I’m in my mid-50′s, going on 30.  I don’t feel old.  I don’t think I look old.  I generally don’t get too close to the mirror before I’ve slathered on some pretty expensive facial cream.  But, I have realized that in order to stay young, I need to make sure that I’m living my life.  I don’t want to be a crotchety old woman who yells at the neighborhood children to get off her lawn.  I want to go outside and join them in a riveting game of dodge ball!  I have, however, come to the realization that I live my life in a tiny little box, in a tiny little community of like-minded people and it is making me feel very small.  I want to live large.  I don’t want to be afraid of adventure.  I don’t want to be afraid of anything, actually.

Sometime soon – the date is yet undetermined – I am going to attack a fear, one day at a time.  I’m quite confident that there are at least 365 of them lurking in my subconscious.  I can rattle off a dozen right away.  I’m afraid to fly, but I do it fortified by Bloody Mary’s and Xanax.  I run from mice.  I may still run from mice.  Really.  What do you want me to do … go hunt down a mouse so I can prove to you that I can overcome my fear?  Let’s be realistic.  I am not going mouse hunting.  But I will find a snake to hold and a tall building to climb.

At the end of a year, I should be pretty darn brave . . . or dead.