I'm going to be twenty five in less than 2 months, as my 59 year old friend said to me the other day, that's a big deal. Is it? Is it really? because it sure doesn't feel like it. For the past few years I've kind of felt like I'm coasting, to the point where nothing momentous actually happens, to the point where I've stopped actually noticing the beauty that there is in life. And to top all that off, I've just been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, which if I don't do something, could be incredibly debilitating. And that's when I realized, when is the last time I really challenged myself? When is the last time that I really put myself somewhere out of my comfort zone? When was the last time I went on an adventure? I was watching my dog this morning, he kept crying to go outside, he wanted to be out in our tiny yard, but why? He didn't have to poop, he had gone all but twenty minutes ago? And he just ran out there and stood there, watching the squirrels and listening to the birds and smelling all the smells, and he was happy. Why can't I be that happy?
Yesterday I had this urge to paint, but not ceramics like I usually do, which is basically a glorified coloring book, no, I wanted to tear apart a cardboard box and see what I could paint on there, but I couldn't bring myself to even try. Even though I kept telling myself, if it came out horrible I could throw it away and not tell anyone, no, I couldn't even try? Why? With this huge milestone and a medical condition scribbled in my chart, I know I have to make some changes, so twenty five actually feels like it means something.
