When I was a little girl, I held beliefs about aging. It seemed that everyone that was an adult had their life planned and sorted by their thirties.
Every adult, almost every adult, was married, with kids, living in the suburbs. If the couples were older their children had already moved out. But life, even my tumultuous family life, was stable and relatively predictable.
I have some wonderful childhood memories, mostly from hanging out with all of the neighbourhood kids. We made some amazing fun. We were all welcome in each other’s yards, some homes, and it was safe for us to wander the streets.
Everything seemed stable. I’m sure that it wasn’t. But I’m also mostly certain it was more stable than life these days.
Even in aging there is no certainty. We are growing older. I am grateful for that. At forty five I don’t feel old. Almost fifty, and I believe I still have half my life to live and that my best years are ahead of me. There is a calm in that for me.
Most importantly because it isn’t too late to start a new path. Yes, it is too late for motherhood, but not for living.
And I am grateful for that.