So it’s my birthday today. Guess how old I am? Like the title didn’t give it away . . . Here’s the math: 100 ÷ 2 = 50.
I made it through thirty and forty with relative ease but somehow fifty (it looks way better written out for some reason) is giving me pause. I figured by now I’d be, I don’t know, an adult, as in mature, wise, and all growed up. Oh sure, I learned a few things along the way like: Don’t sweat the small stuff (that one takes a really long time to master). Be kind, especially to those who annoy the heck out of you (still working on that one). And, I really can’t pull off orange (but since I don’t sweat the small stuff anymore, I wear it anyway). But inside, I’m still that thirteen-year-old girl, the one who was shy and skittish but also had grand ideas and believed the world was a magical place.
It seems like I should have it all together by now. I should know everything! But by some strange, cosmic twist, the older I get, the less I know. Okay, technically I know more than when I was thirteen but geometrically, not so much. That’s probably because there is so much stuff to know and now that I’ve reached the midway point, I realize there will never be enough time to learn it all, let alone fit it into my brain. And speaking of brains, mine is having difficulties lately like forgetting what I am talking about in the middle of a conversation . . .
Maybe when I hit sixty, I will finally be a grown up and understand all of life’s mysteries and absurdities . . . then again, maybe we’re not supposed to grow up that much. . .