Showing posts with label walk through this world with me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label walk through this world with me. Show all posts

Sunday, May 19, 2013

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-eight doesn't feel any different from fifty-seven. 

The most difficult birthday for me was the thirtieth. The rest of them have been a piece of cake (ummm, I like white cake with chocolate frosting; thanks.)

I don't know why I had so much trouble with 30.  I guess I finally realized that I had to be grown-up now; which was kind of a crock, because I'd long before become a mom, so I was pretty responsible.  Something about lost youth, maybe.  

I won't lie to you.  There are a lot of crummy things about getting older.  For one, my bad health habits are coming back to bite me in the butt. I cannot eat like I did when I was a kid and still maintain my girlish figure.  My girlish figure hopped a train to Bye-Bye-Ville about ten years ago, and it didn't buy a round-trip ticket.

I have to worry about retirement now.  Or no retirement; whichever the case may be.  I honestly can't see myself still doing what I do when I'm seventy or so; unfortunately for my bank account.  I'm already crabby.  I'm going to be a real pain in the ass if I still have to train people twelve years from now.   

Surprisingly, though, there are some good things about getting older.

I have more patience.  I go with the flow.  Nothing that happens in the world is earth-shattering.  Even the earth-shattering things aren't earth-shattering.  One makes do.  There are very few things I can think of that would cause me to descend into an irreversible funk.  I'm much more even-keeled than I ever was for most of my life.

I'm not very material-minded.  "Things" take up a lot of space.  I don't have any more room for "things"; and I pretty much like the things I have.  I don't feel the need to switch them out for new things.

I finally have the confidence to pursue writing.  Throughout my life, people would say to me, "You're a really good writer"; yet, I hardly ever wrote enough to justify those opinions.  And I wasn't a good writer.  I was a neophyte writer.  I've now finally settled into my own voice; and I don't frankly care if it's not someone's cup of tea.  It is what it is.      

I love a nice spring morning; with the sun bathing my face; taking Josie out for an early-morning walk.  I notice the early birds singing.  I think about them.  What kind of birds are they?   I don't know if I ever even heard the birds when I was younger.

I have let go of a lot of stuff.   I've always been the kind of person who had to pick at a sore.  I couldn't leave it alone.  Any slight; any cross look; depressed me; reminded me that I was a loser at life.  Now I know that people are just people.  I don't have to internalize everything.  People act a certain way for their own reasons; ninety-nine per cent of those reasons have absolutely nothing to do with me.

I guess, overall, I've just grown comfortable with me.  So, fifty-eight isn't so bad.

Oh, one more thing:  If you don't appreciate my fondness for old country music, that's okay.  I still think it rocks.  Sort of like this: