Swing
Age is a funny thing.
I am feeling rather creaky tonight, probably from three hours of working out today -- a Pump class, Hip Hop and Zumba.
My knees are squealing.
I look in the mirror and see new wrinkles.
Not a big deal, really. I'll be 48 in February. Gravity happens.
While parts of me definitely feel that age, not everything does.
I think of my mom -- when she was 45, she gave birth to me -- the youngest of her six children.
Maybe it's the multiple kids thing. Maybe I don't feel older because I have only one.
But does anybody really feel old in their head?
I know a woman who is in her late eighties. When the weather is nice -- and sometimes when it isn't -- she heads to the local park and swings on the swings. Higher and higher she goes, not mindful of her creaking hips, her failing sight. She swings. Because it makes her feel her "head" age. Which is 22.
I don't feel that young in my head. I didn't particularly like my twenties, except for the part where I met and married my husband. I liked my thirties much better.
Forty seven and a bit doesn't thrill me. I feel kind of used up, like I have nothing left to offer. I hope this is a middle-aged malaise that will miraculously disappear.
I want to be like the elderly woman on the swing. How lovely it must feel to shed that skin, that experience, those disappointments, those nagging aches and pains and return to your youth.
I am feeling rather creaky tonight, probably from three hours of working out today -- a Pump class, Hip Hop and Zumba.
My knees are squealing.
I look in the mirror and see new wrinkles.
Not a big deal, really. I'll be 48 in February. Gravity happens.
While parts of me definitely feel that age, not everything does.
I think of my mom -- when she was 45, she gave birth to me -- the youngest of her six children.
Maybe it's the multiple kids thing. Maybe I don't feel older because I have only one.
But does anybody really feel old in their head?
I know a woman who is in her late eighties. When the weather is nice -- and sometimes when it isn't -- she heads to the local park and swings on the swings. Higher and higher she goes, not mindful of her creaking hips, her failing sight. She swings. Because it makes her feel her "head" age. Which is 22.
I don't feel that young in my head. I didn't particularly like my twenties, except for the part where I met and married my husband. I liked my thirties much better.
Forty seven and a bit doesn't thrill me. I feel kind of used up, like I have nothing left to offer. I hope this is a middle-aged malaise that will miraculously disappear.
I want to be like the elderly woman on the swing. How lovely it must feel to shed that skin, that experience, those disappointments, those nagging aches and pains and return to your youth.