74...75...

Age isn't a number, it's a feeling. And as I sit here listening to one of my favorite Connells tracks, "74-75" it's a feeling I can only today describe as isolation.

I'm getting older, but I don't feel old, yet at times I feel the age of my soul. Yesterday, for example. I walked out of the bathroom at the bookstore when around the corner came a woman with two young children, probably twins, crying in a double stroller. I turned around and went back, holding the door to the restroom for her. "Thanks, honey," she said. A diminutive term, but as I walked away, I thought, "She's probably younger than I am.."

Then last night, I left work planning to go out to see friends. No one was expecting me...and halfway there, I realized I wasn't feeling social. So I drove past the club, to a bar down the street, and had a beer in the company of my book. Then I drove home.

I don't know why I did that. I don't know why I had that thought about the young mother in the store - it was no judgement on her in any way. In fact, if anything, it was a judgement on myself, for refusing to live the traditional adult life. For doing stupid shit that keeps me both young and old without allowing myself to live the space between the two.

That's something that's been on my mind a lot of late as well. My failed attempts to navigate the waters between a youthful streak in a responsible person, and a modicum of maturity in a young one. Somewhere along the way, I never learned to let go, to have fun, to take life as it comes. Instead, I dread I worry, I read between the lines and deny myself happiness and joy. I feed off the joy of others, but it's been a long time since I've made a decision because it was the best for me. I need to figure out where to start.

I was the one who let you know...
I was your "sorry ever after"...
74...75
Give me some more and I'll defy..
Cause you're really only after...
74...75.