Yesterday was my birthday, my 35th to be exact. I cannot say that I really feel like 35 if there is such a thing, a feeling of being a certain age. I look at my 12 year old daughter and distinctly remember being that age. There have been times when I have imagined if we would have been friends if by some supernatural teleportation, my 12 year old self could manifest itself to her. Now that would be an interesting book. As I have gotten older, life seems much longer than I thought. Years ago when 35 years old was decades away, this age was more of a destination than a journey. Everything I wanted to do or be, I thought would be done by 35. Here I am, though, still on the journey. I guess completion would mean death. What a morbid thought.
In any case, at 35 life is still just beginning for me. My husband and I both are pursuing our dreams as if we were just out of college. This is not to say that we have squandered the time before now, it is just that our journeys then took us to different places that eventually led to now. I thank God for another 525,600 minutes!