Old Dreams , New Beginnings

I don't feel old. I don't have any wrinkles yet or grey hairs. I suppose I should be grateful. What I do have is an unavoidable sense that time is running out. Things I always planned on doing haven't been done yet. Goals I set myself were forgotten. I increasingly feel like I've wasted too much time.

I had so many hopes and dreams when I was growing up. At ten, I wanted to be forensic scientist years before anyone had even heard of CSI. At eleven, I remember begging for ballet lessons only to get ballroom dancing lessons instead because they were all we could afford. At thirteen I wanted to be a writer. I would spend hours in my room composing songs and stories. All my teenage angst scrawled across scraps of paper and tatty notebooks. I would pour my heart out on the page and lose myself in imaginery worlds where life was different. Not perfect, just different.

Obviously I never fulfilled any of my ambitions, they were all short-lived and lacked any real conviction. I would be totally obsessed for a while only to be talked out of it or discouraged by a chance remark. For years I blamed everyone else on my lack of success. I thought that I had failed because no-one had encouraged me. Looking back now I realise that I didn't fail. I just never really tried.

Writing helped me cope with all the trials in my life. It kept me sane when I felt the world was falling apart around me. It saw me through my parent's breaking up, my first heartbreak and my divorce. It remains my favourite form of therapy.

As the big 4 - 0 approaches I find myself reflecting on the past more and more. I've even dusted off the small cardboard box from the loft where I packed away all my creations from my youth. Who knows maybe I'll find something worth publishing. At least now I'm ready to try.