I even remember Oprah talking with gusto about an "Information Superhighway" which would shoot us all down a luge of connectedness and thinking: "Eh. It'll never happen." And then going back to flipping through the Yellow Pages to find a Chinese restaurant listing.
Oh yes, I remember it all. And the thing is, it wasn't so long ago, relatively speaking. At least to me, who's now sailed into the dog-leg-stretch of her mid-thirties and is looking down the barrel of forty. How can it be time for my twentieth high-school reunion? How has that happened? Where is all the hair on all the guys I know? (Don't answer that.) It's suddenly occurred to me that I am no longer - well - young. In fact, some might say I've reached middle age. But I don't talk to those people.
After all, 37 is nothing. Right?
But more and more people have said things to me like, "How long ago was that picture taken?" and "Wow - your skin is really good. No wrinkles!" And - the worst thing, at work recently about a new employee: "You'll love her. She's just like you, only young!" That girl got a slap. And the fun of cleaning out the main supply closet over a rainy afternoon.
And yet. And yet. I feel like I've let so much time go by without doing what I wanted to do. Floating. Getting along. I've avoided things that frighten me - not like spiders (although those too) but things that would stretch or test me. I never wrote that novel. I never lived as a thin girl (for long). I never went to work for Obama four years ago when I knew I knew he would be president and this was my grassroots chance and I...just didn't do it.
So. This blog. I may have come to this party late, but it looks like the lights are still on. So here I am. This year, things are going to be different. Enough.
Care to join me?
