I honestly go for days, weeks, and sometimes even months without giving too much thought to my age. And then something happens that makes me think about it, and I feel old. In the bad way. The “Everything is Headed South and it is Too Late to DO Anything About it” way. Fortunately, that really doesn’t happen all that often. (Good thing, because it really hurts when it does.)

Lately, I’ve been feeling too old.

In the right way.

I’m too old to keep on operating under assumptions, that if they were ever true, are certainly outdated.

I’m too old to wear cheap shoes. Unless I want to. If they’re cute. And comfortable.

I’m too old to hope that things will happen simply because I wish they would.

I’m too old not to try.

I’m too old not to give myself credit.

I’m too old to save the good stuff  for later.

I’m too old not to take care of myself and my family.

I’m too old to wait for approval. Or permission.

I’m too old not to sing in the car.

I’m too old to ignore or deny my power.

I’m too old not to appreciate what I have, what I am, and what I can still be.

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