Off Topic: Musings on Being 33 Years Old

As of this writing, I am 33 years old. Solidly in my thirties, I am compelled to take the time to consider this leg of my journey and decide if this decade of my life is what I've heard it would be. Many of the axioms are true. Some of my own preconceptions were a little off. My kids can't imagine being this old, but I am overwhelmed by all the adventures that are- God willing- still ahead of me. Age is just a number (old saying), but experience cannot be denied (Mr. Farmer).

I would have to disagree that I am old enough to know what I want to do but young enough to still do it. When I was very young, I wanted to be a wife and mother, and I am. Professionally, I wanted to write. I figured I'd go to college, learn how to do something in the psychological realm, do it for a few years, and gain some experience on which to base my writings. Instead I pursued goal number one first and found that the subjects of raising children and being a wife and mother are subjects with which the literary world is completely saturated- ironically by people with experience predominantly in the psychological realm. So this leaves me with my blog about the only thing people seem to find unique about my experience: all this old-fashioned, farm-like living that my family practices a mere 5 miles from town. I am young enough to still have time to experience things to write about, but I am not certain what those things will be. I really don't know what I want to do next - yet.

I would prefer to illustrate my mature, yet still youthful, mental state by saying that I am confident enough to try some new things, but experienced enough not to try others.  Since I turned 30 I have lost a significant amount of weight, started writing again, and learned how to cook well. These were all major hurdles for me. I stepped out of the bounds of the mindset that I could not change my habits. I allowed Mr. Farmer to drag the more social me out into public. I joined a committee. I wore a short skirt. But I did not go skinny-dipping, nor did I stay out all night (okay, maybe just that ONE time). Not because I was afraid, but because I felt the consequences outweighed the value of being able to say, "One time...". Happiness is about balance, and I think I have found that.

Thirty-three is good. I still have my health and my mind. I have hope for the future and experience to make that hope reasonable, not just pie in the sky. There is so much more to come, good or bad, but plenty to look back on and think about. Now is a good time. But then it always is, isn't it?