I woke up today and realized that I will never be a 40 under 40.
By 25 I was knee deep in diapers, raising three kids under three.
My ex, by the way, was living with another woman, having left me to lead the fun and fancy free life of a 20 something male who realized at an early age that he can make his own way off the emotional and physical labor of women he's discarded.
By 30 I was going back to school to finish an undergraduate degree I'd started at 18.
By 35 I was in grad school where the rest of my cohorts were a decade younger, and none with children. That's where I was told I couldn't use commas.
By 37 I had two degrees. I also obtained my first job that broke the poverty barrier.
Now, I'm 41 and I've just begun to create a retirement account. My kids are grown or almost grown.
I wanted to be a writer, an author of books that will remain after my death, but increasingly time slips away from me.
I wanted to be a professor, a reader, an academic whose job was to think. But my ex stole that from me.
I have achieved so much. I understand this.
But I will never be a 40 under 40. And that is a hard pill for the dreamer within me to swallow.
Although.
I can't swallow pills anyway (true story).
So I guess there's still time for dreaming.
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