inklingfair 21 was when I stopped counting. The year I ran from my thesis. It was the year I was mugged for the first time in my life and let go of a book of my words. 21 was my lost year, my year of held breath.
I have no idea how different 28 will be – except for the fully developed prefrontal cortex (which is, by the way, more of an assumption rather than a guarantee of maturity and good judgment). But I think I have a pretty good notion of how I’d like to live it:
1. more running toward than running away
2. a little more tolerance and empathy for people around me
3. more willingness to admit wrong
4. more openness to experience
5. being HERE NOW
Twenty-eight is the second perfect number (the first was 6), and a happy number.
It’s only math, but I’m hopeful. 🙂
Photo by Edu Lauton on Unsplash
