ShellyToday I am 37 years and one day old. I’m feeling my age this year, perhaps because my kids are nearly grown (I’m one of those early-starters). 30 was a walk in the park. 40, I think is going to kick my butt.
Twenty years ago, when I was in high school and my future was wide open, I wanted to be a journalist (or a biologist, or an archaeologist, or a spy, or a private detective, depending on the day of the week). I worked on the school newspaper as the page editor for the “Clubs” section and even had an article printed in the community newspaper. It was thrilling to see my picture and name in print (and not in the police blotter!) and I thought, at the time, that I’d found my calling.
Life, however, had other plans, and I found myself expecting my first child nine months after graduation. Understand that I don’t regret a single thing that I’ve done in the past twenty years but, now that I’m staring 40 in the face, I’m looking back and remembering all the plans that I had and wondering how, exactly, I ended up here.
While in the midst of a pity-party earlier this week, a dear friend suggested that I start a blog to ’scratch the itch’ of being published. Another dear friend pointed me in the right direction so, here I am. Sure it’s cheating, in a way, but it’s a means to an end. If someone comes across this blog, reads it, and enjoys what I have to say, then I’ve done my job.
I don’t have any particular agenda. I can only promise that I will write about whatever suits my fancy – be that books, movies, television, music, my family, or current events. If I offend, it’s unintentional. If I entertain, it’s intentional. If anything, in the end, I might feel better about myself.
Tags: life