I turn 40 years old next month. It’s coming fast and I was expecting to be a different person by the time this mark in my timeline arrived. I had this vision of being fit, healthier, confident, financially stable and then I realize…this is me we’re talking about! If I haven’t changed some of my current habits, the rest of my garbage will not miraculously change just because I’m one year older! Sheesh. *illusion shattered*
Anyone who has made it past 40 has told me, “Oh, you have time!” or “You’re just a baby!”. Little do they know, I am panicking inside because I do not feel like I have “time” to do what I want to do. Of course, this is ridiculous because I’m not dead yet. I don’t plan to be dead for quite a while. (My oldest and I have already planned my 100th and his 80th birthday party which we intend to attend together. Honestly, I just have to make it to 102 so I can attend my youngest’s 80th birthday too!) My doctor started med school when he was 40. Thanks to HONY, I read about Calvin Alexander Ramsey who returned to writing after the attacks on September 11, 2001 changed his world. He was 51 at the time. I can find articles about many people who found success and even fame later in life. Then there is Anna Mary Robertson Moses or “Grandma Moses” who started painting at age 70. Reading these stories give me hope.
I’m also inspired by folks who have come from little and have worked their way up. Young clothing designers who took a chance and didn’t give up. Or the YouTube personality who has worked his ass off to build his business and touch lives. People with vision who work hard give me hope that my idealistic beliefs are not wrong or wishful thinking.
I probably need to just chill out a little.
There is still time left to learn how to dance. Who knows? Perhaps I will get to show my art in a gallery someday (I dream of it). I might even have the chance to travel alone to an unfamiliar place, just for fun. I may get an opportunity to speak or perform in front of an audience. I might find the courage to let people hear me sing (not just through the walls of my shower). Maybe I will be able to publish that children’s book. Perhaps my writing will improve and I won’t be so critical or self conscious of being judged for my thoughts. Perhaps I will actually find myself in a version of that dream career I’ve imagined.
Maybe the uncertainty of my path will not bother me so much as time rolls on. Perhaps the angst I feel now will not feel as torturous as it does now. I hope I can find my groove and relax into what I’m meant to be “when I grow up”.