In my head, Amy Poehler and Tina Fey still do the Weekend Report on SNL.
Gas is still $1.24
Grandma and MacMac are still just a phone call away (to be precise, 352.799.6786.. how do I remember that?)
My girlfriends, my soulmates, are not spread out across the country. We’re still in Tallahassee together.
My parents are in their 40’s, not entering retirement.
Sex in the City is still trendy and relevant.
There’s still plenty of time. For whatever.
I’m still impossibly young, slightly irreverent, and always depended upon to bring the fun.
But then I look at the calendar. And the mirror. And I feel like time is moving faster than I am. This tilted globe is spinning impossibly fast yet I am slow. I look backwards too often and wish… I don’t know. Wish I had enjoyed that time in my life more. Wish I had valued it for what it was. Wish I still had the opportunities, and the passion, and the drive. Wish that people could see me now as they saw me then. Wish that I could see myself now as I saw myself then.
I feel as if I have creeped into the next stage of life (whatever that stage may be) in the past few years and didn’t even notice, so tied up in my career and getting married and having Gavin. And I’m trying to figure out just who I am now and how I can fit myself into this world that is changing more quickly than I can keep up with.
And so I run. Because I’ve noticed that as I’m pounding the pavement for mile after mile, I find myself being the closest thing to comfortable in my own skin that I’ve experienced in quite a while. When I run, I’m still the same girl I used to be. I can’t keep the world the same as I once knew. But maybe I can keep her. And maybe the passion and drive is still there somewhere.