Doesn’t that sound kind of old? And sort of mature? And, well, settled into yourself?
Like if you were 55 you would never start a sentence with the word “like.” And you would know how to use a semi-colon properly (especially if you considered yourself somewhat of a writer). And you would have a laundry-less floor. And not pout, sulk, and perhaps say mean things if you didn’t get your way? You would be clear on what brand of dishwasher detergent, toilet paper and moisturizer were best. You would have a signature “scent” (besides oh da garlic).
I believed that, too. Until I woke up this morning as a fifty-five-year-old and none of it was true. Heh.
I moved away to college when I was 19 (500 miles, exactly the same distance as Alex will be), married Steve when I was 21, had Kate when I was 30 and Alex when I was 36. I have been self-employed forever. I went to India when I was 50 (and started this blog). There were many years when I didn’t know how old I was. But today I am clear.
Yesterday someone said, “oh, but you are a really young fifty-five.”
Oh, I hope so.
Yesterday I also heard these words coming out of my mouth, “Girls, tomorrow after our pedicures, we can get some piercings.” Silence. Me realizing what I just said…”Actually, I won’t pay for any facial piercings, but the ears are on me.”
Yes, maturity may be gaining, but it’s got a way to go to catch up with me. Today, a long walk with Kate, pedis with my girls, and maybe a little champagne tonight. Happy to me.