Do you matter?
{And no, I’m not really back…I’m just thinkin’ out loud here…and I have sick children, so I’ve got some extra time on my hands and am conveniently avoiding the laundry…}
So, go read this.
The 3 Most Murderous and 2 Most Marvelous Words A Blogger Can Say
Now. Do you matter?
And do you fit in? I stumbled over this book today…funny… as I sit here and ponder and wonder…
{Yes, friends, that is an affiliate link. I haven’t even read the book, so this is no endorsement. Yet, it looks like a book I should read. For the sake of my offspring. Have you read it? Are you a fellow geek? Maybe not. Maybe you had the perfect high school experience, and if so, you should by no means read this piece of literature. Just ignore this entire diatribe…}
And I know I said in my post about Ignoring the Critic, I was going to give an insightful explanation of why I don’t care what anyone thinks about my personal style.
And then I chickened out.
But, I’m not going to leave you hangin’ entirely.
You see, as a young lass, I didn’t know I was any different than any other little girl in any other little home. But then something happened. Other children around me must have decided I was different. And that was not an easy road.
So, as with time, it proceeded to proceed, but I didn’t have the confidence to embrace my individuality. So as with MANY young girls, I tried and failed and dreamed and wished.
For a while, I went along.
And finally, I gave in. And then, I gave up.
Oh, there were wild oats sewn and hair colors changed. And lots of attempts at finding myself. College was an insightful time. For that, I am thankful. But it was hard, too. Major bumps and ditches and potholes.
But I came out O.K. I fell in love and had a family. No regrets about that. None. Well, maybe one or twobecause he doesn’t like my chickens.
Excuse me, he said it wasn’t that he didn’t like them, just that they don’t LOOK like chickens.
See what I mean? I don’t know why I chose those particular chickens to illustrate my point. I just thought they were cute and I’d never seen that kind of chicken before. I like them. They’re not yur average chickens.
So, anyway, I’m in a new place. I’m digging down deep to uncover the me that is me…breaking free of the bonds and the boxes and the chains that try their derndest to define me.
But, is it too late to be here at age 39? {da I hear ya whisperin’ mid-life crisis? Nope. Done had me one ‘a those already…this here is an entirely different animal.}
But, don’t answer that. Let me an’ George give it a whirl.
I bought this card when I was 22. Just a wee babe….
I remember pulling it off of the shelf at Square Books in Oxford, MS. I bought it for myself and have kept it all of these years. It was as if I knew in my heart that I was going to need it. As if my 39 year old self had Dr. Who’d through the time and space continuum to tell my 22 year old girl-ness that that card was im-por-tant.
I was going to need it to remind me that even though I felt lost at that moment, there would come a time that I wouldn’t be anymore. And when that time came, I would need to remember that it doesn’t matter how old I happened to be or at what stage in life I was currently in.
I would need the reminder that it is never too late.
Never.