I'm getting up there these days. Sixty is looming ahead in the road. I guess I could look at it as a barricade or check point, but I prefer to think of it more as a speed bump or maybe even a pothole.
I used to be really hung up on ages. Before I was thirty I didn't think I would make it that far because of some of the stupid things I did. Most of the stupidest things involved cars --like getting every car I owned completely airborne at least once. (Kids, don't try this at home. I was lucky on more than one occasion).
Turning thirty was a big deal to me since I really thought I would be expected to grow up.
It didn't happen.
When I was thirty and one day nothing changed. What a relief.
I'm fine with numbers now --and that's what they are, just numbers. Internally I still feel like I'm about 18 years old, although perhaps a bit wiser. My body often lets me know that I'm not that young, but so far I have been able to deal with it's limitations.
What got me thinking about all this tonight was when I was putting out the trash in a light rain. I rolled the bins out to the curb and enjoyed my special time for a moment. (I like going out in the driveway/front yard at night. There is no one about and I have the street all to myself. I stand there and soak in the breeze and the sounds and I'm all by myself for a few moments.) I stood and listened to the rain drip and enjoyed the cool, wet air on my face.
And then I turned around, put my arms out like an airplane and banked back and forth down the driveway on my way back inside.