Change

 When I was 11, I woke up one morning and realized that I was too old to play with dolls anymore. This was just prior to the first Barbie doll being introduced so the epiphany probably came at a good time otherwise I might have hung on a bit longer. My collection of plastic actors that performed great stories from my imagination were all small dolls of one kind or another including one Madam Alexander doll that is likely worth a bundle now.

But, given the way I am constructed, once I see an end to something, I do not drag it out, I finish and move on. So, I carefully packed my beloved assorted dolls into an old shoe box and, as a way to punctuate my decision, I walked next door, rang the bell and handed my childhood over to our neighbors' five year old daughter. 

Done and done. 

In keeping with my usual way to process great change, I sat in my swing in our backyard and pondered my next step. I knew it was an ending but also a beginning, though I didn't know for what.

To give my imagination a chance to adjust to not having dolls to act out my epic dramas I switched to writing stories on notebook paper. I could not bring myself to give them titles, because that would be too presumptuous of me, as though I thought I was an author or something. Sometimes I would make sketches in the margins of characters I envisioned in my compositions. When I was done I folded the paper and stuffed it in the bottom drawer of the vanity, deep under my socks. It wasn't long before I progressed to writing poetry and eventually a journal called 'Shadows Speaking' ....ohhhh....so deep.

In reflective moments I wish I could read those early efforts. Then in keeping with my done-is-done attitude, I conclude the keeping of the memory as an ideal is usually better than the reality. 

As I have aged out I have passed through many such phases. Always determined that just because I have reached a clear reason to end a thing does not signal the end, but rather just announces a closure that allows for a new door to be passed through. 

As my eyesight wanes due to glaucoma, I have been looking ahead and wondering what is next that I might still be able to do. But first I can't help but revel in all the things I have done only because God inspired me to keep looking/moving forward, even as I have had to let go of things that were destined to pass. As I simmer gently in reflection seasoned with gratitude, I can't think of a single thing to complain about.

I've always marched to a different drum beat and therefore I, more often than not, never quite fit into the mainstream or a collective. When I have tried to write about what it's like to be an 'older' only someone who is old, like I, could possibly understand. When I read blogs or commentary of those who are fifteen to twenty years behind me, I don't know how to say, 'been there done that' without sounding like a boring know-it-all. 

One thing I have sworn to not be is an old lady who only wants to talk about her past.

However, I do wish I could share what change does to one so that I could also mentor how to keep believing that stepping through the next door is always the end of something but the beginning to something else. 

If you step out in faith, God will either make a step or give you wings.  

Been there done that.

For Him,

Meema