I miss being younger. Yes, I miss my body behaving, my mind facile and witty, my skin supple, my hair wavy, my silhouette an hour glass. But most of all, I miss the anything-is-possible, world-is-my-oyster, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar sensibility that plagues all young people.
I miss wanting to jump in a car with friends and supplies--Doritos, wine, REM in the tape-deck, twenty bucks--and driving north, south, west, anywhere, nowhere. I miss talking to strangers. I miss wandering large cities alone, going to hear music in bars, dancing at parties, without fear, without anxiety, without worry of what might happen while I am away.
But the more I have plunged into life, the more I have seen the hurts it inflicts. I have children now; I have to protect them, I have to keep me safe. For who will watch over them when they nibble on that oyster?
I am approaching that time in life when I think of mortality, not if, but when. And how. And I miss the innocence of not knowing or caring about the end of this life. Peace...