Today is my 42nd birthday.
I love my birthday. I know a lot of people dread them, but I don’t.
Far too often, I hear others (mostly women) talk about how old they are. Yes, I hate how I sometimes feel like I look old and tired (especially when the botox has worn off, and my pre-menopausal hormones are keeping me up at night and causing bruise colored bags under my eyes), but I’m never sad about the actual number of years I’ve got under my belt.
What makes us complain about it? Who says the higher the number, the worse off we are? We should all be celebrating the shit out of our ages because not everyone gets the chance to make it to the exquisite vintage we are today. I personally believe if we have the opportunity to complete another journey around the sun, we should embrace the anniversary with thanks and gratitude.
Worrying about wrinkles and waistlines gets us absolutely nowhere, but reminiscing the past years’ accomplishments and successes might be what it takes for you to get to the next level of whatever you want to do in life. So, if you are 25, 45, or 65 and want to be a yoga instructor, a photographer, or a graphic designer… be like Nike and just do it. I certainly don’t love the effects of aging, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone define me by the crow’s feet on my face. I’d rather someone say, “Damn. She is a total badass, and I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
So, here’s my theory… If we accepted and embraced all the years of wisdom we have collected over time, we just might realize what a remarkable life we are living. I once read a quote that said, “We age not by years, but by stories.” I love this idea. Let’s keep making as many stories as we possibly can before our time runs out.