Christine asks – Have we really been alive this long?

christine-eclavea-mercer-head-shot-13 Christine Eclavea Mercer describes herself as a “freelance writer and all around geek.” On her blog Frog In North Georgia, she writes about technology, humor and “pretty much anything else that comes to mind.”  I first ran this post last year after Christine tweeted, “Thoughts on turning 40 next year. And gosh, have we really been alive this long?”  In her post Christine talks about being welcomed by her grandmother with kisses, a lunch of grapes, cheese and baguettes, and a jar of Nivea Daily Nourishing Cream…

In 2010, I will turn 40. I spent my twenties educating myself, growing up, working, and traveling. I did much of it badly. At 27, it finally occurred to me that if I ever wished to procreate I should find myself attracted to nice men, instead of the bad boys of my youth.  Else I would be childless forever, or a single parent.  I did not find either of those options agreeable.

My standards certainly changed in my thirties.  Before that I imagined success the way children do, that one must be the CEO, the President, the Astronaut, the Prima Ballerina. I was taught to aim high like the Air Force.

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Forty: The Age of Reason

Tricia Editor’s note: Tricia’s approaching 40 and she’s on a roll. Literally. No really, literally. She’s recently decided to follow her life long passion for writing and literature wherever it leads her. This week it’s taking her to a place of letting go of anger and a failed marriage and replacing it with forgiveness and love. All this as she approaches the age of reason…

As I count down the six weeks to my fortieth birthday, it occurs to me how my thinking has changed this year. I’ve let go of many ideas that were holding me back, keeping me cocooned in immaturity, and am approaching the rise to many others.

I’ve let go of anger toward my parents for not protecting me enough, for not being there for me when I needed guidance; instead, I now see those days when I battled it out on the streets, in the schools, and in my relationships in the Bronx as fertile ground for the strength I needed to overcome emotional, mental, and physical difficulties. I appreciate now the tools my mother gave me to survive when she was unable to teach me herself: books, and my love of the written word.

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