I’ve been thinking about 45. And no, I’m not going to write about the 45th President of the United States because frankly, I have nothing good to say about that particular person at all. And in following that little bit of advice we were given as children, ‘if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all‘, I shall remain silent.

So why 45 then? Well, I am about to turn 45. Wow, that seems like a big number when I see it sitting there in front of me. 40 was an easy number and I never really minded the fact that I was in my early forties. But 45? I feel like by the age of 45 it should have at least started to feel like I have it together. Shouldn’t it?


There’s a little corner of my mind where memories linger like freshly fallen snow on the evergreens. That’s where I’ll always know, now matter how hard I try to forget..

How do we learn to feel like we have a place in this world? I don’t feel like I do. I never have. I do not feel as though I am supposed to be here or that things were supposed to be this way. And if I don’t feel like I belong, what in the hell am I doing here?

I often find myself thinking of ways I could have done better. How I could have stopped my world from crumbling down. I could have done so much more. But I didn’t.

So here I am on the eve of 45 waiting for time to come good on it’s promise that things will get better. 45 years later, and I’m still waiting.

5 thoughts on “45

  1. I turned 41 this year, and I just feel so far removed from who I used to be that the number 41 just doesn’t seem to have much context.

    It seems to me like the people who don’t feel like they belong are much better to have as part of the world than the people who feel entitled to be as big a part of the world as they want to be (like the 45th President).

    Liked by 2 people

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