Twenty Seven

I look in the mirror and I don't see a grown up. I look within, and I don't feel adult. It's scary. Don't get me wrong... the physical signs of my age are all too evident, but deep inside I feel lacking, and as uncertain and as wise (or unwise, as the case may be) as I was a decade ago.

Somewhere along this road I have become accustomed to being a mouse, to not having to put myself on the line. I've been lucky in the chances life has handed to me, and things have fallen into place of their own volition up to now. But there's a slow burn that's starting up - a desire to BE more... to TAKE more... but even stronger is a fear of failing that stops me from even trying.

I'm twenty seven, and I feel fourteen. Maybe it's because I still don't have my wisdom teeth?

I can't call myself a woman. I don't feel confident enough. I'm still a girl. Still. A. Girl. But methinks it's time to GROW UP.

Boost

Every once in a while I get a little stuck; a little complacent... and thankfully, when those moments arrive, the powers that be send me little angels that give me a swift kick in the arse to get things going again.

A year ago, a friend gave me one such friendly kick. She encouraged - no, INSISTED - that I start this blog as a 'gift' to her. It was more a gift to me.

So I want to say thanks, Pancham, for pushing me to follow a dream in a practical way (for now). A year has passed, and while I haven't written as much as I should have, I have written more in the last year than I had in the ten before, and I owe it all to you. Thanks for the initial push, and then bearing with the temperamental tantrums and indignant opinions of someone not quite talented enough to actually afford them.

I owe you, and I thank you.