Seventy-two days…
This morning, my husband and I unexpectedly ran into an old friend we’ve not seen in quite a while . We began discussing our ages. Our friend is 42, my husband is 40, and as all of you know, I will be 40 in seventy-three days.
The way time escapes is mind boggling. Like it was yesterday, I still remember pouring my overly dramatic, teenage heart out to this friend during long phone conversations. Somehow I feel as if the fast forward button has been hit on my life. To make me feel even older, this chance encounter took place at our local voting facility. I know I’m a full-fledged responsible adult, and have been for quite some time, but it’s moments like this morning that slap me in the face with the number 40.
I do recognize that 40 isn’t old. I also know as I continue to age, 40 will be a breeze to the other numbers ending in zero that are heading my way. Yet, seeing someone I knew best at age 15 causes me to feel nostalgic for teenage, bubblegum-popping, innocent days of my youth. Though adolescent years can be very difficult times in life, and I’m sure I would not want to revisit most of the feelings that travel with them, looking back I wish I could have appreciated the realization of having my entire life ahead of me. However, the more I think about it, maybe that’s the beauty of entering middle age: the knowing…
When you are aware of something, you can treat the situation differently, with thought and, hopefully, even a little wisdom. Maybe now that I know I have only half my life left, I will truly appreciate the moments I share with the people I spend the most time.
There’s no turning back. I’m going to be 40, and I think I might actually survive it…
