There aren’t enough hours in a day or years in a lifetime.  So many thoughts in my head – so many projects.  Too much to learn and too many dreams to come true.

If I have another 50 years left as a mom with a Midwestern twang, I might be able to squeeze in a few more fun things before I go.  Five years ago, marathons were absolutely not on the lifetime agenda – anywhere.  So I figure just about anything can happen.  
My poor daughter is caught somewhere between childhood and adulthood and thinks she’s supposed to know what she wants to do with the rest of her life at 20.  It’s ridiculous, really, to think she would know anything at all about her future at this stage of the game – or at any other stage.  
At 20, I was studying music education and changing my major to computer science at a conservative liberal arts college.  All I knew was that I wanted to be a wife to my high-school boyfriend and a mother to a boy and a girl.  I figured I’d sing forever and get paid for the everyday fun of writing computer programs.  I never dreamed I’d leave the church or get divorced or marry a Catholic from Brooklyn or live in Virginia, California or New Jersey (especially New Jersey) or that I’d find incredible, unimaginable happiness at age 50 and have a real-life gladiator in my life.  

How can you possibly know what’s next?

You can’t.  And that’s the agony and the ecstasy of life – not knowing.  
The not knowing makes me nuts.  But if I had been privileged to know at 20 all of the events I would encounter in the next 30 years, I may have decided to jump off a bridge at 21.  Or, if I had understood that after I lived through almost 30 years of shit, I would be rewarded with a delighted, glowing heart that would put the happiest Disney princess to shame, maybe I wouldn’t have cried quite so much.
But we don’t know.  We can’t know.  We just get to open our eyes each morning and see what’s next.  And for once in my 50 years, that’s a pretty exciting thought.  
One thing I do know – tomorrow is Holy Arm Day.  Sigh…

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