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.