When I was younger, I was sure there was a magic age where and when I would know everything.
That age initially was 18. At 18 I was sure I would be brilliant and no longer need to ask questions, because, I would have all the answers.
18 came and went and I realized that I knew very little, but was sure that at 25, after graduating from college, that I would then know all the answers.
The closer to 25 I got, the more I knew that was not the magical age.
So I pushed it back, this time until all the way until I was over the hill at 40. I was convinced that by that point I would have achieved the brilliance that would make the rulers of the countries come to me for advice because I would have all the answers.
As you can guess, I did not get all the answers by then.
I began to see a pattern then that I would be allowed only a certain amount of the answers at each age.
Now feast, famine, disease, pestilence, life, and death answers would surely come later in life. A true understanding of all those details would not be granted until at least age 70, but I did expect to finally get some answers by this age.
Now I wasn't sure how the information would come to me, whether it would be a voice mail message, a post on Facebook, a text message, in a dream, or maybe the side of a blimp, I just wasn't sure, but I was open and ready to receive the answer to the questions that are plaguing me.
I was ready to know why after I finally find something that my daughter will eat and cannot keep enough on hand, that when I finally break down and buy the large economy size, she suddenly decides she does not like it and never eats it again leaving the large economy size with only one serving missing, so it cannot be returned?
But I did not get the answer. I listened very hard, but no answers.
So I hoped at least to learn how one daughter can text the Gettysburg Address on a keyboard that is just a little larger than the size of a pin head yet cannot see the stack of laundry that needs to be folded or the pile of clothes surrounding her bed.
Listening even harder, but I did not get the answer.
When those answers were not received, I actually held out hope that I would get a glimmer of an answer to an issue that has become monumental for me - where are the mates to my socks?
Last night I decided that I needed to be the example for my daughters and put up and hang up all my clothes. Part of that was matching up my socks. My usual routine has me digging in the laundry basket to find two that at least come close to being a match. I didn't just take the ones in the current laundry stack. No, I got ALL my socks out so I could organize them in their three color groups, white, black, and brown. Not a lot of choices of colors, just three. There are different lengths, but really not that many.
So I sat down with my socks and started matching. It was like a game and each match was a point. Whew! It was exciting!
But quickly enough, the fun stopped.
I tried to force a few but finally had to give up, defeated, knowing the socks had won. There in front of me were 16 socks with no mates!
I waited patiently, hoping to get the answer to my question, "where are the mates to my socks?".
Evidently I am still too young to know even these answers to these questions. I wonder what age you have to be?