I’m getting older. Well obviously, we all are. Until they find an effective and permanent way of reversing the aging process, it’s a sad truth for the human race. The biggest difference between me and most of the rest of the world is I’m more than willing to accept it. If anything, I’m getting better with age. Really. I was one miserable and unattractive teenager (not just saying that because I had an awkward adolescence). As I’m getting older I’m learning more about myself that I had no idea about.
I like cooking. I’m pretty good at it too.
I love to belly dance.
I can now talk freely to complete strangers, and I don’t care what they think of me.
Where I thought I’d be now when I was 15 is completely different from reality. I thought I’d get a boyfriend, etch out a living somehow and just exist until I got married and had kids. No ambition. No real plans. All of that is different now. Here I am on the verge of my 21st birthday (a month and a half to go!). I’m working with a retail company I adore. I’m still single, but enjoy the independence. I plan adventures and spend my time with people I like.
So what if I never say/do anything profound? So what if I don’t pull six-figures a year with my job, and live in a swanky condo with my matching furniture? As long as I can be free to exercise my imagination, and share laughter with my friends and family I don’t think I’ll need anything else.
Well… except my kitty. Life wouldn’t be the same with out Oswald nipping at my fingers.
