August 21st: A day that will live in infamy
It's my birthday.The picture to the right is not me, but doesn't she look like a younger version of me?!
Anyway.
Ya, ya, I know. At 32 wonderous years, what do they matter anymore? Honestly, I don't know. As long as I am still having them, I consider myself ahead of the game, right?
Anyway.
Ya, ya, I know. At 32 wonderous years, what do they matter anymore? Honestly, I don't know. As long as I am still having them, I consider myself ahead of the game, right?
So I have been thinking about that, and where I am in life, and where I am going, and I am not coming to any distinct understanding of a plan. I have no inkling, actually. Things have changed so much--my focus, my family, my world. I don't really know where to start.
Or finish. Isn't that what life rolls into? A series of starts and finishes. It's like every time you 
think you've finished, you should just assume something else will just fill its place. The rat race drags us in until we get so swept away, we forget what is important. Then, without us knowing, something ends and we have to re-access it all.
think you've finished, you should just assume something else will just fill its place. The rat race drags us in until we get so swept away, we forget what is important. Then, without us knowing, something ends and we have to re-access it all.I know you all know what I'm talking about here, but that is only part of it. 32. 32 years are over. I will never be as young as that fresh faced little person above. I will never experience the wonderment of a first kiss again. I will never again know the feeling of coming home to someone else being completely responsible for ME. I am now responsible for myself and others.
I have to accept the fact that sometimes....sometimes...I really like listening to BBC radio or classical music in the car. On occasion, I realize I am driving AT the speed limit and get irritated by the young punk behind me that wants me to speed up. I have reached an age that at 17 seemed OLD and antiquated.
I am old and antiquated.
Or am I? I mean, everyone keeps telling me that Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte made the thirties COOL. So am I cool? Do I want to be cool? I think the clincher to my aged state is that it no longer MATTERS to me. I don't care if I am 
in or out. Maybe that is why I feel the most at east with myself than I ever have. I feel ok with my body and all its numerous rolls. I love the clothes I can afford to buy for myself and I think I look good in them. I enjoy makeup not because I am trying to hide anything but because I feel good about so much that I just want to accentuate, and accessorize.32. A 32 year old Meg would be a different mom than the 22 year old one was. I don't consider music of 1994 'oldies'. I also don't sweat so much about retarded stuff but see its place in the big picture. I am trying to see MY place in the big picture. I wonder how you, Mr. or Ms. Reader, fit into my life equation. Where will our relationship, if any, be in a decade? Who have I lost or left behind from my life in the last one? What have I learned from all of it?
I don't think we ever know what we've learned until much later. I don't think I realize what knowledge I've gained or how sage I have become. But hopefully, somehow, I have been ingrained with more tools, more experience, more ability, to face life as it comes at me. I am ready to embrace it. I'm ready for 32.
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