When I was 12, I wanted to be 16. When I was 16, I wanted to be 18 so badly, I could barely sit still. When I turned 18, 21 seemed the perfect age. As a child I questioned, over analyzed, speculated and assumed that when I got “older” I’d figure it all out and know who I was and what I wanted to be. I’d finally become like those annoying kids in my 5th grade class who confidently shouted, “I want to be a teacher!” “I want to be a lawyer!” I wanted to smack them. I never knew. I’m 57 and I’m still not sure. But I’m not expecting that the light will come on when I reach 60. Who was it that said life is a journey, not a destination? Corny. But true. I no longer have a pressing need to be “something”. I can just BE.