Words in a waltz

Turning a year older didn’t quite affect me the way I’d imagined it would. In the days that led to the big day, I kept reminding myself of the age factor, and kept wondering if I’d accomplished at least a little something to boast of. Yes, there have been some fruitful endeavors - not the kind that’d attract the paparazzi, if you know what I mean. But just those deep, inner realizations of growing, and learning, as a person. Evolving as a human, as a mom, as a wife, as a daughter, sister, aunt, friend. And even inching towards a betterment, somewhat, as a writer. (The columns ensure that, however infinitesimally). And hey, the coursework’s all done, the GPA’s a full four, so that counts too, doesn’t it?

The birthday was fun, and the days that've followed haven’t exactly been as bleak as Chicago’s winter either. Yet, there’s a feeling of deficiency, an incompleteness that lingers on. It’s hard to elucidate in so many words, especially in layman’s tongue, as it were. What comes close, if, is what one feels when one eats dry toast for breakfast and there’s not even enough decaf to wash it down with. The parchedness of life in the healthy lane - a wryness that even the most peaceful inner feelings cannot wipe out. If being healthy is being happy, then a healthy life should be measured in spreader-fuls of butter on toast, and teeming pots of coffee, complete with the caffeine, creamer and sugar, as liked, not needed.

That said, it’s time to finish off the Zin, and, perhaps, open a new Merlot to usher in the New Year. And as always, hope’s afloat. Or so we say...

Season's greetings, everyone! :)