“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” – Zora Neale Hurston
Perhaps we’re all guilty of making assumptions of people based on age. Sometimes it pains me to be grouped in with “twentysomethings” when they act in ways that I find obnoxious or embarassing. Maybe I give too much credit to older adults, assuming they have it all figured out, when more and each day they assure me they don’t.
I know that some of my life experiences thus far aren’t often had until someone is older – the death of a parent, owning a home, having multiple educational degrees and credits, having been through breakups akin to many divorces, not to mention the stark constrast of the states of my health in the past year. (Hospitals began to feel like hotel rooms. “Hey, glad you’re back, stay a while!”)
Last night I took a long, long bath and spent a lot of time thinking about Life and What am I doing with myself? and What is anyone doing with themselves? My legs made the water to slosh every time I shifted to get comfortable. Pierogi hung on the side of the old white tub, sticking his head close to the water, trying to drink but just missing. I looked up at the almost-empty bottles of shampoo, the newly replaced razors sitting in the shower caddy hugging the neck of the faucet like a child greeting a father home from war.