Growing older is hard. This blog isn’t an attempt to seek sympathy about aging. I firmly believe I was born to be a grumpy old eccentric woman and am just biding my time till my body catches up to my inner crone.
As I’ve grown a year older, I’m reminded time and again that adulthood is an even darker ravine than adolescence except now we have the added task of pretending to know where we are going just to prove ourselves to other blundering ignorami in the same boat (or ravine).
On learning that the world isn’t a bed of roses, and having the lost the energy fighting said truth in our teen years, we settle uncomfortably for the ride, counting on ‘Small victories’.
When the tea is the right temperature so it doesn’t scald your mouth but adequately warms your throat- that’s a small victory. When you defied the dreaded Murphy’s Law as your toast landed buttered side up on a sparkly clean floor- know that it’s a moment worth celebrating.
But victories feel more victorious when there is perceived competition. You know how you stand at the pedestrian’s crossing after pushing the button waiting for the green walking man to appear? Well, enter stage right a person who having seen you press the button eyes you, huffs audibly and PUSHES again! The audacity….but hey Presto the signal turn and the “pusher’s” chest swells and nose rises higher. The traffic lights are timed and we know it but I can’t begrudge anyone their small victory. We all need a win once in a while but figuring out when that moment might arise is fruitless and silly so perhaps we just have to keep on pushing the button like crazy, waiting for the lights to turn.