Blooming

“I’m so glad you moved to Seattle,” a friend said.

“Me too! I feel like I’m blossoming.”

And it’s true. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve opened myself up, allowed myself to be vulnerable, and a lot of great things have happened in the process. I don’t think I could go back to being my Florida self, even though she existed for 49 years.

You really don’t expect to make yourself over from the inside out at this age, but intentional or not, it’s what I’ve seemed to have done. Not that I’m 100 percent different. As a matter of fact, some of my traits have become even more ingrained as I’ve become more comfortable in my own skin. I feel as though I have a stronger sense of who I am, and am quite okay with the conclusions that I’ve drawn.

This is an unexpected boon at this stage of my life.

“Talk about a late bloomer!” I said to my friend.

“Nonsense! You’re right on time,” she replied.

What a delightful attitude. And she has a point. Whenever you bloom, it’s obviously right when you were supposed to do so. Nature has a way of taking its course.

A-beautiful-fantasy-painting-by-Jennifer-Healy-of-a-mermaid-woman

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