Not Ready To Be Old

It has been too long.  Far too long.  I began writing a few things over the past several months and finished none of them.  A year ago I said I would be living the “adventure of staying still.”  I have tried my very best to keep that phrase in mind, but I failed often.  I am not the staying still type, even after mentally trying it on for size over the past 12 months.  I became very afraid a couple months ago because I realized the attempt to settle myself and my soul into this place I agreed to call home was warping my internal mirror drastically.  I believed myself to be an old, sad, sedentary woman with only memories of adventure,

I became very afraid a couple months ago because I realized the attempt to settle myself and my soul into this place I agreed to call home was warping my internal mirror drastically.  I believed myself to be an old, sad, sedentary woman with only memories of adventure, excitement, and romance to look back upon.

I am not ready to be 80 (much because, at 80 I want to be grinning madly and snickering to my best friend in the rocking chair next to me about how pathetically boring “the kids are these days”).  And, I am not 80.  I may have passed more birthdays than I care to, but I am still young and capable and full of anticipation and need.  Looking in the mirror at this tired, broken old woman, I realized I had, over the months, forgotten that this piece of life is just another part of my adventures.  But I had forgotten so fully, that it was very difficult to find my hope and excitement again, buried as they were under snow and housework and simplicity.

Forgetting not only left me feeling old and parched, it stole the joy from the adventures I promised myself I would pay attention to while trying out this married, Colorado life.  Sitting by the fire I felt trapped.  Baking bread became a chore.  Planning a wedding was desperately lonely. Walking 90 pound puppies on 18 F degree cloudy days was overwhelming.  The idea of this being “forever” was suffocating me.

Sadly, I couldn’t get back there, back to the “adventure of it all” on my own.  Happily, my co-pilot saved me.  Apparently, I’m not the only one not wanting to stop here, not wanting to throw in the towel.  So today, I have a new map, a new notebook in which to record my research of towns and beaches and bike paths, a new adventure to plan.  And somehow, this winter isn’t looking quite so scary anymore, the chill won’t settle into my bones.

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