It’s every woman’s nightmare. My age has never been that big of a deal to me. After all, I’ve been a “young person” all my life! Getting older was so far off in the distance, I guess I assumed it wasn’t there. But a few things happened that put getting older on my horizon: I had children. My mother turns 60 this year. I’m finding silver and white strands of hair in my combs & brushes. There’s no huge Jay Leno patch yet. For the most part, no one even knows I’m starting to show my age.
But I do.
Thirty three is still quite young but it’s not as forgiving as 23. I get tired. It takes me longer to recover from things. Some things are better, like my attitude and mood. But some things are worse, like my extremely cold feet and hands. I’m not in a panic yet. I’m in no hurry to run out and purchase a spot at the local mausoleum, but time definitely is starting to speak a little more loudly and firmly.
Get moving on your goals.
Get moving on your dreams.
Take care of yourself.
I don’t know how much time the Lord has allotted me here on this earth.
These silvery warning flags are reminding me that however long it is, I must maximize them.
I want my latter to be greater.
I want to earn every gray hair I have and have fun while doing it.
When I am considered old, I want to still be considered relevant.
That’s a tall order to fill…
I guess I better get started, huh?