My age says I should no longer hold lengthy conversations about the greatest moments in The Muppets repertoire, consort with Smurfs, or linger over trinkets in a bargain bin marked with Mr. Men and Little Miss. My age implies thoughts should angle toward savings bonds, health insurance, mortgages, property value. My age insists the time to feel care-free and fresh is past -- now is time for my childlike soul to run on fumes until it just gives out, pulls over, and waits to hitch another ride, eventually the first part of the trip disappearing in the distance of a rear-view mirror. Today I am 30. And what once made me a tad anxious, now makes me proud. Three decades under the belt, a fourth just beginning. The first three were practice anyway . . . the fourth offers a chance to take what was good and polish it up for the next run. T...
A blog for old souls and childlike spirits.