I don't have a bucket list. There's nowhere I'd rather be and nothing I'd rather do than be here, with my people. I am in no way the parachuting-out-of-an-airplane type.
No one knows when they will die, but the visceral experience of my every day in this realm is both a powerful motivator to find contentment and a fucking fear fest.
This was meant to be a poem, but it's not. I had a few lines yesterday in the sleepy mind before being really awake but I didn't sit up and write them down. So here are some sentences.
Yoga makes me a better person. Actually if everyone practiced yoga everyone would be a better person, in whatever way the phrase "better person" has meaning for each of us.
Coloring in a coloring book and knitting hats is not what I pictured I'd be doing in my fifties, but I am, and truthfully I love doing both. Except the part about the cracks in my fingers.
This is NOT meant to be one of those cute social media "25 things." I would never put you through that.