the beauty of the years.

Last week on a date night we tried baked brie.

It was incredible.

The next day I told my friend Mandy about how delicious it was.

She said, “You know that you can make that at home?”

No.

I did not know that I could make that at home.

I mean, I guess I knew.

Sort of.

Can’t you make anything at home?

In theory – right?

So I bought the brie.

I bought the pastry shell thing.

I baked it at home.

It was delicious.

I was giddy from making my $9 appetizer for only $5.00 at home.

That was cool.

Last night was our weekly Wednesday Gathering.

I had one sheet of pastry stuff left.

I had Gouda cheese.

I shoved that in there.

Baked it for the same length and temperature.

It was pretty much still delicious.

But its taste was not actually the point.

The point is . . .

There was a time that I never strayed from the recipe.

There was a time that I always used recipes in my mom’s handwriting.

Or with a list of ingredients no longer than my children’s names.

I was not bold.

I was afraid.

I did not want to mess things up.

Not the dish I was preparing, not the meal, not the evening.

None of it.

The potential reward was not worth the risk.

But now I experiment in cooking all the time.

I toss whatever I have together and call it dinner and it always tastes just fine.

Sometimes it tastes great.

I have perfected a blueberry banana muffin

and my strawberry jam is actually really fantastic.

I have a yeast roll recipe I have tweaked and is a regular for us.

But I wouldn’t have tried any of those (except the jam, maybe) on the first week of marriage.

Or at 20.

Or in the second year even.

Maybe you would have.

I would not.

Experience has taught me so much.

Like how some things are just not a big deal.

They matter so much less than you think.

How potential reward is usually so worth the risk.

And I wouldn’t be twenty again if you found the time machine to make it possible.

I wouldn’t be in high school a second time.

I am learning to make peace with Now.

To embrace the knowledge and the victories,

the awareness and the beauty of being Grown Up.

My twenty-three-year-old self might have been cuter.

My body might have been more fit.

I know for certain my hips were straighter.

But I like the relaxing that comes with the piling up of years.

The perspective.

The ability to laugh, laugh, laugh at ruined recipes and ridiculous days.

I like the awareness and the boldness and the bravery that has accompanied living through a handful of decades.

I don’t know if I can say I wouldn’t want a Second Chance if it was offered.

I don’t know.

But I do know this –

I wouldn’t want to live there.

These years, these truths, have been far too hard to learn to let go of now.