Some how it became all about them. Inches, pounds and milestones. But I’m at the age where no one wants to admit their age and suddenly time seems to stop. It feels like there is little left to shoot for. I don’t want to just be keeping time until my children are grown and then what? Count down until death, it sounds so horribly morbid. To focus only on getting older but not becoming much else. Is there still room for me to grow? As a parent certainly, and as a wife as well, but what about as a writer, a human, as a child?

Can I grow in reverse as it were and become more childlike in all the best ways? The longer I live the less I understand and the more I realize there is to learn. I love to learn, I always have. Sometimes my mind is tired and doesn’t want to discuss, debate and digest every little tidbit and argument but other times it feels like a brisk walk for my intellect. (As with the walk, the company and security make or break the experience).

But I also remember how hard it is to change. As a kid, you have no choice. As an adult, I have some say in the matter. It hurts. The growing pains of the soul can be as aching as those of the body. I don’t look forward to that. But I hope that I am wise enough to see the potential ahead. I’m not done yet.