Birthdays and Aging


Yesterday was my birthday.  I’m 37 now. 

I’m definitely in my LATE thirties now, no doubt about it.  I feel like I should hate my age; I still can’t reconcile the number with how old I actually feel (most of the time), but this year, for the first time in a few years, I’m feeling pretty zen about getting older.

Maybe it’s because we’re living out a wish I’ve had for years.  It’s hard to feel too sorry for yourself about anything when one of your most fervently held dreams is playing out in real life every day.  I know how lucky I am, and I’m so grateful.


Maybe it’s because I’ve realized how selfish it is to complain about getting old when there are so many things that could happen that would be far worse.

Maybe it’s because I’ve come to understand that no matter how old I get, I’ll pretty much always feel the same inside — hitting my late thirties hasn’t made me a different person, so who cares what the numbers say?

Maybe it’s because complaining about it won’t change it and I’ve finally gotten to a point in my life where I’m not trying to change things that can’t be changed.  I’ve mellowed in my old age, so to speak.

Maybe it’s because I’m happier with myself, with my life, with my accomplishments, with my future and my past and my present than I ever remember being.  It feels good to feel content yet hopeful.  I’m grateful to have some amazing things to look back on, amazing things happening now, and amazing things to look forward to. 

So I’d like to take an opportunity to say thank you, as I begin my year of being 37, to my phenomenal husband and my amazing children for making every day an adventure.  Thank you to the family and friends I love for making my life as wonderful as it is. 

I’m feeling grateful and inspired and hopeful and nostalgic and very, very lucky.

Life is good. 


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