29.5

That's my exact age today. And as I've thought about that number (and more specifically, as I've thought about the number that will replace that one in six months), I've realized that I have within me a wild, panicky rebellion against losing my youth, which makes me want to run away to an island and rip open that bag of wild oats I've been carefully storing untouched all these years. (Not to worry, I will most likely not do that, as 1. I'm responsible to a fault, 2. I don't have any real desire to do any of the things that fit into that category and 3. I'm generally just a chicken). I know this is just some kind of life-crisis, but I'm wondering what happens to these feelings. At some point, will I just crack and go off the deep end or will I just gracefully accept that I'm not 20 anymore and just go on? (As an aside here, please don't mistake any of these feelings for unhappiness or lack of satisfaction in my life. Most of the things in my life fit pretty neatly into the almost-too-good-to-be-true category, so I'm definitely not complaining). I'm certain when I reach 39.5, I will look back on these feelings and laugh at myself the way I now look back on my high school crushes and all the things that seemed so very important then but weren't. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I feel "old." It's just that I feel like an important phase of my life is ending. Time is taking from me something I can never get back, something precious and sweet, and I miss it already. I'm not one to live in the past, and I'm not about to start that now. I'm just being reflective, I guess. I'm also not one to think life ends at 29.5 (or even at that number that starts with 3 and ends with 0). In fact, I think in many ways life is just beginning. It's just human nature, I suppose, to stand on the brink of something new and look back before you look forward. And maybe, just maybe, if I get this out of my system now, that day in August won't seem so traumatic somehow.