I feel like a crockpot tonight.
Like I’m stewing in my juices and it’s only a matter of time before I cross over into something rich and nourishing, something I can finally understand and enjoy.
I have spent most of my first fourty-two years searching for who I am, what makes me special, and what I’m going to “do” with my life. I was very “I” oriented for a long time. Must be an only child thing. I was distracted from the “do” list by connection and the warmth of loving and being loved. It has caused me to slow down, I’ve wasted time, and maybe now that I’m older and my eyes can see me more, I know that has made all the difference.
I’m starting to get myself. My face is older and I’m not always excited about that, but I don’t want to stay a shiny new penny forever. I’m beginning to like my lines, my dents, but mostly I like the way I think now. It’s very crockpot.
I like that when I go to the Phoenix Art Museum and I look at Madeleine Albright’s pins that I’m filled up, I understand. The shiny penny me would not have seen the brilliance of a woman using pins as a piece of diplomacy. She would not have noticed the depth of an older woman, the full life.
The crockpot me can see farther into the journey now and my mind is more colorful, it goes past the surface. My outside is starting to look a little different, but my insides are simmering, and I like that.
I wanted to write these thoughts down because they will change. I will get lost again in the day to day crap people tell you about getting older and I want to remember that it doesn’t matter because I’m a crockpot. I will just get better and better the more I simmer.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Sleep.