I'm 44 now.
Forty fucking four.
In my mind, I'm still that 17 year old bratty, big haired, limber, silly girl without a clue and a ton of energy.
In my mind and in reality, two different things.
In reality I'm 44. I am sore on a daily basis. I am crotchety. I moan and groan and complain. I have shingles and fibro and RA and migraines. I move at a snails pace.
Aging isn't cool. So, I keep my hair purple. I have tattoos, with no end in sight. I gauge my ears and have as many piercings as I have fingers. I've let loose. I've allowed myself to.
Youth is wasted on the young, I'm a very firm believer. Now that I'm older, I know more, I have more experience. In everything. I don't apologize for judging. I judge because I'm human. I speak. I speak loud, often and back. I make myself heard. I allow myself to be heard. I demand to be heard.
All things that I was told not to do as a child and young adult, I allow myself because I learned to love myself and taught myself that I matter.
My one hope is that who I am now is who my children are earlier. It's working. For the most part, they are both light years from where I was at each of their ages. So, I've done something right.
In closing, because my body can't sit at a desk chair for longer than a few moments before it starts to scream in agony, LIVE out loud. Don't apologize. And, most importantly, be good to your young body. I never thought I'd live this long.