Thank goodness I didn’t get stomped on by a mastodon!

I have strong memories of putting this record on the Curtis Mathes.

(or the Curtis Mastodon as we called the gigantic entertainment console my Dad bought used in the early 80s…you know the kind with a tiny rounded tv, record player, 8 track player, radio, and HUGE speakers? It must have been 8 feet long and opened from the top of its “wood” cabinet.  It was a wonder to behold and already 15 years past its prime.)

Anyway, I’d play this Otis Redding record and sing along with “Sittin’ at the Dock of the Bay” at the top of my lungs and dance around the dining room…for hours.  I must have been a joy to live with!

Is it a mid-life kind of a thing, when for your birthday you ask for your favorite childhood records and thumb through bin after bin of dusty thrift store records…searching for some golden memories?


But it sure beats buying a sports car for cost-effectiveness!

On Sunday, April 4th, I turned 43.  I don’t feel middle-aged.  (Is that middle-aged?)  I feel barely older if a bit more tired than I did at 27.  Aging is so interesting that way, looking back the time is but a blip and the “aging” feels minimal…my silver hairs might disagree with that sentiment, but still.  Looking forward the age jumps feel monumental.  Someday, I’ll be 60…what on earth!?  And yet, I bet when I turn 60, I’ll still feel much like the “girl” I was at 43. 

Which is actually kind of beautiful!

It’s just a number after all!  (much like the scale or the tape measure…just a number.  It’s the meaning we assign to it that causes us pain.)

When asked how old I was going to be my 5-year-old son said…”100?”.  Umm, no.  “200?” he asks.  Goodness.  It’s just a number, it’s just a number, it’s just a number…

And then I think there are times in history when 43 was the end goal, not the mid goal and I think well done!  You made it to 43 without being eaten by a saber tooth tiger or stomped on by a mastodon (not the same mastodon we used to play records on!).  And again, it’s just a perspective after all.

How lovely that our minds are so powerful.  That we can still be 27 simply by believing ourselves to be youthful…and a good thing too, because youth truly is wasted on the young!   (ha ha ha!  Good heavens did I squander it!)  

I guess that’s what comes with aging, understanding how precious time is.  Not precious as in, “only get it out for special occasions”, but precious as in “embrace every moment with intention”. 

Because you truly are as young as you think you are AND it’s later than you think.

Now to be clear, I don’t think being intentional means you need to always be on-point or productive with all of your time or decisions, but simply to choose.  To choose to rest.  To choose to take the minutes you have to make a thing rather than drop into a mindless tunnel of internet holes.  To choose to start a business or read a book or watch the birds.  To actively engage in your very amazing life. 

To choose how you feel about things…like numbers. 

How are you today?  What’s been on your mind?

In Kinship,