It’s the end of January, which means I’m another year older. *s* When you’re a kid you count how old you are by halves. “I’m not four! I’m four and a half,” said with a puffed out chest and pride on your face. As the teenage years roll around, you want to be part of the “older” crowd so you can do more things. You can’t wait until you’re sixteen so you can get your drivers license. Or you want to be out of high school and be classified as an adult. Or twenty-one so you can legally drink. There’s always something that we want that’s just out of our reach because of our age.
But somewhere along the way, you begin to reverse your attitude. You no longer want to get older because that dreaded 3-0 is fast approaching. When you hit thirty, you think you’ll be “old.” (Yikes!)
My oldest brother was like that. He dreaded turning thirty so bad that when I teased him about it, I thought he was going to hit me. Seriously. Ten years later he’d changed his tune. I don’t think he minded turning forty at all. Why? Because he’d been involved in a serious farming accident the year before and the man was lucky to be alive.
Funny how “little” events like that change us.
Yes, even now there’s still something we want that is out of our reach…and that’s our youth. Not sure exactly when this starts to happen, but trust me, it’ll happen!
No, I don’t really mind turning another year older. It simply means I’m still on the green side of the grass. (If you don’t know what that means, just stop and think about it a minute.) I once worked for a man who told his employees to never lose sight of the child in ourselves. Sounded good to me, so I haven’t! 🙂 My body may be getting older, but baby, I’m just getting better. And I hope to continue on like this for decades to come.