3. Birth a child.
I turned thirty-eight earlier this year. If I’d asked myself during my early twenties whether that would make me old, my answer would have been an unabashed “yes.”
My Mum is getting old. I’m not going to have her for the rest of my life. One day I’ll have to plan her funeral.
Every time I leave, I’m afraid it will be the last time I see you.
There are two processes to aging.
So this week I read a (literal) sob-story on Huffington Post by a brave woman named Robin Korth who, at 59 years old, has just discovered that she’s not a 22 year old hot piece of ass.
We are no younger than we were yesterday.
As a teenager, I had a clear image of being a mom by 27.
By your fifties you still don’t grow into a person that can figure out how to fall in love with a person instead of a fantasy.
I know what I want and try not to waste time.