What can I tell you about time? To say that it flies is inaccurate. It's more of a gallop. Where once days turned into weeks, weeks have begun to pass like days. Somewhere along the continuum, Monday skips Tuesday and Wednesday and goes straight to Thursday; then another weekend goes by, and soon it occurs to you that Saturdays have gone missing, too.
"Excuse me, sir? Could you please tell me, where does a woman go when she is—to quote Rainer Maria Rilke: 'too young for what is old / and too old for what has never been'? You see, I'm not supposed to be here yet. I missed my stop—the one where I was going to be dating and seeking expert financial advice and writing a best-selling novel and taking up meditation. That stop. I've got to go back! Just 10 years. Hey, mister! You don't understand. There are people I haven't met yet who don't know they're expecting me!"
"When you are in your late twenties through mid-forties, your power—sexually, socially, professionally—is a mix of your beauty, your intelligence, your sense of humor, your social skill. So for almost 20 years you go along with that quartet of components, some of them more prominent than others, but all in play. While you may never use your looks overtly, it's part of your arsenal, part of the total you. Then one day, the beauty part starts to crumble a bit. Suddenly, you're out of whack."
By Holly Millea via ELLE