On Channeling My Inner Carrie Bradshaw

Seth and I finished rewatching The Tudors and are now heavy into a rewatch of Sex and the City. We were really into this show when we first got together years and years ago at this point, so this is bringing back a lot of fond memories. However, so much about it hits completely different these days. For one thing, some of the episodes have aged a lot more gracefully than others. I'm also processing the vast majority of the characters and plotlines a lot differently now that I'm only a couple of weeks away from my 45th birthday. 

Sometimes remembering my 20s -- the way I thought, the things I enjoyed, and everything I thought I wanted out of life -- is like remembering someone else's life. I never would have thought back then that I'd grow into someone with such simple needs and wants. For instance, I wouldn't necessarily spit on the opportunity to travel or explore the world if it came my way at this point, but it's not something I can't imagine my life without anymore. The same cannot be said for things like home-cooked dinners at home with my partner or large, quiet chunks of time to write and create things.

When I first discovered Sex and the City as an idealistic, energetic 20-something, I related a lot to Carrie. But it was mostly because she was quirky, restless, and plagued by relationship troubles. Like Carrie, I thought I was commitment-oriented, but I never seemed to be happy anytime I was actually in a relationship. I also had more trouble being faithful to people than I like to admit. Any little thing that went wrong in my relationships was more than enough to inspire me to dump a partner or -- at the very least -- start looking over their shoulder for someone else. This time around, I no longer relate to this side of Carrie. I do remember what it was like to feel that way, but that's about it.

Soul-Tired on a Friday

I'm so glad it's Friday. I've been dog-tired this week -- the kind of tired that isn't just physical. It's soul-tired, and as is often the case with me, I couldn't really say for sure why I feel this way. There's nothing crazy going on in my personal life. I'm not overworked, burnt out, or frustrated with any of my clients right now. My brain appears to be chewing on something, though, even if it's just doing that weird thing it does and chewing on itself.

One way I know this is the positively bizarre dreams I've been having at night. They don't make much sense, but they come with intense emotions that don't fit the dreams' events whatsoever. For instance, the other night, I was dreaming about a bunch of young priests eating mashed potatoes on a bus. Something about this scanned as very ominous and was giving me horrible anxiety. And then some of them started putting gravy on the mashed potatoes, which was apparently such cause for alarm that I woke myself up out of a sound sleep. Hopefully, I'll go back to sleeping well and having normal dreams soon.

Thankfully, I could kind of see the writing on the wall with my energy levels earlier in the week, so I decided not to fill my schedule but so full as I moved closer to the weekend. As a result, I don't have any freelancing obligations to take care of today and can focus on my own writing for a change -- one reason I'm updating this blog on a Friday instead of leaving it until some point over the weekend or even Monday. It's cloudy out, and I'm just sitting here in my nice, dark room vibing to some Taylor Swift -- not a bad way to end a week at all.

On Changing Perspectives as We Age and News Break

We've been really into stories about kings and queens lately, so we've most recently been rewatching The Tudors. I'm also repeatedly reminded of how differently I can process stories and characters as I age. As someone who loved history growing up, especially the history of medieval England, I always found the stories about Henry VIII and all of his wives especially intriguing. In particular, I was absolutely nuts about Anne Boleyn.

The younger me related deeply to Anne because I saw myself in her. I loved how outspoken and opinionated she was. I liked that although she didn't necessarily fit the beauty standards of the time, she managed to go down in history as a beauty anyway. I loved that she didn't place "sensible" limits on what she thought she could achieve. For instance, it never even occurred to her that wanting to be queen was reaching too high. She made up her mind that she wanted it, and she got it. 

And, of course, Catherine of Aragon -- the sitting queen and Henry's wife -- was on the other side of that equation. She was older and infertile. Henry loved her once but grew tired of her. She was in the way of what he really wanted -- to have Anne as his wife instead -- and she became highly inconvenient because of that fact. Never mind that she was a wonderful queen and beloved by the people of England. The younger me didn't particularly like Catherine. I remember thinking she should be less stubborn, accept that Henry didn't want her anymore, and step aside gracefully so Anne could be queen. 

Having not read or watched anything about the Tudors in some time, that whole story hits entirely differently now that I'm in my 40s. Anne scans like a spoiled little brat who needed to stay in her lane and not go after things that didn't belong to her. And Catherine comes across as good, decent, admirable, and deserving of so much better than she got. I still found the death of Anne Boleyn to be horribly tragic, but that's about it. Don't even get me started on how Henry VIII was just an awful person and a blight on humanity in many different ways.