In a month… my oldest will be 20 years.
This means in two months I’ll be 40 years old. A couple years back, I had thought I was already 40 and was fine with it. This year I’m actually turning 40 and for some reason feeling a little down about it.
I know its just a number. I know it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. I know its not really that “old” though all the grey hair doesn’t help me not feel that way. It’s illogical and a waste to time and energy to be concerned with, but I have this annoying little internal voice that keeps bugging me about it. That is attempting to give merit to all those plastic and simpleton notions that I tend to hate so much.
I think its less the age thing thats bugging me really, and more the reflection that aging brings. The questioning of what your life has accomplished.. the impact you’ve left, or will leave.
The big hopes I had, to live my life in the manner that serves to inspire those around me to be positive, to push a little harder, to not give up.
I question how successful I’ve been.