I was walking down the street of our little town. The sun was shining in that nice indirect, fall-golden-afternoon way and a little breeze stirred the trees. 40. I'm getting there in a few weeks and I thought about being this age and having
a mini van
a little beer belly (man, if they told me I'd always look 5 months pregnant after my third child just around the midsection, I would have budgeted for a tummy tuck somewhere down the line)
There are two ways to look at this...
I still have that darn mortgage and I'm going to have it forever.
I drive a mini van, not fancy, zippy or dent free.
I am pudgy around the middle and am going to seriously think about not eating anymore, exercising a lot more or buying new clothes that compliment my new matronly figure.
The other way that I can look at this...
I am lucky enough to have a house, and, therefore a mortgage. Heck, I could consider myself very lucky to still have a mortgage in these scary financial times.
I have a car that runs well and that I can spur of the moment buy a sofa or a spin bike and stuff it in the back.
I am lucky enough to have food and margaritas that help to keep my spare tire inflated to a good size.
So there are many ways to pour that glass and many angles to look at it. I'm going with the half full part. It's the part I already have and I've already drank half a glass of a fun, wonderful life.