This is it! I’m fifty years old. Half of my life expectancy is behind me. Probably more two thirds, if we take my health into account.
What does that mean for me? Probably that my time is almost up. Probably that I need to start living by my own rules for good, now. I want to be one of those old little ladies with blue hair and eclectic dresses, going around without a care in the world about what other people do or think.
It also means that I have a few years left to do something that will last. Something that will profit my kids. Something that I will remembered by, hopefully. I hope I do—that my life will not be in vain. It’s quite narcissistic, isn’t it? To hope to be famous enough that someone will remember you or think about you long after your death.
I don’t have any other big wish for the rest of my life, except maybe to live it in less pain. I want simple things. I want to have a nice home, cozy moments with the people I love, and just enough to have our needs met. I want to rest and enjoy my days, in my Artelier.
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