“He’s never parted the sea for me…but He has worked providentially in the details of my life.”
I’m turning older sooner than I wish. And while my heart isn’t looking forward to the added year, my head knows I have so much to be thankful for.
As a kid, I remember having two main dreams: to become the mother of sons and to be a published writer. Both have happened, and life has been good.
Back in college, I once had a vivid dream where I was riding a roller coaster. Aside from the fact I hate roller coasters, that dream was worse because I was pregnant to boot. I remember waking up from it with cheeks damp from tears. The pregnancy had felt so real, and I was terrified I would lose what I was sure was a baby boy.
And now I have two sons. They take up many of my waking–and sleeping–hours, and have done so since I gave birth to them. I think I longed for sons because I’ve never been a girly-girl, and I wouldn’t know what to do with a daughter. But boys speak my own language, I who never played with a doll and climbed trees with the best of them.
And I have been published. And obviously, I blog. That great American novel has eluded me thus far, largely because I lack discipline and partly because I can’t seem to focus on just one project. But I have a hubby who shares this dream, and works doubly hard so I can chase it through the shadows.
After this birthday, I have a year left before I turn forty. Which is, I have heard, when life actually begins. And with my sons needing their mother less, I’ve a feeling another kind of life is about to start for me, one that will happen more on the open road.
To be honest, I like open roads, but only if I am guaranteed clean bathrooms and no spiders ahead. However, Gandalf has wise words for me, and I always listen to wizards:
“There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.”
The edge of the wild.
What is waiting to happen to me there? I wish I had an idea.
I’m jaded enough to know formulas don’t work as well in the wild, and yet innocent enough to believe whimsy happens when you least expect it.
I’m smart enough to know trite platitudes do nothing but raise false hopes, and yet gullible enough to fall for the best of them.
I’m sane enough to know I will have to work harder than I have in the past, and insane enough to believe I still have what it takes.
And I’m wise enough to have learned from most of my mistakes, and yet immature enough to nurse bitterness that trip me up every now and then.
So I suppose I’m looking ahead with rose-tinted glasses tempered with reason. I don’t expect much, but I hope to be blown away.
“So I’m headed down the open road unknown…”