Is this really it? I mean, I’m thirty-two, but lately I can’t help feel that I’m 22 and still trying to figure out my life. Then there’s the other part of me that often feels I’m already 52, getting out of bed making noises, complacent in my routines and patterns.
Is it too late to change? Is it too late to say, “I think I’m done with this phase of my life and I need to move on”? I’m sure lots of people would say no. I’m sure even my parents, so set in their ways, would reluctantly agree that if I wanted to change things up (where we live, what I do for a living, etc.), that it would all be ok. I guess now that I’m older it’s harder only because not only do I understand the potential for failure, I fear it. The 22 year-old me had nothing to lose; the 32 year-old me has more to lose – not everything, but more. The 52-year old me thinks I’m off my rocker; that I’m just having a bad day and I need to get over it.
Well, honey, I’ve had a series of bad days. I know I shouldn’t complain. Some truly amazing, wonderful events have occurred in my life as of late (marriage, kittens, etc.), but in addition to that has been the ever-present, ever-growing feeling that I may need some real change. Normally I would satiate this urge with a new haircut, but I can’t hep but feel that it’s going to take more than a new coif to compensate for this uncertainty.
Ok. Perhaps I’m simply reacting to the most recent devastation in my life (which is that of my friend’s), but perhaps this is merely serving as the catalyst to what really needs to happen in my life. Mark would probably say I’m overreacting, but he does understand where I’m coming from. He’s a good husband like that. So, maybe I am. Naturally, the 22 year-old me says I’m not overreacting at all; likewise, the 52 year-old me says I absolutely am. The 32 year-old me, well, I’m just trying to find the middle ground.