I feel old.
I feel old in the way that staying out til 2 am dancing with friends lends itself to mysterious bruises all over your legs the morning after. I feel old that staying out til 2 am means a good 6 days of trying to make up on lost sleep.
I finally unpacked the last of our remodel boxes, things like tupperware and misc bathroom supplies. Boxes of kleenex, aspirin and unused trial size lotions, and tooth-paste tubes. I went looking for my old photo albums because the whole reason we built in the wine cabinet with shelves was so that we could put out our photo albums. Aaron will argue with me on this, but it’s true. I promise.
I found the very first Creative Memories book I put together – it chronicles my life as a high-schooler with first love, second kisses, first hickies, sleep-over madness and all kinds of trips around the world. I look the same, in that I’m still Jodi, but I look like a stranger in that book. A rosy cheek version with so much life on my wings, so many things I had seen and experienced before I was ever actually old.
I’m still not old. I just feel old.
I feel old in the way that this weather is seriously bumming me out. In the way that the snow is melting into brown bits and pieces of broken twigs and cigarette butts from construction. Mounds of sod from our yard defrosting in a pile of mush – where hopefully we’ll be able to put it back together to fill in the trenches made to build a deck that is just now visible from underneath the snow.
I feel old in the way that watching 6 year old home movies is of a family with a toddler with the voice of a delicate little lady. Screenshots of a home we raised babies in, a place of calm in the storm of the first phase of marriage. A sprawling yard where 6 inch footsteps were countless for so many years.
I just feel old. Not tired. Like life is happening, like I finally grew up. Like I’ll never actually grow up.
Like I’m watching my children become the ages where I still remember life like yesterday. Age 9? My mom met my step dad and my life changed for ever. Age (almost) 6? I learned how to ride my bike before bed on the gravel road in Texas in my minie-mouse pajamas. And their memories? Age 9: The year we remodeled a house and my room was painted blue! Age (almost) 6: The year I learned how to tie my shoes and read, and built my bed with my dad.
I feel old, like understanding that today is the gift I have been looking for.
I feel old, like a blessing.