Today I saw a sentence: I am too late to be seriously young, and when I understand it, I can only choose to grow old seriously.
So the first reaction was, ah, I'm going to grow old seriously. But after a moment I thought, no, when I told myself that I was going to grow old seriously, I was acknowledging that I was starting to get old.
Although I always say that I am a great aunt, of course, it is appropriate to call myself a great aunt in my forties, which is an age that cannot be erased. However, this is the physiological age, this is just the ring of my body, the time pendulum that cannot be selected.
But my mental age is not under this control.
What I endorse is:
If young is willing to learn, then I know I am young.
If being young is having light in my eyes and believing that my future will be better than the present, then I also feel that I am young.
If I am young and still have dreams, and I feel that I can realize my dreams through my own efforts, then of course, I am young.
Well, the aunt will no longer pour herself ecstasy soup.
These rhetoric she said were not even uttered when she was absolutely young in her age.
She can now blush and her heart not beat, maybe it is really because, she, is really not young, in order to polish the skin in the years.
She watched her body grow old over the years, at her new long white hair and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She looked at all this with a smile, and she knew in her heart that she had to accept all this no matter what, and it was better to accept it calmly and try to make a little change.
It was this little change that would make her, in the years to come, not suddenly feel the pain of cone because she was too wasted time.
Me, don't cone your heart!
What I want is: sweat flowing on the face, the pain of secreting dopamine after the body exercises.
So much for. That way I don't have any regrets.
