Tomorrow my husband joins me in the club of people who have traveled “around” twenty-nine trillion miles. We have made this arduous journey around the sun, hurtling on a rock through space at 67,000 miles per hour fifty times.
Like Indiana Jones said, it’s not the years…it’s the MILES.
That’s a lot of traveling. I feel like it qualifies us as WELL traveled frankly.
We’ve been together more than 20 years and that’s a lot of miles traveled on the road together as well. There has been a lot of angry and a lot of love and a lot of tragedy. There have been tears and laughs and times when we didn’t think we were going to make it. But here we are.
What I’ve realized about being fifty is that it’s really quite alright. I didn’t want to be 30. I REALLY didn’t want to be 40. But fifty floated into my life-like comfortable sweatpants fresh out of the dryer. I like being fifty. I’m OK with it. I’m comfortable with the chaos that is my life. I’m okay with myself, and the greater US that inhabits this house.
Our life is good.
So to my husband who has elected to go hurtling through space on a rock with me and who has also dedicated the past 16 years to raising a family I say this.
I hope we see another 29 trillion miles together. It’s going to be an amazing adventure.