I’ve wondered why people find birthdays so intimidating. The life that happens is far more intimidating than marking off the years that make it up. I am fascinated. I look at my graying hair, my less than perfect joints, the fact that I need just a little more sleep and a little less alcohol, the fact that the skin isn’t quite as perky as it used to be – and I wonder, isn’t this part of the package? Who was it that said “Youth is wasted on the young?” How true.
I’m not so worried as this birthday approaches, about my aging. I’m middle aged. How strange it is to apply that term to my own person. I, like every single person I talk to, does not feel how own they ‘really’ are. There’s something in that. Not sure yet what it is but there is something there. Perhaps it is that the ageless part of us is somehow truly ageless; that is, it is beyond our own physical time. [She waxes metaphysical….] How many of you did I lose there?
Okay, I won’t drive down that road. I just know that in the time left, I have a lot to do. I console myself with the fact that I spent a good deal of the first fourty years just learning how to navigate through life. I’ve only spent about twenty exercising my muscles. In truth, it’s probably only been in the last fifteen that I’ve had some good life workout.
Perhaps I have a lot more workout time than I think I do. Which prompts me to say: What am I doing sitting around thinking about it? As my friendly goddess of victory and lumpy athletic shoes says, “Just Do It!!” Hail, Nike!
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