I have said that when I grow up, I want to be my 24-year-old niece. Hiking glaciers, being brilliant, building a career helping others, standing on her hands in front of every landmark she visits.
I have had the thought that I was born a forty-year-old. I have felt heavy, sometimes burdened, restricted, saddled. When I grow up, I will be fluid and free.
When I grow up, I will be comfortable with myself, with my physical shape, size, mass, tone, height. I won’t wish for fewer pounds or more inches of altitude. I will sleep with the windows open to let in the sounds of the night.
When I grow up, I will be creative, and I will rest. I will commune and connect. I will be grateful, daily. I will have people to dinner.
When I grow up I will stretch. Do yoga, nurture my shoulders and neck. Drink water and breathe.
I will share generously from what I have learned, but if no one cares to hear it, I will just write it all down and have that alone be more than enough.
When I grow up, I will know I am loved, was loved, and will be loved. I’ll pause indefinitely my analyzing and striving.
I do a lot of these things now – not all, and of course imperfectly. I might be growing up already.