "The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been."
As I reflect on my life, I recall milestones that helped make me the person I am today.
In 1978, at 12 years of age, I skipped grade 7, which was as simple as having my desk pulled from the 7th grade row and placed in the 8th grade row. I remained in the same classroom (I went to the very small Sacred Heart of Jesus Catholic School in Lanark, where multiple grades were taught in one room), had the same teacher, and achieved the same success. For years, I would be the youngest amongst my contemporaries, which taught me that age is not a key determinant in our ability to make a contribution.
In 1979, at 13, I entered Carleton Place High School, knowing no other kids in my year since my elementary school chums had gone to different high schools (Perth or Almonte). I felt like an outsider for years and have been sensitive to the predicament of newcomers ever since.
In 1984, at 18, I entered Carleton University, knowing no other students in the Journalism program. Once again, I felt like an outsider, though we all experienced that to some extent. One of my classmates befriended me, which taught me the importance of friends in making us feel less alone.
In 1988, at 22, I started my first full-time job following graduation from university. It was in a small, private-sector company. I discovered that some workplaces are dysfunctional, disrespectful and toxic, and I made a quick exit when I was lucky enough to be offered another opportunity, having previously done considerable outreach in my job search.
In 1990, at 23, I received the unexpected news that I was pregnant. I came to realize that some of the most surprising detours in our lives can lead to the most beautiful paths and the most satisfying destinations.
In 1992, at 25, I received confirmation that I was once again pregnant, a welcome development after two early miscarriages. I learned to let life unfold as it would, being grateful for what I had rather than focusing on what I didn't.
In 2008, at 42, I started my first blog, Café Jen. I came to understand the power of storytelling and vulnerability to positively influence other people.
In 2016, at 50, I once again found myself in an unhealthy work environment, which threatened to destroy my self-confidence. Fortuitously, the universe as well as my own hard work and reputation conspired to save me from what was an untenable situation. I walked away, having learned more about the impact of bullying in eight months than in my almost three decades of full-time public service, including that anyone can be bullied.
In 2016, at 50, I started what would be my final role in the Public Service. As an assistant deputy minister of communications, I discerned—more so than in any other job—the tremendous impact on my success of loyal employees, caring colleagues and an understanding boss.
In 2020, at 54, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, a completely unanticipated twist in my story. I learned perhaps the most important lesson in my life: to focus on what I have to be grateful for today.
In 2020, at 54, I married my 65-year-old common-law husband. Our whirlwind courtship three decades earlier had quickly led to two children, a house in the suburbs, and a life of mutual love and support. That love and support would see me through surgery for ovarian cancer, six rounds of chemotherapy, surgery for perianal skin cancer and 25 rounds of radiation. I became convinced that we can face anything with the caring of loved ones.
In 2020, at 54, I started my second blog, Jenesis. In addition to confirming the power of storytelling and vulnerability to positively influence other people, my daily writing demonstrated its utility as a tool for connection, which—in turn—showed me how important friends are in helping us overcome a challenge.
I don't know whether I have interpreted Madeleine L'Engle's quote in the way she had intended, but I do know that I look back only to see how far I've come, not to wish to return to some golden age of the past. Every age offers good and bad circumstances, triumphs and tragedies, successes and failures. Further, every age offers lessons to be learned, if we take the time to notice them.
