On Wednesday, I turn *cough*. That’s a milestone plus one. Leos are notoriously egocentric, introspective, proud, generous, gregarious, and, of course, brilliant. Ha ha. I’m all those things. I noticed a lot of my contemporaries rushing around trying to fit in things they wanted to do for years–see Paris, go rock-climbing, learn ballroom dancing. I’m really not like that. I thought of the things I never did:
I never rode a bicycle.
I never learned to skate, and thus never skated in Central Park (the only one in my family not to, perhaps).
I never learned to take a compliment well.
I really can’t swim. I can snorkel with a vest on, and do so as often as possible.
I’ve never been to the Southern Hemisphere.
I’ve never (to my knowledge) killed, trapped, skinned, or done anything else to an animal.
I’ve never hit anyone, except in martial arts.
I never had a child.
I can’t ski.
I don’t think I want to undo any of those, and a few I can’t change now. I suppose I could adopt a med student or something, but that would be pretty selfish.
On the other hand, I’ve done some rather odd things:
I accidentally sat (more of a weary lean) on the Rosetta Stone.
I accidentally put a pickaxe through the skull of a Neolithic skeleton. I think my Professor nearly turned the axe on me after that one.
I published some books, even though I never thought of becoming a writer before I finished a novel. I even had a booksigning, not knowing that it’s not really my kind of thing.
I bungee jumped. I won’t do that again. Don’t dare me.
I walked down the street half naked. That’s a long story, and naked worked a lot better back then.
I married twice.
I can’t wait to see what strange things are around the corner. Paris can wait until my next life.