The Ladder

     You've heard it before...growing old ain't for sissies. It's true. Growing old takes moxie, chutzpah, good knees.


     As I climb higher into my 50's, the ladder begins to creak and sway. It's just half rotted wood, after all...not sturdier aluminum. There's no one at the bottom holding it for me. It's frightening being at these heights. I try not to look down too often or else I'll get dizzy with nostalgia...nauseous from memories. But you can't stop climbing, quivering in fear. Gotta suck it up, buttercup. I fight my fear of these heights by doing things that make me feel brave. Maybe it's false bravado, but it's better than showing the world how truly terrified I am.


     First, I let my hair turn gray. Owning it, loving it was brave in a society that puts so much value on young and beautiful. I decided silver was beautiful, too. Then I dyed part of my hair purple, because it looked like a pretty color on the box. It's a sassy, courageous color.


     I've always been a writer, even when I wasn't. Even now, I can walk into an office supply store and get all tingly inside when I see those stacks of blank paper and unsharpened pencils waiting. Waiting for me. At a friend's insistence, I began thinking seriously about writing. Then I actually started doing it. There've been bumps and roadblocks, but it's moving along. I'm writing a novel...a book that other people might actually want to read someday...and that's pretty brave.


     The limits of my patience have been clearly defined. The days of giving my 'self' away to people who don't understand me, are over. That's brave...to draw that line in the sand and say, "Do not cross this" and mean it.


     Only recently I did something I thought I'd never do. I made new friends. Friends who weren't schoolmates or coworkers first. Creative people who understood me before I even spoke a word. It's courageous, peeking out of your solitary cave and finding an entire village of people waiting for you.


     I realize this will sound overly morbid, but I'm well aware that each rung up this ladder brings me closer to death. Knowing that, yet still climbing, is brave. Awareness of our own mortality is terrifying as hell...but still we climb. Hoping. Dreaming.


     The top of the ladder is hidden from view. Shrouded in clouds. I'm in no hurry to get there, but I'm pretty sure I'll do it with purple hair and a finished novel tucked under my arm.


Kim
    

Mood Killing Sleep Elves

Sunday evening hello!

This weekend has found me feeling so good! Emotionally, I mean. I'm sure and solid. I know what I'm doing and where I'm going. 

But tomorrow is Monday and I'll be back to my usual routine of waking up at 4:45am. Send The Man off to work with lunch and a kiss. Errands, housework, dogs. Wanting desperately to write. 

I'm hoping that the night doesn't steal my confidence. That those sneaky little sleep elves don't tiptoe into my bedroom and kill my delightful, dreamy mood. 

Because writing is everything.

It's my breath. 

My blood. 

I'm not me without a pen in my hand. 

Words in my head, waiting patiently for their turn on the paper. 

So the elves need to stay away tonight...

Because tomorrow, I write. 

~ Kim