Today I am six years old in dog years.
And this is post #1000.
So I revisited the birth year of this blog today. In between bits of things I still love was a whole lot of tripe.
I resisted the urge to delete posts that seem so silly now, or to go back and edit the ones that were so poorly written. As ridiculous, or trivial, or nonsensical as some of them are, they were the very real, and probably overly earnest, thoughts of the person I have been slowly becoming my whole life.
So, so slowly. Life is nothing if not the impatient frustration of becoming.
I look at pictures of myself over the years and enjoy that bi-polar sensation of, one one hand, remembering everything: the feel of fabrics, the smells, the sounds, a million details that come rushing back, and, on the other, the strange shocking realization that I'm not completely sure that was actually me in the first place, with the lingering whisper, "who is that person?"
Since every part of my birthdate is a multiple of 7s, and this birthday is the sixth of 7s, here's the dog year run down:
I am 7, with missing front teeth on our first trip to Wyoming.
I am 14, out of braces, and a freshman in high school.
I am 21, and a new bride.
I am 28, the mother of a 6 and 3 year old.
I am 35, visiting Mom and Dad's house in Colorado for Christmas.
Today, I am 42 and still here.
For so long, I kept believing that there was some magical moment when it would all come together, the complete sense of self and understanding, that inevitable instant when I would look back and say, "ah. Yes. Of course. I see now." But these days I'm more inclined to believe that this only happens when the game is over, and never when you are still playing. And the game is always changing.
This, with a slight pronoun shift from Fitzgerald's original, captures it for me:
"She was something desirable and rare that she had fought for and made her own, but never again, an intangible whisper in the dusk, or on the breeze of night. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice." (from The Sensible Thing)
In keeping with the 7s and 1000 theme today: 1000 pictures in 14 minutes.
And this is post #1000.
So I revisited the birth year of this blog today. In between bits of things I still love was a whole lot of tripe.
I resisted the urge to delete posts that seem so silly now, or to go back and edit the ones that were so poorly written. As ridiculous, or trivial, or nonsensical as some of them are, they were the very real, and probably overly earnest, thoughts of the person I have been slowly becoming my whole life.
So, so slowly. Life is nothing if not the impatient frustration of becoming.
I look at pictures of myself over the years and enjoy that bi-polar sensation of, one one hand, remembering everything: the feel of fabrics, the smells, the sounds, a million details that come rushing back, and, on the other, the strange shocking realization that I'm not completely sure that was actually me in the first place, with the lingering whisper, "who is that person?"
Since every part of my birthdate is a multiple of 7s, and this birthday is the sixth of 7s, here's the dog year run down:
I am 7, with missing front teeth on our first trip to Wyoming.
I am 14, out of braces, and a freshman in high school.
I am 21, and a new bride.
I am 28, the mother of a 6 and 3 year old.
I am 35, visiting Mom and Dad's house in Colorado for Christmas.
Today, I am 42 and still here.
For so long, I kept believing that there was some magical moment when it would all come together, the complete sense of self and understanding, that inevitable instant when I would look back and say, "ah. Yes. Of course. I see now." But these days I'm more inclined to believe that this only happens when the game is over, and never when you are still playing. And the game is always changing.
This, with a slight pronoun shift from Fitzgerald's original, captures it for me:
"She was something desirable and rare that she had fought for and made her own, but never again, an intangible whisper in the dusk, or on the breeze of night. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice." (from The Sensible Thing)
In keeping with the 7s and 1000 theme today: 1000 pictures in 14 minutes.
Life, thus far, as 42 begins.
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