I'm always amazed at the ironic nature of time. It seems to go so fast and so slow; passing both at warp-speed and interminable. A look at the calendar tells me that today I am two days away from turning thirty. Two days shy of thirty, six-months and three days into being a widow. It's strange to realize that I've been a widow almost as long now as I was married, strange to think about it at all, really. The whole thing strikes me sometimes as a strange dream, some weird little wandering of my mind that is now over but still haunts me like the residue of a disturbing nightmare. I have papers to prove it happened, but it still seems too unrealistic to wrap my brain around.
So on this, the second to the last day of my twenties, I'm trying to look at the new decade of my life as full of new chances. New dreams and new miracles and new adventures to embark upon. Hopefully I'm up to the challenge; hopefully I do these next ten years justice. Hopefully, I can look back on thirty and hold it as one of my best ever. I have things to do, a life to live, and dreams to pursue. I want to leave my mark on the world in a good way, and I want to feel like my presence here has made a difference somehow.
I'm not dreading thirty, the way I once thought I would. I'm looking forward to it. A new number, a new year. A new chance.
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