The Truth about getting older
Ok here it is, the truth about getting older:
In some ways it stinks, and in some ways it’s beautiful. Now wasn’t that simple.
I find myself less tense about the petty stuff, but more worried about the brevity of the rest of my days. I find myself more sure about who I am and my gifts, but less sure about why in world I am still struggling to use my talents successfully. I find it easier to forgive most things, but harder to tolerate laziness and lack of motivation. I have more appreciation for life, but less physical strength to enjoy it fully. I find myself afraid of living less often, but afraid of dying more often. I am more responsible for my actions, but less certain why. I talk to God more. I worry for my child more, because I know with a certainty that I won’t always be here. I love my mom and respect what she has been, and done, more than ever in my life, but I worry that my child may not feel the same way when the time comes. I see my mistakes more clearly, but realize there is absolutely nothing I can do about them. I have more physical pain, but I have less mental pain. I no longer care if I gain 5 pounds, but I do care about my cholesterol and blood sugar and blood pressure and my lumpy boobies. I love my sisters and brothers more, but am sad that I can’t see them more often. I smile at sunsets and full moons and spring flowers. I cry at the same things. I am at the same time unimaginably glad to have been here and inexplicably sad to think of leaving before I have done all I wanted to do.
Oh my gosh… life is so strange. It’s kind of like a Rubik’s cube,, you can’t ever seem to get all the colors lined up at the same time.