Mortality

I am undeniably in a stage. Not the tantrum two stage or the teenage angst stage.

I'm 45 years old. If I'm lucky enough to live until I'm 90, then I'm definitely middle aged.

I'm middle aged?

When it's phrased like that, why does it sound so old?

Why does that sound like I have so little time left?

I know that sounds dramatic and strange, but that's how I've been feeling lately.

I feel like I'm facing my mortality. I no longer live under the youthful delusion that I will live forever. I know my time here is limited, and that the Fates have measured my life's string carefully. My days will end.

Questions flood my mind:

• How many years do I have left to make my stamp on this world?
• Have I done enough with my life so far? 
• What more do I have to do? Am I working toward accomplishing my life's calling? What is my life's calling exactly? Am I on the right path?
• Where do I want to be in 15 years when all of my kids are grown? What do I want to do with my time? Am I investing my precious time each day in the right things?
• What will my children remember about me? My grandchildren? Am I living and doing and acting in ways that I want them to remember?
• How many really productive years do I have left? If I'm healthy and stay sane, can I count on 25 more great years? What if I need 30? or 35? to accomplish all I want to do. Can I continue on through my eighties? Will my body succumb to disease or will my mind deteriorate to a point where I won't recognize my children when they visit me?
• Should I make a bucket list? What would be on that list? What have I crossed off? Will a list make me accomplish more or make my mortality even more finite?
• Will the world ever even know I was here? Does that matter?

Stop it. These are things old people think about.

That's right, dearie. You're middle aged now.

You are that old.

It's time to find a great notebook and make that list . . .