My birthday is coming up on Super Bowl Sunday. I have been on the earth longer than there have been Super Bowls. And no, I will not be watching the Pats vs Giants. I could really care less who wins. After all it's just a game.
As I listen to the sports news and I hear the names of the players in this upcoming game I wonder, who will know who these players are in 50 years, a 100 years or longer? Will anybody care?
It is at this time of year, when the days gradually increase in sunlit hours, when the groundhog pops up to tell us spring is 6 weeks away (no matter how we wish it were 4) and once again the anniversary of my birth comes around that I wonder, will I ever be missed? This is not ego speaking. This is that deep insecurity that somehow life has passed me by. That I have not done things I could of done out of fear of failure. That my own broad streak of procrastination has somehow become my downfall.
As much as I wanted to be a Rembrandt or a Picasso, I didn't have the talent. As much as I wanted to be an Einstein, I didn't have the drive. Where would I be if I had just taken that step into space? If I had free fallen into the vortex of my own talents or lack of talents?
I don't even know why I write this blog. My own family doesn't read it. My husband doesn't have the time and I guess my kids just aren't interested. I write for my own amusement it seems. So the words that tumble around in my head have an outlet. So I fling them out into the ether and wait to see what happens.
When the front end of life becomes shorter than the back end it makes you think. And the thoughts are not of the pleasant variety. I worry about living too long, not long enough, losing my mind, my money and my abilities to cope. I can't imagine life without my husband. What if I should outlive my children? There are so many black and worrisome thoughts that crowd into my head. I want to sleep. Escape into a world of dreams where time will stand still. I want a 'do over'. But I don't want to do it all over again. It was all hard enough the first time.
Maybe it is time for me not to worry about if the kitchen floor is crunchy when you walk on it or the laundry isn't done. Maybe I can find some balance somewhere between the wanting to be creative and the I can't stand a really messy house. I just feel I am running out of time to do these things, to figure out where I am suppose to be standing in the middle of this life.
And in the midst of all of this I still want to celebrate my birthday, the anniversary of my birth. I want to eat cake. Chocolate cake, from a box mix with canned frosting, in the shape of a heart. Made by my husbands' very large, calloused and loving hands.
Will I ever be missed? Damn right I will be. I have touched lives as they have touched mine. Like those ripples in a pond, continuing outward, never really stopping.
I think Buzz Lightyear said it best, ''To infinity and beyond!''
As I listen to the sports news and I hear the names of the players in this upcoming game I wonder, who will know who these players are in 50 years, a 100 years or longer? Will anybody care?
It is at this time of year, when the days gradually increase in sunlit hours, when the groundhog pops up to tell us spring is 6 weeks away (no matter how we wish it were 4) and once again the anniversary of my birth comes around that I wonder, will I ever be missed? This is not ego speaking. This is that deep insecurity that somehow life has passed me by. That I have not done things I could of done out of fear of failure. That my own broad streak of procrastination has somehow become my downfall.
As much as I wanted to be a Rembrandt or a Picasso, I didn't have the talent. As much as I wanted to be an Einstein, I didn't have the drive. Where would I be if I had just taken that step into space? If I had free fallen into the vortex of my own talents or lack of talents?
I don't even know why I write this blog. My own family doesn't read it. My husband doesn't have the time and I guess my kids just aren't interested. I write for my own amusement it seems. So the words that tumble around in my head have an outlet. So I fling them out into the ether and wait to see what happens.
When the front end of life becomes shorter than the back end it makes you think. And the thoughts are not of the pleasant variety. I worry about living too long, not long enough, losing my mind, my money and my abilities to cope. I can't imagine life without my husband. What if I should outlive my children? There are so many black and worrisome thoughts that crowd into my head. I want to sleep. Escape into a world of dreams where time will stand still. I want a 'do over'. But I don't want to do it all over again. It was all hard enough the first time.
Maybe it is time for me not to worry about if the kitchen floor is crunchy when you walk on it or the laundry isn't done. Maybe I can find some balance somewhere between the wanting to be creative and the I can't stand a really messy house. I just feel I am running out of time to do these things, to figure out where I am suppose to be standing in the middle of this life.
And in the midst of all of this I still want to celebrate my birthday, the anniversary of my birth. I want to eat cake. Chocolate cake, from a box mix with canned frosting, in the shape of a heart. Made by my husbands' very large, calloused and loving hands.
Will I ever be missed? Damn right I will be. I have touched lives as they have touched mine. Like those ripples in a pond, continuing outward, never really stopping.
I think Buzz Lightyear said it best, ''To infinity and beyond!''
