"I wanna Grow Old"

I want to grow old.

See, when I was young,

all I ever wanted was to be older—

do all the things grown-ups did,

break rules all the youth kept me from—

like late nights and no one telling me what to do.

See, freedom looked shiny—so I thought!

Then boom—early twenties hit.

A crisis wrapped up in freedom.

Years flew fast like they were running from something,

stuck in career puzzles,

tripping over expectations I didn’t sign up for.

Life threw hurdles like hailstones—

and there I was—wishing I were younger!

Because adulting? …ah, was nothing like the movies!

Mid-twenties hit like a quiet storm.

Creeps in with a weird kind of clarity.

Regrets for not living those early years better—

always rushing—never pausing,

not really being in the moment.

Now thirty's waving at me from across the street,

and I'm here—kinda scared.

Scared of the silence.

Scared that nothing lined up.

Of change.

Of lines forming where laughter once lived.

Of the 20s glow that fades,

the body that shifts like new terrain.

Scared of becoming unrecognizable to the girl I once was.

But right now—as I write this—something shifts.

I feel it.

A soft, unexpected peace.

I wanna grow old.

I wanna see all the versions of me unfold.

See how my future aligns with what I thought it would be—

or what it yields.

I wanna write this book called my life—

every messy, broken, whole, beautiful chapter—

then hand it over,

softly, proudly—to the generation after me.

I wanna sit on a porch,

grey hair tied up,

swinging on a wooden chair under a tree,

tea in hand—hibiscus maybe—I don’t know, but I wanna know.

Then smile—

knowing I embraced every version of me.

The flawed me.

The glowing me.

The confused, the vulnerable, the strong, the soft—

at the woman who dared to become.

SHE–ME

She grew into her flaws like flowers,

watered every fear and bloomed.

She surprised herself by showing up—

again and again.

She dared to dare!

We carry galaxies inside us—

if only we'd stop, learn our own constellation.

I want to tell the story of growth—of change—of becoming.

One that doesn’t shout,

but whispers through time.

I want my grandkids—great even—

to look at me and say,

“Grandma…!

She lived.

She dared.

She became.

She grew, and grew old—

and made it look like an art.”

And what a beautiful thing that is.

I WANT TO GROW OLD!