All of my tulips are gone.  

I can’t believe how much time I’ve waste being sad about getting older.  I’m 42, and just 6 months before, I believed 41 was the new 91.  Spending too much time worrying about this and that.  Too much time wishing I could have changed so many elements of my life.  

I could have went straight to college after high school and not waited until my 30s.  I could have chosen a better husband the first time-avoiding a divorce and no loss of time with my 2nd.  Or I could have stayed in corporate American, retired and died.   

Then I realized:  What the hell was so exciting about any of that? 

I’m happy with every single choice I made in my life.  What’s more, I couldn’t change anything in my past if I wanted to.  No need to obsess about the “could have been”.

Moving forward was my only option.  We all have that choice.  

God willing,  I have at least 40, maybe 50,  years to live!

Whew!  It’s not over after all. 

The fat lady hasn’t sang.  

My five-year-old grand-daughter said to me (on my birthday, April 12), so pleased with herself, in innocent wide-eyed optimism, “I’m about to be five.” 

Thrilled with her own aging.  Equally enthusiastic about mine.  

When did I stop celebrating life and start looking at anniversaries of life as a prelude to aging and unavoidable death?

I’m now sure. 

Whatever bewitching overtook me- the spell is broken. 

Tulips come each spring, blessing us with their beauty and grace.  nothing compares.  then without warning, they’re gone.  

But only for a short time.

They rise again, stronger more beautiful than ever.  They rejuvenate and bloom again.

I’m living like a tulip.

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