Do things ever stop being possible? I’m mean, really, is there ever truly a point when something is too late?
Terrifying to think about, no?
I suppose there is a point when, yes, as a woman, it is too late to have more children. Or once you’ve blown both of your knees out, uh huh, it is too late to run the New York City Marathon. Or that if at 1:45 you decide you want to see the 1:30 movie at 1:30, then yeah, too late for you.
But in the big picture, is it ever really too late to make something, anything, happen?
As a child, I always felt that excitement in my gut. That something was waiting, right around the corner for me.
Was that something I was born with? Was it a gift my mother gave to me?
I do know as the years go on, that feeling of possibility gets watered down, and becomes ho hum and day to day.
Sometimes I look at my son and wonder if he will have that same feeling inside his gut? And will some day, when he gets older, will he, too, begin to feel it slipping away.
Now, as soon as that feeling begins to wain, and I settle in for the long haul toward nothing, I usually feel an urge to do something. To try something or say something, and all that possibility will come rushing back in, like it never left in the first place.
Does the world ever stop being our oyster? Or do we just turn our backs on the world?
(Insert show tune, here please and thank you very much.)