60

Sixty is twenty times three.

Or, probably more appropriately in my case, three times twenty.  

And today, on this day, on this given Sunday, it's the number of times I've twirled all the way around the sun. 

I honestly, very honestly, figured that by the time I got here I'd have accomplished a whole lot more with my life.  I'm looking around and thinking, my God, how did I get here?  It isn't a nonsense question.  My three year old self had mighty ambitious plans.  Like being President kind of plans.  However, somehow, my three year old self is kind of still in charge.  Making all kinds of crazy-ass decisions, zigging when she should zag, rescuing strays of all sorts, free-falling just to see if the net will still catch her, and setting fire to bridges not just so she can find her own way in the darkness, but also so she can keep the monsters that haunt her from following behind. 

I want to believe that I'm a grown-up adult who is responsible and dependable and reliable and honorable and someone you can trust with your secrets.  Inside?  I feel like the most you can trust me with is your dog.  I'm great with your dog.  And your beets.  I'm also really great with your beets.  Also?  I actually am very good with your secrets.   I never spill the beans.

I am, though, still that 3 year old who will throw off all her clothes and get naked to make the fairies come out of the trees because she can STILL see them sitting there and knows that it is exactly what makes them feel the most comfortable.  While that calendar may say that I am sixty today, my heart, the one beats way outside of my chest, the one that will stop and check on strangers to make sure they're ok and shares all her sandwiches with people she's never even met, that one, is still, well, three. 

Three times twenty. 

Girl math. 

Twirling and spinning and refusing to all fall down.  xo