without wings

Do you ever hear that a famous person (or regular person) has passed away and figure out how many years older they are than you and then imagine…if you knew you only had THAT many years left…then what? Sometimes it’s 16 or 35, other times it’s 7 or 3. I do this all the time even though I know it’s morbid, I do the math.

Life has never run on a particular schedule for me, not since I left home anyway. Most people have high school, college, career, marriage, children and so on. They’re on the clock, ticking off their list of milestones one by one. They age gracefully and they probably don’t count how close to a deceased person’s age they might be.

Or maybe they do?

My path has always seemed a bit more circular and predictable in a different way. An everything-stays-mostly-the-same kind of way.

Has learning to keep expectations low stunted my growth? Getting married and then divorced two years later was the catalyst for that, I’m sure. Why bother planning our life if it can all change in one horrible day? Maybe the need to feel safe has kept me cocooned; without wings. I don’t feel sad when I look at my peculiarities so much as I wonder how other people possess the talent to morph into new beings when necessary; child, student, professional, spouse, parent, caregiver, grandparent. I agree that every person blooms in their own way and time. It’s just really interesting to me how different those time frames can be for each of us.

There’s a lot going on in my head right now, if you can’t tell. Life is changing and I want to be brave enough to let it.

image via Katherine Hanlon

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