I like to think that I’ve mellowed with age. I’m relaxed, chill, low-key. I have given up any previous passion for perfection. I’m comfortable with mediocrity when mediocre is called for. Just look at yesterday’s post. Perfectly middling.

I suspect people who know me well are laughing so hard they’ve just spit out their coffee.

Look, I try to be content with what I’ve got. At 50, I have enough self-confidence that I don’t need to worry too much about outside perception. Sometimes this is even true. Sometimes, I can happily come in second – or even third. Mostly, I can curb my competitive nature – especially if I’m concentrating on being easygoing. 

Also, I just stayed up well past my bedtime on the last night of March Break playing Duolingo. I snuck up behind “Panda” and overtook the number one spot in the Diamond League, logging out with only a few minutes left before this week’s competition is over; she’ll never catch up. And I’m terribly pleased with myself.

So, yeah, not so mellow after all.

(In my defense, I am *comparatively* easygoing now. It’s just that I’ve really never been that kind of person at all.)