They (whoever “they” are) say the older you get, the more comfortable you are with yourself. This rings true in my life.
Sure, there are things I’d like to change—most notably, my weight. Thirty years ago, my dream was to have a clear complexion, and that dream has more or less come true, thank goodness. Thirty years ago, I didn’t have to watch my weight, and I absolutely hated gym class. (See the correlation? Yeah, I thought so.)
But that’s a subject for another blog. Or maybe not—what new is there to say really? Eat less, move more. Do it. Enough said.
The thing I’m really comfortable about these days? Doing as little as possible on a Friday night.
As I type, I’m in my sweats (post-work, pre-pajama wardrobe), hanging on the couch with the laptop. The face has been scrubbed, contacts taken out, glasses on. Fire in the fireplace. Comforter draped over my lap. Cat draped across my ankles. TiVoed shows to catch up on. Magazines and Kindle within reach. And if all goes as planned, I’ll be asleep before 10.