Sometimes I surprise myself. I stumble through things I’ve written and have to re-read and authenticate that the thought that just struck my heart was actually penned by me. It’s not that I’m amazing, or elusive or incredibly insightful. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
I hate fixing my hair, because well, I hate my hair, so most often I have it stuck up in some sort of bun-like configuration on the back of my head. I normally throw on a little mascara and just enough foundation to ensure my red splotches and whatever “blemish” is covered as to not to scare the neighbors. And chapstick…always chapstick.
Most days I spend in my pajamas. If I trek out into society I throw on something more presentable, but the minute I get home, I’m back in my pajamas. There are days I change in and out of my comfy clothes three or four times. Ridiculous.
I’m not a particularly organized person, more like organized chaos–a trait of mine that
the Sgt. my husband isn’t particularly fond of. I wash dishes because there isn’t enough money in the budget to eat out every night and not cook, and can’t recall the last time I actually deep cleaned my bathroom. Gross, I know.
So when I find something I’ve written that seems a thought by someone who does not fit the description of the sloth above, I almost have to pinch myself. I realize in those moments I have potential that I have yet to live up to. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.
This Thursday is my 36th birthday. Turning 30 was a tragic event for me, so now that I’m on the downhill to 40 I wonder if I will live much more gracefully and intentionally. I don’t know if I ever seriously thought of where I would be at 36. But I didn’t think I would be here. Somehow, I thought it would all be easier. But it seems with every passing day, things become more challenging.
I think I thought life would be more carefree as an adult. I think I thought life would be less stressful and more like the movies–where you are always at dinner, always with your friends in the living room, or at a coffee shop or going to catch a show.
Every birthday brings perspective for me, sometimes challenging me, sometimes making me really see the girl in the mirror isn’t really a girl any longer. I wonder if at 36,46, 56 we will live up to our expectations of self? I wonder with every passing of age we ever really grow up? I wonder if we ever stop feeling so young and incapable on the inside even if the outside reflects wisdom and a life well lived?
Whatever your age, life is never what we expect it to be, and I think we are never who we thought we would be. I know that God is never surprised but I know I sure the hell am.