Where does time go? Time is fleeting. What is the adage? When your ten years old, a year is 10% of your life. It is a significant allotment. But when you’re 57 (my best friend insists we are 56), a year is 1/56th of your life. When I was thirty, I was a third year resident, flipping an old home and pregnant with my first child. When I was thirty five, I was a small business owner, had a vibrant medical practice, raising two sons, home-room mother for the kindergarten class and volunteering at church. When I was forty-two, I had a son in college, another in high school, divorcing, still running a busy (much larger) medical practice and I wrote my first novel (not published but a full novel). No, I can’t manage a blog post.
Do I get credit for rehabbing the two blogs and at least pulling them into the 5G world? And credit for dedicating some brain cells to *thinking* about them? And the second novel that I’ve written? And, I am also gearing up for another permutation to the medical practice AND starting a new small business.
So, why do I feel like I am not *doing anything*?
What do I want to be doing? I bought and built six of these Vego Garden beds.
Planning and anticipating my inability to get down on the ground and growing food. These beds required also a full on garden plan, which is – of course – still inside my head, cluttering up the place. I wish a year was 10% of my life again – my life head. Because, it is more TIME I want more of….