My birthday was on Easter this year. It was also a milestone birthday for me; 49.
I remember when I turned 39, it was actually worse than the year I turned 40. I think it was because I spent the entire year of 39 thinking about turning 4-0, that when I finally did, I had already accepted it.
I had a great birthday. An Easter Egg Hunt, a bunny birthday cake, we grilled out, and I got a lot of attention from my family. The perfect birthday. Until I was on my way home…by myself. I started thinking about being 49. “I’m 49,” I thought to myself. Then I said it aloud. It just didn’t sound right.
A familiar feeling crept into my soul and though I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, I knew it had something to do with finally realizing that I was almost 50. I don’t want to be 49, I thought. I want to be 30 again.
Thirty was a great age. Not too young, not too old…just right. but then I didn’t have nearly the wisdom I do now. I was still kind of lost, trying to be a good mother to my kids, still trying to figure out who I was.
So what’s wrong with being 49? Nothing really. I don’t feel 49. Actually I don’t really feel any certain age. I just feel great. I have to admit that I do have pains some mornings, and I get stiff when I sit too long. My gray hair is constantly needing touching up, but I am happier than I have ever been. Why would I want to change that?
I think we all go through that on our birthdays; the realization that life is fragile and can be taken away from us at any moment, no matter what age we are.
So, I think I’ll just appreciate where I am and do my best to make it another year. Age really is just a number, and if you don’t think too much about it, it doesn’t mean a whole lot.