When I was 12, I couldn’t wait to be 16. Life, it seemed, really started then.
When I was 16, I couldn’t wait to be 18 and independent, so I left home and moved across the country.
When I was 18, I loved college, but couldn’t wait to be 21 and be able to go into bars.
When I was 21, I drank too much, had a crazy boyfriend, and met the love of my life. I couldn’t wait until 22.
When I was 22, I married and couldn’t wait until my husband was done with law school to have kids at 27.
When I was 23, I cried all night on my birthday about growing old.
When I was 25, I had my eldest son. I couldn’t wait to be 30 so people would stop asking if I was the nanny.
When I was 27, I had another baby, and my husband graduated from Law School. Life seemed like it was finally happening.
When I was 30, I embraced life and felt like a real adult. I had a third son, started a business, raised my boys, and became super PTA mom.
When I was 34, I decided to write a novel, so I did. I wanted to be on a 40 under 40 list, and worked toward that goal. I thought 36 sounded ancient.
When I was 36, my life blew up, and I slept-walked through the next four years.
When I turned 40, I woke up and realized life had gone on around me, and I failed to notice. I decided to embrace the changes and not care what others thought of me. I slipped into a more comfortable skin. I keep my eyes open, knowing that in three short years my oldest son will be off on his own life adventure. I am present, enjoying the little moments. The quiet moments. The ones that no one records.
I’ve stopped hurrying life by because time passes, no matter how hard you try to stop it. The choice I have is whether to embrace it or fight it.
My arms are wide open.