On Tuesday, I turn 55.
I don’t feel 55. To be honest, I feel like I’m in my early 40’s and someone time-transported me a good dozen years into the future and now everyone thinks I am older and wiser.
Perhaps I’m older, but I don’t feel a bit wiser.
Wiser people are dignified. I make funny faces and make snarky comments in class. I make my husband laugh by singing ditties with all the words replaced with swear words. I fashion my hands into talking spiders, slam-dancing snails, and nose-eating monsters.
Wiser people are often cynical. Although I’m cynical about politics, I maintain a lot of faith that mankind will grow out of its need to denigrate and debase those who are different.
Wiser people don’t dare. I take leaps of faith, submitting queries to agents and getting rejected, because I know I’ll survive another rejection. Maybe that in and of itself is wisdom; I don’t know.
I don’t feel a bit different than I did at 40.
Words Like Me 