During my run the other night, it occurred to me that I was 2/3 of the way through my 46th year. The realization prompted a few thoughts…
I find myself with increasing frequency wondering if an article of clothing is “too young” or “too short.” This is not a bid for compliments, just the reality of my desire to grow older with grace. Does one just know when to put away those short shorts or that skirt that could reasonably be defined as “mini?”
My runs feel challenging, almost every single time. If I remind myself to run from the strength of my core, I forget how much my hips and glutes hurt. And another thing – why must people drive so fast in residential areas? This is Albany. Where are they rushing to be?
My children can be wildly inappropriate. Case in point: #2 was concerned about his older brother traveling to NYC unaccompanied. He suggested a t-shirt with a handwritten message, something offensively defensive, like, “Ask me about my raging case of syphilis.” That is funny as hell, to me.
I love a thunderstorm! Being in bed, feeling the wind blow and watching the sky light up, is an awesome sedative. I just wish Cassidy, my 12 y/o black lab, had a bit more tolerance for the thunder – maybe doggy ears make the claps too intense?
I am getting so excited for summer and the promise of adventures and travel! The only thing reining in my enthusiasm is my awareness that two summer holidays make the 10-week break go crazy fast. Before the mockingly sympathetic comments come in, yes, I do know how fortunate I am to have such an extended summer vacation. What I can’t understand is how people live a full life with only a couple of weeks of vacation a year.
No matter how high the number goes, I still feel the same as I did when I was half my present age – open for adventure, enthusiastic about the future and blessed by the presence of people I love and who love me in return. It’s just a number.