Four Out of Nine Lives

So, a general fact about me is that I do not math. And I do not like to admit that I am getting older. Somewhere around 16 months ago, I declared that I am not even keeping track of my own age anymore; I knew I was somewhere around 38, and I was leaving it at that.

So imagine how horrifying it was to realize…I am going to be 40.

Yes, as you read this, I will be mere hours away from turning (or maybe even just have turned) 40.

EEP.

Why is it so scary, though? Realistically, it’s because I am officially older than I want to be, or can be and still remain cool. (According to popular theory.)

I, quite frankly, want to prove that I can be a nearly-middle aged mother of two and stay cool.

(Hush, White Fang, yes, I am already cool.)

I also don’t want to believe that my best years are behind me.

Has my life gone exactly the way I wanted it to? No. But whose does? A lot of things have gone just fine. I could have many more regrets than I do. That ain’t half bad.

It’s only been since I lived out my 30s that I finished a college degree, revitalized my dancing career, published a book, and had my second child.

If I can get all that done in a decade when most people are finding themselves settling into boring, humdrum jobs and routines, then imagine what I can accomplish in the next 10?