I have a friend who is turning 35 the same day I am turning 49. She said to me recently that I seem to be handling turning 49 much better than she is handling turning 35.
The thing is, I have a little secret. It’s only known by those who have reached my age before me. But if you promise not to repeat it, I’ll let you in on it.
Promise? You won’t tell?
Ok. Here it is:
It just keeps getting better.
That’s it. That’s all. Ok, that’s not all. Ask my kids; there’s never a ‘that’s all’ with me. I can’t help myself. I have to expound.
This wouldn’t be a bad age to return to, although I have no idea how old I am here. I look older than 7 or 8, but I got glasses when I was 7 or 8, so either I was younger or just out of bed, but no, I was pretty much blind, so once I got glasses, I never came out of my room without them. 7 or 8 is a fun age. You’re in 3rd grade, still young enough to love your teacher, sweet enough your parents sill like you…still innocent and naive.
I base my age on what glasses I’m wearing, and these were my first. OH MY GOODNESS, How I loved these glasses. They were pink and cat-eyes, and I COULD SEE when I put them on!! Until these beauties entered my live I didn’t know you should be able to see individual blades of grass and individual leaves on trees, and you should see your Mom’s eyelashes and eyebrows if she sat across the table from you! I could go back to that magical time.
Kindergarten? The world opening up before my eyes? Discovery of letters and sounds and numbers and music? Perhaps. If only I could have seen. This was pre-cool cat-eye glasses. No. I wouldn’t go back.
This might be a tempting time. Before kindergarten. I must be 4 or close to 5 here. And my cousin, Marilee, on the right, was like pure magic to me. She is my mother’s twin’s daughter, the one that was my age. The girl born to be my playmate and pen-pal. We rarely saw each other growing up, but we were united by our Mother’s twin syndrome. We wrote each other letters faithfully. In 8th grade she came to stay for a week. She brought me a yellow top that she had made in school and said I looked so good in yellow and she could never pull it off. I didn’t even know a person cold look good in one color and not in another yet. (OMG! I wonder if that’s why I wear yellow on my birthday!)
Again, I’m 6 or 7 here, and I think my curiosity just might get the best of me, and given the choice I might go back just to find out about that dog! I have no idea who’s dog that is, or why I’m holding it, but that dog has the same coloring as my Bosco!
Ok, so, my point, Sweet Cutzi is, there isn’t an age I would choose to go back to. Not 35. Not 30. Definitely not 40. Not 21 or 24 or 26. I’ve loved every age I’ve been blessed to live and hope to live 51 more years!
I hope that encourages you.
Because the best is still ahead of you!