past future sense

Is for the birds.
In regards to my little secret- every time someone unexpected calls me I panic, thinking my cover is blown. I think I'm pretty tense. Just a few more days.

In other news one of my best friends from college gets hitched in Nashville this weekend. It will be a reunion straight out of 2005. And that leaves just a slim few of us who haven't tied the knot. I've been in a relationship for four years, but we're in no hurry. Almost everyone I know who's married is miserable and poor. Not really a selling point.

One of my dear friends turned 66 today! I don't usually hang out with senior citizens, but then again I work full-time in a retirement town. I was in a room full of people saying 50 is the new 40, and adjusting glasses on the bridge of their nose to take drunken photos. I'm pretty sure I'll act like that when I'm that age. I can only hope.

The words I have to express are not words. They are ancient blessings in a tongue I've never heard. They are colors, or something. Basically there are no words available to me.
Ok I'll try. Imagine the job you wanted in college before the real world cut you to shreds. Imagine busting balls to make the pieces fit so you could at least stay in the same field. Imagine having your named dragged in the dirt by haters who are bored and boring. Imagine feeling 40 years old before you turn 25.
Then imagine having not only a way out, and back into your youth, but a chance at that dream job.
I have never been so grateful for an opportunity. Today I got the answer to yesterday's lingering question, really a question I've been asking for months and honestly years now: Will I ever get to do what I love?
The answer came back today, and I quote "with resounding acclamation."
Soon I'll be able to spill the beans. And they will flow like a river.

Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life. I've always resented that statement. Even love is hard work. But if you do what you love, you will love to work. I had that once, and in one month, I'll have it again.

I'm beside myself. I'm some red bull commercial. I'll dream of flight tonight, I'm sure of it.

For the first 25 years, I was the hare. In my next 50, I'd like to be the tortoise.

I may not be very fast, but I have always been racing to an imaginary finish line. And the run itself has distracted me from asking the question, what exactly will I do when I get there? Let's be honest, I'm not 100 percent certain where there is either. I've just been going. And now I'd like to start slowing.
I'm the worst about making epic promises to myself and publishing them to at least 10 friends. There's a certain jinx too, we all know, with airing your plans before they hatch.
So without going into details, in the next 36 hours I'll know whether the dream I've been scheming for months and wishing for years will come true or not.

With bated breath,
- j