What is it about the first “cool” front of the year that tends to get this ‘ol girl in her feels? A change in the seasons, perhaps. The end of another year. Reflections. Regrets. Victories. Celebrations.

I’m not young. I’m not old. I am somewhere in between. Somewhere in between looking back. Somewhere in between looking forward. It’s an odd place to be really.

As a kid, I don’t remember caring too much about what tomorrow had in store. I’m pretty sure I didn’t invest too much time reflecting on days gone by. I lived in the moment. Didn’t we all?

Those teenage years , well they are a different story altogether. All I could do was yearn for the future. I remember thinking I can’t wait until I’m old enough to drive. Old enough to drink, “legally.” Old enough to do what I want. Old enough to get out of “here.”

Then there was my early 20’s. I was a momma, a new wife and eventually a college student. Life was too hectic to anticipate what lurked around the corner. I was flying by the seat of my pants, thankful to have made it through another day with minimal collateral damage.

My 30’s is when the poop hit the fan. In 2004, I was diagnosed with not one but two rare diseases. Chiari Malformation and Meniere’s Disease. Looking ahead consumed me. Will I be able to take care of the kids? Will I be able to work? How will Stuart deal with all of this?

A couple of brain surgeries marked my early 40’s, coupled with the heartbreaking realization that I wouldn’t step foot in a classroom again.

Here I am, 47, reflective as all get out. Here I am, 47, spending way too much time looking forward. Song lyrics get me going. Stevie Nicks and that dadgum Landslide gets me every time. Pink Floyd does a bang up job getting right down to the nitty gritty. Give “Time” a listen when you have some. Isn’t music supposed to soothe the savage beast?

I’m not young. I’m not old. I am somewhere in between. It’s an odd place to be really.

Looking back. Pointless really. I can’t change it. I guess a good person learns from their mistakes. Did I learn anything? What would I have done differently? Does it really matter? I can’t go back and do it all over again. Time is tricky that way.

If I had only. I should have never. I wish I would have. Am I the only middle-aged women who spends way too much time camping here? Damn this cool front! Damn the seasons of life! Damn Stevie Nicks!

Several of my friends have lost their parents recently. One would think reading of or hearing their sentiments regrading the loss of their loved would get me thinking about Stuart and I’s aging parents. While those thoughts do fill my mind space more and more, their losses have hurled me in another direction entirely.

The thought I can’t shake? The thought that haunts me when I can’t sleep you? You ready? What will my kids remember when I’m gone? Will Casey think of me when she cooks rice? Will she long for my homemade vegetable soup? What about Corey? When he is fishing, will he think of the time we limited out on Crappie? Or, will he remember fondly how frustrating it was to try to teach me to play the guitar, to avail I might add. My desire was strong, my ability not so much. What smells will remind them of me? What song will get them in their feels about their momma?

Morbid possibly but ever so valid none the less. Don’t tell me you haven’t pondered the thought. This season of life is a strange one.

I’m not young. I’m not old. I am somewhere in between. It’s an odd place to be really.


  1. The Middle Ages are hard times lol…

    To the young people, we’re old.
    To the old people, we’re whippersnappers…
    We can’t win at this age lol…


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