The Hourglass

As time ticks away and I stare down the barrel at fifty, I reflect on my dreams and aspirations that have bloomed, expired and risen from the dead once and again. The reality of mortality and aging has begun to creep in like a shadow, lurking in the corners of my eye. Not yet staring me down, but quietly whispering its melancholy verses into the atmosphere. It has forced me to question, when do we stop dreaming, plotting, making wishes when blowing on a pussy willows? The gilded cage that is the idea of adulthood holds us back from rallying against the tides of fear, regret and the loss of our dreaming. We are led to believe that all of those things must be left behind and traded in for smart shoes and a 401k.

I’m tired. My bones are exhausted with stress and regret. My brain riddled with the fog of unanswered potential. Yet, the hourglass is not yet emptied to the bottom. With the clarity of hindsight and the wisdom of a life lived on my terms, it is only now that I can begin to deconstruct the barriers I have allowed to pile up around me. The Valkyrie that lies in wait within me only needs one word to be at the ready. The question is how? Can I rebuild myself with glue, glitter and a staple gun? Playing the doctor to my monster, painstakingly creating a version of myself that is not quite the Mandy of my 20’s and not fully the Amanda of today.

Mama, wife, witch, demoness (not necessarily in that order).