Alone, we can dance in our kitchen, the balcony, or the bathroom without anyone judging our dance.
I keep forgetting how nice it is to play where few have danced. My website is relatively unknown, even to the relatives. It is much like the solitude I enjoy in my space alone where I can think and do without scrutiny of others.
Some days, I get a little sideways. If I don't talk about it, however, no one knows about it. If I write it, I can disguise it with the power of the muse, not the wine. Here, I can be me without worrying about editing out the mistakes.
There is so much in life to be thankful for, yet how often do I say it? Every day!!! (grammar police take a hike - I will use all the !!!!! I want to in my website blog thoughts. Watch it or I will start misspelling words just to overload your OCD nonsense. I love messing with OCD addicts.)
My thoughts today felt as though I were drifting on the ocean with all the many storms, doldrums, and strong currents taking me to strange lands. Nostalgia mingled with daydreams until I surrendered to the music and danced...alone, yet I didn't feel it was strange as in insanity. The music was louder than usual, which I was sure my neighbors didn't mind as long as it wasn't in the middle of the night. The music seemed to be my companion for dancing.
Is it so wrong to dance alone?
When I turned the music off and seriously sought to write, the peace and quiet echoed through my space with a quietness that was more powerful than war. This peace I have found in my life is much stronger than any war I have fought. Yet, I cannot silence the ticking of the clocks on the wall announcing the passage of time. Time wasted is a crime beyond middle age.
When our hair turns gray, the things we thought important fade away. The things that embarrassed us, the things that worried us, the things that angered us, and the things that kept us awake at night worrying about just seem so trivial. Growing older is the best thing ever.
Over half a century in this body and breathing the atmosphere of earth, we can finally ponder the cosmos without fear, without judgment. We can wear our cloths baggy, drink wine at nine in the morning, and sing in the shower without fear. Some have done these things when much younger, but it is not the same. Regardless of how confident we are in our own skin when we are young, we become more aware of it after fifty. As our skin begins to wrinkle, get speckled with sunspots, and dryness is an unending battle, we discover it really doesn't matter much anymore.
Time is short and we have better things to think about than our skin getting wrinkled or our hair turning gray. I pity the beautiful people. They have the most to lose at the turn of the half-century in their lives. They worry, they fret, and they fight those damn wrinkles. I laugh at mine. I never had beauty or a charming personality, so I don't have as much to lose in that battle. I laugh at the wrinkles and make faces at my sagging jowls and gray hair, which is natures natural highlights. (or platinum blonde) Wrinkles and gray highlights add character to my face and being older gives me the right to be a real character. People just accredit my antics to my age. It is a wonderful life.
Hope everyone who reads this (and those who don't because I doubt many will because I am still very unknown to the world) has a wonderful life and finds the same peace and tranquility in life after fifty that I have found.