37. Surely I’ll have my act together by then.
37.
That was the year that my adorable cottage house would be perfect. The beds would be made every morning and dirty dishes never had time to rest in the kitchen sink.
I’d have a fabulous career. Law, international photographer, novelist. Something I would do fabulously well — effortlessly — making me independently wealthy.
Be married to an adorable man and have tons of adorable children who always kept their rooms clean. And though I showered them with everything imaginable, they would not become spoiled, self-centered brats — but turn into loving, altruistic self-actualized beings that floated through life.
I’ll stop now.
My head hurts.
Linking up with Finish the Sentence Friday and “When I was younger, I wanted to…”
When I was younger, I wanted to have my act together by age 37.
Growing up in the 60s, 70s and early 80s, the year 2000 was the mythical beacon.
The year I would turn 37 and surely have my act together.
Well, if you are halfway decent at math, you know by now, I’ve passed my pivotal age.
I’ve come to realize I’ll never have my act together but I’m okay with that.
Or maybe my definition of act together has changed. A lot.
My daughter is right there now. The dreaming stage. The stage when anything is possible.
I’m not cynical. Anything is possible with time, sacrifice, working hard, relationships.
It’s just time. There seemed so much of it 30 years ago.
And I did get the adorable husband. (and kids.)
So what did you want when you were young?
