It is the day after my fiftieth birthday and I’m sitting here thinking of the years that have past. I’ve raised six sons of whom I am proud, I been married to my hero, friend and lover for twenty three years and I work three jobs I like. It’s not a bad life. Like the song says, “regrets, I have a few but then again, too few to mention”. I wouldn’t change even the mistakes I’ve made for fear that I’d loose all that I have accomplished. I have a good life. We’re not rich, we don’t have a fancy house, I’ve not even managed to get my novel published but I still feel like I am blessed. My life is, for the most part, happy.
But now that I am 50, I think of my dad who died at sixty six and realize it is only sixteen years before I am the same age. I feel a certain amount of pressure to prove myself. There is so much I still want to do with my life. I want to be able to give something back, to use my talents to benefit my family and my community. I want to get published but it is even more important that words touch someone else. It is my hope that I can make someone smile, that I can lift someone’s spirits, that my words make a difference.