The Risk It Takes To Blossom

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ~Anais Nin

I made 55, as we New Orleanians say, last Sunday.

I remember the day my mom made 55. I called to wish her a happy birthday, and reminded her that the speed limit was 55. This was a sure sign, I teased, that she was supposed to slow down.

When I hung up my legs buckled. I needed to sit down.

I realized (this is a 31 year old talking, remember) that my mom was OLD.  I felt terrified. How could my own mom get old? How could that be? And if she was getting old, it meant some day she could die. Again, how could that be?

Fast forward 24 years. And whoa ...  I'm 55 this week, not my mom. And my mom is now, indeed, dead.

How did this happen? All summer I contemplated this moving into 55, surfing big internal waves of change.