This post is inspired by this blog, which I've adapted into a writing prompt that I do with my Seniors. This is just a start...
This is 42
42 is the very essence of bitter and sweet.
The bitter is easy to find. Your age shows. You are now a Ma'am. You parent an adolescent who is quickly growing away from you. Old identities: sexy young thing, wild child, mama. No one will ever call you these again.
The sweet is also easy to find. 42 is being invisible to the world but more visible to yourself. You know what good taste is and have the money to have it. Competency builds a nice, cozy armor that you wear like a fashionable shawl.
42 is having dozens of selves nestled inside one another like Russian dolls. Selves that peek out and haunt current moments. What would 20-year-old, smoking, vintage heels wearing Alaina think of my current obsession with running? What would 11-year-old Alaina, who dreamed of being a missionary, think of my current job 1/2 mile from my house-my life that mostly fits inside a 5 mile radius, a life grooved with routine? I spend my days with the judgements of these little Alainas, and I smile at them sweetly. They knew so little.