WHEN DID I GET OLD?

KNOW THAT YOU ARE THE PERFECT AGE.
EACH YEAR IS SPECIAL AND PRECIOUS,

FOR YOU SHALL ONLY LIVE IT ONCE.

BE COMFORTABLE WITH GROWING OLDER.

-Louise Hay

Every day, for as long as I can remember, has been the same. Wake-up, do my thing (whether it’s school, work or play), eat at different points, do a bit of socializing, sleep, rinse, wash & repeat.

However, as 40 quickly approaches I’ve noticed that waking up takes a little longer, the days go by faster, getting to sit down for a meal is cause enough for a celebration, socializing is only on the internet, I never get enough sleep and rinse, wash & repeat take a little more work each day.  

 WHEN DID I GET OLD?

 

In retrospect I think I cursed myself the day I heard some song on the radio and said “That’s not music! When I was your age…” Right then I should have realized I was turning into my parents, but now it’s too late.

 

Don’t get me wrong, like the cliché bottle of wine, I’ve improved with age.  I’m more in-tune with my body, practicing both yoga and Jiu-Jitsu,  conscious, but not obsessive about what I eat, I know what to wear and not to and know not to spend too much time trying to please those that will never be happy.

So what’s my hang up with getting older? I’m not punk rock anymore!  I don’t know what I am other than OLDER.

As my daughter grows up and the silver streaks appear in my hair I realize that it’s all moving too fast, I don’t have enough time to do what I want and the person I thought I was isn’t who I am now. The thought of looking back at my life wishing I had done more scares the crap out of me.

 WHAT’S MY LEGACY?

If I was to die right now what would my friend (because I only have 1) say about me?  I honestly have NO clue. I think she would have a tough time with my eulogy because I’m now taking the standard words “funny” “nice” and “Great mom” off the table.

So my friends I’m asking you “WHAT’S YOUR LEGACY?”  And how did you get there?
Please comment on this post sharing your thoughts.

MAHALO!
         Jess