Something strange is going on. I first noticed it a couple of summers ago while looking through photos. Something caught my eye, so I  paused for a moment as I stared intently at the picture. I ran to the bathroom to take a look. What is that around my eyes? Are those … wrinkles? How long have they been there? How did I miss that?

More evidence began mounting. At the handful of concerts I’ve been to in the past couple of years, the music has been WAY TOO LOUD. Can you turn it down a smidge so I can hear what song you’re playing? Hey Mr. Fancypants, would you please pull your jeans up OVER your butt? How do you walk around with pants belted around your thighs? What is that? I guess I should be thankful you have on underwear. Neighbor Kids, get off of my porch swing, stop yelling at each other, stop talking into my front window, please knock and then wait for us to open the door before you walk into our house, stop wandering around my house,  get out of the fridge, don’t touch that, don’t take my jewelry, are you allowed in your house, go play outside. Why is everyone calling me ma’am? Hey there cutie pie, would you do Mommy a favor and remind me what your name is? And your sister’s name? I should probably write this down. Shoot, I have to take off my glasses so I can see what I’m writing. What was I going to write?

Despite all this, I continued to live in blissful denial. The actual moment of revelation came this summer soon after the family and I went to a big-time theme park. One great big realization pushed aside all the signs that I had been ignoring.

See, growing up, there was not a ride anyone could create that would frighten me. I would ride them all and love every moment. No height was too high; there were never enough loops, twists, turns, nor defiance of gravity to turn me away or cause any moment of fear.

Not so anymore. The day with my family was fun and I rode many rides, but I felt a little nervous sometimes, didn’t ride all the rides I could have and the day took a noticeable toll on my body. I was exhausted, barely able to function the next day. We had been there just a couple of summers ago and I didn’t feel this way. What is going on?

Then the question slowly raised its ugly head — is it possible that I’m teetering into the old side? Nooooo, I’m too young to be old, aren’t I? I guess I’m also, in ways, too old to be young. I’m in age purgatory — the transition years.

I can still do a cartwheel, and a pretty good one, but rare is the time when I stand up that my hips and lower back don’t hurt. Once I can straighten everything out and start moving, the pain disappears, but still there’s that daily pain. I can play and keep up (mostly) with the young ones that live here, but don’t let me sit on the couch or I’m never getting back up again. The songs that were popular when I was in high school are now becoming today’s “oldies,” but I do love to dance the night away to any generation’s music.

There are some things to be thankful for while growing older. I’m slightly bolder and speak my mind a bit more than I used to, though probably still not as much as some would like. My more adventurous side seems to be returning — I ran in my first race (probably my last, not going to lie) a couple of years ago, I started this blog and I want to start traveling again. I’m hoping in the not too distant future we can actually go somewhere instead of just watching House Hunters International as a cheap substitute.

As I look toward the future, I hope I don’t turn old early. I want somehow to remain on the youngish side for the rest of my days. I really hope I make it to actual “advanced” age so I can watch my girls grow up and meet their children. Unfortunately, I’ve been reminded a little too often lately, none of us has too much say in how long we’ll be here. In the meantime, I take comfort in the words: “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand. When I awake, I am still with you.” Psalm 139: 13-18