Today I’m 35. Aside from the artificial weight our counting system gives multiples of five, this fact doesn’t feel that significant. My new age has arrived unaccompanied by any special realization or sense of change (then again, it’s not quite 10am).
I seem to be entering a gradualist phase. It’s like I’m settling into a long drive—focused on the road, making small adjustments to the seat and mirrors. Spasms of doubt and regret (and surprise, I might note) are fewer and easier to ignore.
Is this maturity? Is it resignation? I feel like I’m making room for growth around me. In light of Johanna’s daily transformations (big girl, stoic, peer, prodigy, infant, brat, mini-me), I think stasis has its place. For now.
I know Karl’s with me.