I recently had a birthday; I’m getting closer and closer to thirty. That kinda sucks, I won’t lie. I actually called thirty my stalker recently. However, I think I can still remain sort of objective about it. After all, if I’m able to say to other people that they aren’t old yet at thirty, I should be able to believe it for myself. This birthday wasn’t the greatest, though. And it wasn’t because of what we were or weren’t able to do for my birthday. I mean, goodness, last year, I was in Hawaii with my husband, seeing Bill Cosby live. That’s not exactly something you can top or even replicate every year.
The reason this birthday was hard was because thirty isn’t my only stalker. There’s another one looming behind it. It’s the fear of failure. I guess when we’re younger, we have fewer doubts and inhibitions about ourselves, so it’s not really a stretch to believe we’ll do incredible things. When I was younger, I wanted to be a writer. As it is, I don’t even have a consistent career path. It seems that most other people my age have at least decided on a career and gained experience in that field. I’ve been all over the place.
I’m basically wondering if it’s too late to keep dreaming about something that’s just not happening. Theoretically, you should never be too old to pursue you dream. However, realistically, you can be. If you’re writing your first book at eighty, you’re probably too late to make a career out of it. Worse than aging, worse than looking older, is that fear that I’ve missed the opportunity to do something I always wanted to do, and that it’s too late for me. And just like thirty, I have a feeling that stalker won’t be leaving anytime soon.