Almost Yoga
I'm on the Express Train to fifty. For awhile I thought I was on a nice slow commuter. You know, the ones that stop every so often so people can get on and off? I dozed off and when I woke up, the scenery going by was a blur. It may be more than a year and a half away, but fifty is going to be here long before I'm truly ready for it and decisively ok with it. I've been faking that one, too. I keep telling myself and others that I'm almost fifty. It's not exactly a lie, but it's not entirely the truth either. I figure if I start believing that little-not-quite-a-white-lie now, it'll make actually being 50 more palatable. Or so I like to think. On March 26, 2019, I might curl up into the fetal position in a blanket fort and never emerge. Or I might run a half marathon. There's no way of knowing. I've been pretty can-do about aging thus far (if you can call the thirties and forties aging ) so safe money probably says I'll be sailing around the wo...