Turning back time

“Some people want to turn back their odometers, but not me.  I want everyone to know why I look like this, I traveled a long way, and some of the roads weren’t paved!”

I don’t know the author of that quote, but it appeared in my Facebook feed this morning.  I think it’s true.

Yeah, I look very little like the twenty-something I once was, and most days, I don’t even resemble the person I was even at 40-something.  That’s okay.  I even did one of those things that gauges our health and lifestyle to give us our true age.  It seems I’m going at ultra-high speed through life–I’m fifteen years older by their calculations than I really am.  Maybe that makes me a time traveler?  Or just high mileage?  More dirt roads than the average Joe or Jane?

I’m not perfect either.  The whole thing about our appearance, our age, and our life experience isn’t to end our lives looking as though we were never touched by our living it.  We cannot escape this life alive in our physical form.

I sure hope I don’t have to carry that worn out form as I continue my journey either!

I have had some wonderful experiences.  I’ve had some that plunged me to the depths of hell too.  I’ve felt betrayal, and I’ve felt immense gratitude.  Happiness, sadness, wonder, anger..I’ve tried all of the emotions on, more than once.  Some fit me better than others, I’ll admit.

I especially like contentment, happiness, and joy.  I wish they would hang around longer every time I get to try them out.

Another confession.  I don’t have a bucket list anymore.

I made one of those, back when I was young, angry, and optimistic.  I was eighteen.  It seems like a century ago now, and I’ve traveled a lot of miles.  I just discovered that I’ve done all of the things on that bucket list.  Now that doesn’t mean I’m done living.  There are plenty of things I still want to do, it’s just there is no more bucket list of them.

I still want to see the Atlantic.  I want to visit New England, and if I’m really lucky, it will be when I can see the changing leaves, to see if it’s any different from any other area’s changing of leaves as fall swallows up summer.  If I don’t make it then, well, the other three seasons  have appeal too.

I want to take my granddaughter on a road trip/camping trip, along with Greg too, of course.  I want to watch her experience the joy of slow travel, random stops, and brand new things.  I love seeing her face light up with pleasure, to be honest.  She is a little too young to enjoy it yet, but soon she’ll be old enough.  Nothing beats the joy of a child’s face as they discover something new.

I still want to see a moose, in the wild.  From an appropriate distance, of course.  I spent two weeks once in active pursuit of one.  I followed every local lead as to where they “always” could be found.  Never saw one.  I’m half convinced they are surely fictional, because I’ve never been able to prove their existence.

I’d like to try off shore fishing once.  I have a bit of a boat phobia, I’m afraid.  I’ve managed to conquer it, by and large, but…I still haven’t done that.  I’ll admit, I’m a bit afraid of it. What if I hate it, am miserable, and ruin the trip for my companions?

There are so many things I still want to do.  I’m not done.  I’m not too old and worn out by a long shot.

Today, the glow I felt from my novel being released on Kindle has faded.  Now, that little green guy is up on my shoulder having a field day with feeding my self-doubts.  The little green guy is sure everyone is going to hate it, and that I’m going to be tarred and feathered for writing it.

I tried telling him that tar and feathers are out of  style, forgotten like hoop skirts and corsets, but he isn’t buying it.

That little green guy, I call him Fear, sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear all of the time.  He’s been there my whole life.  When I was younger, I listened to him more.  I was often afraid to try things that were too far from the  norm or that weren’t socially acceptable.  Maybe that’s part of being  young, that Fear can control you more.  As I’ve gotten older, he’s had less influence.  Maybe because I have faced my worst fear, and realized that I could survive even that.  Since that Worst Fear was conquered, after a fashion, how much can just plain little green guy  named Fear really influence me?  Now he’s like a cranky old friend, whispering into my ear, but half the time I just laugh at him and go on doing what I wanted to do.  Sometimes, his warnings make sense, and that’s when I should pay attention.  Other times, he’s just afraid of things becoming uncomfortable for him.

Yes, I talk to him sometimes.  Does that make me crazy?  Heck, compared to the Ladies of Fate, the little green guy named Fear riding on my shoulder is mild stuff.  Even HE is afraid of what the Ladies of Fate can do.  Surely, I’m not really crazy…everybody needs a few imaginary friends traveling through life with them, don’t they?  They provide me with entertainment, advice, trials and tribulations, and once in a while, a real thrill.

But, I don’t want to turn back time.  I’ve had a really interesting life so far, and I’m anticipating more.  Who’d want to risk ruining that?