When I Was…

That Little Voice

When I was ten I rode my bike fast around the neighborhood with my year younger sister on the handlebars, carried her up and down the stairs on my shoulders, squashed ‘stink’ bugs in our basement, and cared nothing about wisdom.

When I was twenty I dated boys, danced to the ‘twist’, enjoyed rock and roll, began a career in journalism, married and divorced twice, and wondered about wisdom.

When I was thirty I married for the third time, became the stepmother to four teenagers, learned to cook, started a newspaper, and hoped for wisdom.

When I was forty I jogged, became a banker, divorced, learned about alcoholism, fell in love, married once again, and desperately needed wisdom.

When I was fifty I celebrated on Lake Powell’s magical waters, survived an earthquake, changed careers to head a chamber of commerce, stayed married, received treatment for depression, and anticipated wisdom.

When I was sixty I endured the deaths of loved ones, discovered musical listening rooms, ate a lot of rice in China, and began to wonder about the necessity of wisdom.

When I was seventy I painted an orphanage in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya, toured Italy, Paris, and London, began a blog, sold my house in Texas, moved to Mexico, and quit thinking about wisdom.

Now in my eighties I walk 3-5 miles a day, have an intimate group of women friends, write daily, fear for the future I will not know, and have decided wisdom is overrated.

I ask myself ‘how did this wiseless woman get to this age?’ The answer is a lot of riding, running, walking, stumbling, meandering, experiencing, failing, succeeding, hoping, laughing, crying, writing, starting, stopping, and having good friends and loving canine companions.

Hum. Is that wisdom?