I'm Too Old for This

I'm also old enough.

I don’t know if you know, but I’m in the middle of writing a book. Actually, it's in the final stretch of the ‘ready for early readers’ draft. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time - a dream.

And now, it’s a dream coming true. 

It’s got me thinking a lot about my past life, my current (mid) life, and the me who’s transitioned between the two—a Sara who is so different yet exactly the same in many ways.

Writing a book kills you a little bit but also lights you up and illuminates your inner world. 

Today is a ‘do nothing’ day…

It’s not that I’m ‘doing nothing’ per se (I’m writing this post, aren’t I?), but I don’t have any particular schedule or agenda, and no looming deadlines are coming at me like a freight train.

Me, being fancy in my soft clothes

I have turned in the most recent pages to my editor, so that train will roll again soon when she gives me her notes. 

I awoke this morning with a sense of euphoria. “I have the whole day,” I thought. I can get so much done—all those things I’ve wanted to do! I envisioned myself gently wading into my to-do pile, thinning it out, and feeling accomplished at the end of the day.

Then I sat down and proceeded to Google, ‘Why is my Greek yogurt so runny?’ (The short answer is whey), which wasn’t in the pile, though it was helpful to know it hadn’t gone bad. 

And this one decision pretty much set the tone for the morning. 

I haven’t tackled many (any?) items in the pile, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. 

8 a.m. has turned into 11:49, and I’m still here, on the couch in my soft clothes (aka, loungewear but not as glamorous). Half the day? Really? 

Yes, really.

I did change into new soft clothes, so at least I’m not in my pajama sweats, so there’s that. In the past, I’d use this very scenario as a free ticket to ride the self-flagellation train. 

You’re being so lazy, so non-productive, you’re not getting anything done.

But right now, somehow, well - I really don’t care. (?)

Yes, that’s it - I don’t care. 

What I’m trying to tell you (and me) is that I’m too old for this. 

But I’m also old enough.

And it’s not just about the soft clothes:

I’m too old to beat myself up, 

     And old enough to let it be.

I’m too old to hold a grudge,

     And old enough to set a boundary.

I’m too old to care all that much about what others think of me,

      And old enough to follow my bliss.

I’m too old to live a life of blind restriction,

     And old enough to have fun (and eat the cake).

I’m too old to be reckless,

    And old enough to care greatly.

I’m too old to compare,

    And old enough to enjoy.

I’m too old to blame others,

      And old enough to take responsibility for what is mine.

I’m too old to shame myself,

     And old enough to fully live.

I think mostly I’m living the kind of life I want because I’m no longer getting in my own way, if that makes sense. (most of the time, anyway)

I’m finding a certain freedom in it that I didn’t know I needed.

Tell me, is there something you’re too old for?

Old enough?

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LYLAS -

S