Have you ever looked in a mirror and wondered who the hell that is? I mean, what are those? Crows feet? And I am NOT even going to discuss having back pain while drying my hair.
Have you ever felt so busy you can scarcely breathe? Are you aware that you have somewhere mislaid the very fabric of who you are while busily endeavoring to hold on to the reality of where you are?
What keeps me in touch with the 30-something in the mirror?
Time alone. Without phones, voices, computers and sound. Time to make sure the books are lined up according to size and content. Time to finish that chord progression I’ve been humming for a week. Time to write an “ode to a leaf” should the thought strike me.
Without this time? I can easily turn into nothing more than a series of check marks on a completed To Do List. An automaton who sees no value in why only in accomplishment and completion.
And when I see her looking back at me?
It is like talking to a stranger.