Sixty is 60. A third grader can tell you that 60 is not 40. Think we could just honor that reality? At 60 I can tell you
I've heard the term white privilege tossed around many times since but I've never really "got it" until today. I guess I haven't needed to. Or maybe I did.
Every headache is a potential brain tumor and each new freckle might be malignant melanoma -- this is how my brain works. I don't run to the doctor over every ache and bump but I'm quick to climb the crazy tree with my good friend 'what-if.'
I'm not shy and I don't hate people ... let me just put that out there. But I am a card-carrying introvert. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Introverts don't have introvert cards ... mostly because that would involve having to take extra steps to talk to extra people. Just no.
If I had to give you a list of my favorite badass '80s metal bands, Mötley Crüe would be number one. I'd seen them live twice. Man, I miss the late '80s and early '90s when rockers with crazy long hair and leopard print spandex tights were cool. All bad things must come to an end.
I hate my muffin top. Don't give me some sappy line about the top being the best part of the muffin. I hate that little roll that reminds me that I'm probably being stubborn and I might need to go a size up in my jeans ... that little extra piece of flesh that is evidence that I like mini Snickers bars. A lot.
There are five things that you could do in the '70s that you could never, ever get away with today because they are so despicable, at least to "p.c." police, they would have you arrested and Child Protective Services would take your children away... probably.
My husband and I have been together for eight years, plenty long enough to drop the "best behavior" act. It is human nature to let the people who know us best see us at our worst, so daily interaction with my husband is pretty much unfiltered. If I'm annoyed with him (or just annoyed, period) I'm pretty quick to let that annoyance creep in to my tone of voice.
I am a Christmas person. I don't love eggnog, but I love everything else about Christmas. We believe in Santa. And Jesus. The Santa and Jesus combo on the front lawn doesn't bother me ... I'll just put that out there. It makes me laugh but it doesn't bother me.
November is National Adoption Month. You may see stuff in your Facebook feed about being 'chosen' and 'born in my heart, not under it.' Those are wonderful sentiments. This isn't an article about wonderful sentiments, so hold on, k?
Whoo hoo, fall is here! Actually, fall really isn't here ... I live in Texas and we're still wearing shorts and opening our windows. It's really funny to watch the climatized Texas bundle up when the temps hit the low 80s, though. We're out of the 90s, so bring on the winter wear, baby!
At age 56, I get to be a rock star. In an athletic setting. Surrounded by some of the fittest and most motivated people I have ever met. All I have to do is keep showing up and let them watch me go at CrossFit with complete abandon. I have a new set of friends and admirers.
I don't know when I will feel like a real grownup ... maybe never. And that's okay. This is 49.
I might not be enrolled in school but I'm a learner...and I've learned enough about life to know that what I know is a drop in the bucket compared to what I don't know.