In my head, I was forever 21 and reaching middle age just didn’t seem to fit with my persona.
When I have an internal dialogue, I can be pretty brutal.
Getting hurt is easy, not letting it change who you are isn’t.
The turkey is gobbled and the pumpkins are mulch. You’re allowed to decorate. It’s OK now.
I’m ready for anything. I’m not excited about it. I’m not looking to have long talks about it. But I am prepared for it.
Our minds are littered with thoughts that begin with “when I was a kid…”
You’re not perfect. You’re not awful. You just are.
I remember it all. Every trip and fall, every stumble down the low road, I have it all filed away in my head.