Five Minute Friday: Older

Is 32 the new 22?

I sure hope not.

At 22 I was a college graduate with no prospects. My boyfriend had dumped me. I had a degree but no career. I was living with my parents. I made $8.50 an hour lugging formal dresses around Bloomingdale's. I spent my money on designer clothes and cranberry and vodkas, and barely had enough left over for my student loans and car payment. I was on the fast-track to building some serious debt, which would haunt me throughout my 20s.

On the flip side, I had a lot of fun. My clothes were awesome, as was my body. I dated some interesting guys (some of whom were far more memorable than others, to which my friend Jo can attest). I went out with friends nearly every night of the week. I stayed up late and and got up even later. My parents provided my food, paid all my utilities. I had little-to-no responsibility because my lifestyle at the time didn't require much more than showing up to work and paying my bills on time.

At various times throughout the past 10 years, I've romanticized my early 20s. Nate and I will often reminisce about our early days together and think — wow, we sure had fun. But fun was all we had. Besides meeting Nate, very little from that time period is worth remembering. It's a blur of late nights and tipsy kisses, irresponsibility and immaturity.

At 32, I have responsibility. Loads of it. Bills to pay and to-do lists to complete and children to raise. But I also have a solid foundation on which to stand in both my faith and my family. I have a loving Father. A devoted husband. A beautiful little boy at home and a precious baby girl on the way. A stable career. A roof over my head. I have priorities, and most of the time I have them straight(ish).

I also have crows feet, about 30 pounds to lose, and a pretty pathetic excuse for a social life. There's no question: I've aged. Twenty two-year-old Abby would be dismayed. But 32-year-old Abby knows better.

32 isn't as glamorous or exciting as 22. And it's a lot harder, more exhausting. But with age comes experience, maturity, and the ability to differentiate between what's "fun" and what's meaningful.

No doubt these will be years worth remembering.

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After a few weeks off, this post was written as part of Five Minute Friday. Visit The Gypsy Mama to link up or read other bloggers' take on this week's prompt, Older.

Five Minute Friday: Whole

My life was full before I met you.

Happy. Healthy. Carefree. Devoted entirely to my God, my husband, my family, my friends, my job, myself.

I had work-life balance.

I had money.

I had time.

And now I have you.

I no longer have balance.

I no longer have money.

I no longer have time.

And even without these things, my life, my heart, is full.

More than full.

Whole.


This post was written as part of Five Minute Friday. Two weeks in and all I've learned is that I'm a very slow writer and hitting publish after a mere five minutes of writing is terrifying. Join us, won't you?

Five Minute Friday: Still

My heart skips a beat. Sometimes two.

When he kisses me good morning, all fumbling hands and sleepy eyes and whiskered cheeks.

When he looks at me and shakes his head as if to say “you’re crazy, but you’re mine.”

When he takes my hand for no other reason than to be close to me.

When he forcefully pulls me near despite my angered attempts to pull away.

When he lets me go on and on about things he does not care to know, because he understands that's what I need from him.

When he kisses me good night, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of my neck.

Ten years in, and my heart still skips a beat when he's near.

Sometimes two.

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This post was written as part of Five Minute Friday, a weekly writing workshop one of my friends does. Looked kind of fun, so I thought I'd give it a try. (I think I need some practice.) Anyway, click here to learn more or link up with us!