kayfromhome

Let me start by saying that I feel young. Which I know is totally something old people say, but truly I do.

My spirit feels youthful, in the way that I can still be idealistic. I am compelled by deep, burning passion and the urge to “change the world.” I am young enough that I firmly believe I have time left to do it.

Still, there is an aging in me. My idealism is tempered by experience and a wisdom gained through loss and by mistakes made. The fires of my passion don’t rage and roar wildly, as much as they devour neatly in controlled spaces. I longer feel a slave to my urges, where I once lived at the mercy of my intuition. Now, my intuition is a gentle friend, giving guidance when consulted but never ruling freely.

I am young enough that time still seems my friend, yet, I am keenly aware of the weight that is the ticking clock, winding down the minutes I have left on this earth to make those changes this world so desperately needs.

I have always tended more melancholic than sanguine. There is kinship between myself and the romanticism found dwelling within the morose. Still, I recoil slightly, like a snake beneath cold air, at the onslaught of existential dread that slinks in during my evening wind downs.

If my best days are before me, why does my heart ache as I peer through the golden glow of many great yesterdays?

Someone tell me… is 34 old? It’s not midlife is it? So why does it feel like I’m approaching a crisis?

Nothing is as I thought it would be. My life is good. Real good. But is good enough? I tell myself I’ve settled in to a good rhythm, but have I just settled?

What is the difference between settling and settled down?

This mid-30’s girl would like to know.