I like meeting people.
At least, I used to.
It’s not at parties or bars anymore. It’s at play places or through my husbands work.
And that is never the same.
For a number of reasons. Not just because I’m not drunk but because they are twice as old as me.
Not just because I’m carrying an 8 month old but because I can’t flirt my way through the conversation.
That used to be my confidence. That used to be where I dug in my heels and planted myself firmly.
And I figure this all out as I’m listening to an older lady speak about books and how she thinks I should read this one when I can find the time. ( glancing down at my young one )
The dynamic, my approach has me reeling. Because it can’t be the same. It won’t be the same.
I flounder, trying to get a good grip, to get to a spot I am eager to play with.
I wonder at what age I will see adults as people just like myself. I wonder when I’ll accept the fact that I to, am an adult. Maybe there will always be stages and transitions and growing and learning. That’s something I should be okay with too. I love becoming better. Who doesn’t. Sometimes it’s work. Sometimes it is effortless.
Sometimes it takes a look into a brilliantly blue eyed 72 year old with a bamboo stick as a cane, to figure out that ‘hey, we’re all just living here’.