While sitting on my patio this morning, I started thinking how things have changed. Growing up in the 1950s and living this long, I would have never imagined:
I would marry more than once.
Would have hitchhiked.
Driven an 18 wheeler.
I would travel around the country playing pool to earn money.
Would have danced for a living.
Would become an area supervisor for a company.
Would have become a general manager for two companies.
Would have written three books.
Would have lived to retirement.
See a President assassinated.
Live through several war times.
Watched men walk on the moon.
See cars cost more than the house where I grew up.
See cars cost more than the first house I owned.
Live through several surgeries and one stroke.
Survive breast cancer.
Have a tattoo, much less more than one or six.
Watch friends die.
Watch my parents die.
Would learn to whitewater canoe and kayak and love both.
Would have lived in seven states for longer than a year or twenty.
No, I would have never imagined any of these things and yet here I sit having experienced all of these things and so much more. Each and every experience has helped make me who I am today.
Being honest with myself, I know I’m looking at the part of my life. It might only be a day, a year, or thirty years. Does it make me sad? No, it makes me wonder how many more new experiences I can cram into what time I have left.
Someone once told me I never stay in one spot very long, like that was a bad thing. I don’t even sit in the same chair very long at my house. Too much to see and do in this life, people to meet and places to go.
It was pretty much expected in the 1950s; I would marry, have 2-4 children, more than likely be a stay at home mom, or have a woman’s job (secretary, banking, maybe a nurse). I would live in the same area I grew up in, and spend Sundays with the family and Grandparents.
Somewhere along the line things just didn’t work out like that for me. That’s okay, it’s been fun.