25.
That's what i'll be in a couple of months. For once in my life i'm thinking about the numbers. Not in the way women do, as if they were being handed life sentences, but with little furrows on my eyebrows.
What have i given for my 25 years on this planet? I'm not saying "woe is me, i've wasted so much time here, i haven't been the beacon of hope and light i should have."
Some years were horrible, some very wonderful, and others were forgettable. Life hasn't been all peaches and cream but neither has it been an utter hell-hole. It's just been what it has been. But there's a sense of regret somewhere - the impeaching question of "what if..." irks me from time to time.
But i'm not beating myself up over it. I only do that when i hate who i am, because i feel i don't measure up. And for what seems like the first time in 25 years, i'm actually proud and happy with who i am. But a good pride, not from feeling superior or propping up my self esteem with distorted imagery. God's original design for me is a good one, and it's the only one that works.
