by Glenore Weal
When I was 12, I wanted to be 16. When I was
16, I wanted to be 18 so badly, I could barely sit
still. When I turned 18, 21 seemed the perfect
age. As a child I questioned, over analyzed,
speculated and assumed that when I got "older"
I'd figure it all out and know who I was and what
I wanted to be. I'd finally become like those
annoying kids in my 5th grade class who
confidently shouted, "I want to be a teacher!" "I
want to be a lawyer!" I wanted to smack them. I
never knew. I'm 57 and I'm still not sure. But I'm
not expecting that the light will come on when I
reach 60. Who was it that said life is a journey,
not a destination? Corny. But true. I no longer
have a pressing need to be "something". I can
just BE. It is better to pay the pain of discipline than to pay the pao
of regret.
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