Since so many of my readers are young and cute, I get to tell them about the horrors of growing old and grumpy. It’s fun to scare them. It’s a rite of passage to ruin everyone’s surprise. When I was pregnant with my first child, one of the senior citizen co-workers where I worked told me, “You’ll never sleep again.” I hated that she was right.
I am about to turn 49 years old (on Sunday). Like some of my beloved women friends I’ve met online over the years who are my age or older, none of us feels “old”. In fact, truth be told, the fact that these women are so incredibly sexy, held together, fiesty, smart as whips and hysterically funny let’s me know I’m at least in the right club.
Admittedly, as this particular birthday grows closer, I’ve been up one minute and down the next. Mixed into that is a growing desire to do something worthy. I haven’t felt productive or like I’ve contributed anything special to the physical Universe. These feelings can be drastic and live with me for weeks. I told my friend, Christine Churchill, while at a conference, that I dreamt of opening up a small bookstore in my little town. I wanted to stop living online and be with humans who hug and have voices.
Companies want to hire me, but my last 3 jobs working for someone else lived and died by the Internet. Why do I want to return to making another web development company rise to the top, only to be kicked out when they crash and burn? At my age, there’s been so many break ups. Whether love or work, they always hurt the same way.
By the time I turned 40, Cre8pc already existed and I was freelancing at night in SEO. I was single, and ready to be that way to the end of my days (Ask Eric. He only got to marry me because he’s known me as a friend for 17 years. He got points for tolerance.) I was married to my work and a determined single mom. A night on the town, for me, was going to Borders and reading.
You’d be amazed at how easy it is to flirt in Borders.
Which is another reason why owning my own shop appeals to me.
I’d be delightfully dangerous.
Don’t tell Eric.
See you next week.