A redefinition of me means finding out what I am not. I am not 25. Haven’t been for a while.
Resigned to my limitations, I have permission to become someone I want to be instead of someone I can’t be.
I begin to see my power disguised in what I can’t and won’t do. Frankly, it’s been a lot of work being a sex kitten.
If I judge myself with the eyes of the 25 year old me, I disregard all my learnings and earnings getting here. Being called Mom doesn’t always actually suck. Can’t vouch for my son’s take on this but he’d probably agree.
I can only look to the future for the changes I’ll be proud of. They’re the only changes I’ll be able to make.
I revel in these choices, the ones I can make. The ones I couldn’t make, like who my parents weren’t and what their genetics did to me, certainly can be seen to mean something more. But they still are what they are.
I am what I am and daily, I find the beauty and humor in just being me… here… now. “Sometimes that’s all we have”, said the friend who fell out of my life.