If I were a car, I’d be an antique and could wear one of those cerulean blue tags. A piece of furniture, an heirloom to be fought over by my surviving beneficiaries. If I were a work of art, I’d be in the public domain, having been born prior to 1963 and failing to renew copyrights.
I wonder about my life, now that I am in my final year of my first half century.
What do I have to show for my time here. What have I accomplished, what is my legacy?
I wonder if it is too late to be satisfied with my choices.
I have the family I’ve always wanted. A man who I know loves me and who will be with me until my dying breath, or his. My children are my heart…
But, I still don’t know what I want to do when I grow up… well, I do. I just don’t know how to get there and it’s that feeling of discomfiture that has me stymied. I have all these thoughts ricocheting around in my brain, and no way of putting them into some sort of order.
I don’t lack motivation, I lack confidence that these ideas will bring me what I seek, or the courage to move on if they don’t. The ennui in my life is mind numbing.