I walked to the station this morning – grey sky, purple and green umbrella and all the trees dripping on my shoes. I felt kind of struck by the fact that this is me… I’m not becoming someone, it’s not about who I want to be. This is the me I am.

Of course:

  1. I was *always* the me I was. At 9 years old I wasn’t going to be something – a poet and an astronaut. I was me already -superhero adventures and science and space aliens and poetry and good vs evil and school. I was terrified of bad opinion, I wanted to live up to my parents, I wanted to play in the trees and up the creek. Sometimes I laughed til I peed myself and sometimes I read scary books to stop from being sad in the night. It was all now. I was never becoming anything.
  2. And conversely at 42 I still have (universe willing and with luck) another 42 or more years in me. The first 42 years took a lifetime to live and in them I have changed a hundred fold. I look forward to knowing teen children, to writing, to publishing, to changing my hair, to sitting on decks, kayaking, cooking, discovering a love of something new – nailpolish or winter or sherry or something.

I don’t think of myself as a grown-up. Which is ridiculous. But I do know this is all I personally can be at 42.  I like being here with myself even as I think I’ll do better at 43.



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