As of this Monday, yours truly will finally be a grown up. Or so I hope. I told my Dad, however, the day that I turned thirteen that I was a "real woman." He chuckled and then agreed whole heartedly, and continues to remind me of my profound telling on that day . . . I wonder, though, when it will ever ring true. Sometimes when I get carded buying a bottle of wine, I pause and quiver thinking "holy hell, I'm like 17," before I realize that I'm of age, and far beyond. Often I still feel like that little girl in high school who marched to the beat of her own tambourine sometimes, but got swept away by the currents of the changing tides of popularity. Since high school, the ebbing and flowing has taken on a new wave, nevertheless, my twenties were churned up with Saturn returning and me feeling sucked down and out by the undertow. And so now, almost thirty, will these troubled waters float me to a more steady and calm shore? I don't know, but I feel the current now and it feels great. Warm like the waters of Sayulita that just caresses my skin and soothing like the hot mineral bath that welcomed and released me with not a pruned finger to speak of. These waters, the kind I imbibe, swim in and cry, have proven to change recently, a shifting tide indeed. I hope the cold waters of Big Sur help shock me into this new third decade of mine where I may finally be able to say with truth and pride that I am a real woman, a real version of me.
Big Sur Love!
