Before

    Before I turn 80, I want to fly to New York and climb to the top of the Statue of Liberty and look out at the city and throw confetti out the windows. I want to buy a brand new house and paint it with friends and decorate it with things I bought from thrift shops and have tea parties on the balcony. I want to go on runs and swing on swings and drink lemonade from $10 plastic bottles and let the wind attack my hair. Before I turn 80, I want to cuddle up in front of a fireplace and type up a manuscript and send it to an agent and have my very first book published. I want to go to a concert with friends and scream until my throat burns and cry when my idol sings her last number and be in awe. Before I turn 80, I want to feel good about myself and not cringe every time I look in the mirror and be able to walk out the door without eyeliner and lose 10 pounds because I want to not because I'm being pressured to do so. I want to connect with friends and recall old memories and laugh until I cry and do meaningful things and run around the mall playing tag and get yelled at by grumpy old men and burst out giggling when they turn their backs. Before I turn 80, I want to live, not survive.