This week comes at that time of year when everything seems to zoom to the end at warp speed. Christmas fabric has been out at Jo-Ann Fabrics for a thousand days now (does it ever go away?) and I haunt the aisles of Target each week (okay, sometimes twice a week) waiting for stupid summer stuff to go away so we can have SCHOOL SUPPLY NIRVANA.
I’m waiting for my Dallas bestie’s first child to be born. My oldest little has a birthday in August that makes that little stinker way too old (please snuggle on the couch with Aunt Lexi when she comes to visit; please don’t be too old for this!). And I heard a story on the radio today about a thirty-five-year-old man who had eleven children.
No, that wasn’t the point of the story; that’s just what stuck with me.
I’m in that no longer young, not really old phase of life. And don’t get me wrong: it’s good. It’s a good place to be. But it can feel kind of sticky.
It’s not a quarter-life crisis (unless I plan to live practically forever) and I sure hope it’s not a mid-life crisis (because I’d like to live to a happy old age, please). It’s just…a phase. A season. (And if you’ve read Mary Ann Rivers’ “Dear Reader” letter in Summer Rain, then you know what I mean.)
So what does this have to do with the word of the week (youthful)? Good question.
Today, I find myself back in the library after a hiatus—pneumonia, I am no longer under your thumb! er, lung?—and no matter how old I get, I’ll always be a kid at the library. (Except when I’m all get off my lawn because of poor library manners.)
Within the walls of the library, I’ll always be curious, excited, waiting for what comes next. Dyyyyyyyying for what comes next. And the same can be said for when I’m within the covers of a good book—or, these days, the circuits and technical hoohaa that makes up my eReader. Always curious. Always excited. Always waiting for what comes next.
So what comes next?
I’ll let ya know.