It’s amazing what a difference a few weeks make. Around this time last month, I was turning 43. My head and heart were swelled with disappointment, and fomo ruled the day. The fear of missing out. The fear of not being enough. All those negative thoughts seem so wasteful now. So minor and insignificant.
Who said time heals all wounds? Not only does time heal scars, but it also opens up new ones, gaping ones that make the wounds of the past look like scraped knees.
Corona, who would have thought?