Before I turn that big corner, I’ll have to look both ways.
Twenty years ago, on the evening before my fortieth birthday, I wrote a little cathartic something for myself. Something about “anything goes,” how I might dye my hair purple, get boobs, a tattoo, spit when I want to. In these past twenty years, I did one of those things. And before you wonder too hard, I’m not a spitter. I’m not good at it and don’t have a hankering to learn now.
So, I’m at the corner. To my left is the past, my right, the future.
Obviously, unless I live to be 121 years old, there is much more to see on my left, sixty years worth.
I was very fortunate to have loving parents and a sister, five and a half years older. I often tell her it’s one of the many things I love about her. She’s been every age before me and can tell me what it’s like.
Am I being overly sensitive?
Yes. But sixty? It’s so hard to believe.
I know when that big day comes a few days from now (not just my birthday but early voting day in Texas), I will settle peacefully into a new decade.
But what will I see? Do? How many more novels live inside of me that beg to be allowed in public?
How many empty canvases can I fill with paint and like the result?
When will I have to stop boxing? (pads and bags, not people)
Mostly, I wonder, what will I learn?
That’s the exciting part.
Sometimes, I want to return to the years when my children were young. The fun we had at parks, reading stories, making up stories, and endless other happy times. I loved watching them grow.
I smile now after typing that last sentence. They are adults and I still love watching them grow. And each of my two children have given me a grandchild. I will watch them grow too, just not for quite as long. It’s okay. Because now it’s my children and grandchildren’s turn to experience that joy.
And that thought makes me smile like the birth of a new baby.
It’s the circle of life. And it’s beautiful.