Seventy-four was the right age to do it.
To quit needing to belong, to stop letting a group define me,
to give up seeking courage through numbers.
By trying to always fit in, I somehow lost my sharp corners,
becoming rounded off with small, but important parts lost in the process.
It was a hard year of letting go, but it’s paid off with new life at seventy-five.
Choosing to be whole, not a chameleon, is like rising up on eagles’ wings.
Distinguishing between wants and needs,  mine and others,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            so I can get to know and celebrate my unfinished self,
and begin again to grow more like the person I was created to be.