The most difficult birthday for me was the thirtieth. The rest of them have been a piece of cake (ummm, I like white cake with chocolate frosting; thanks.)
I don't know why I had so much trouble with 30. I guess I finally realized that I had to be grown-up now; which was kind of a crock, because I'd long before become a mom, so I was pretty responsible. Something about lost youth, maybe.
I won't lie to you. There are a lot of crummy things about getting older. For one, my bad health habits are coming back to bite me in the butt. I cannot eat like I did when I was a kid and still maintain my girlish figure. My girlish figure hopped a train to Bye-Bye-Ville about ten years ago, and it didn't buy a round-trip ticket.
I have to worry about retirement now. Or no retirement; whichever the case may be. I honestly can't see myself still doing what I do when I'm seventy or so; unfortunately for my bank account. I'm already crabby. I'm going to be a real pain in the ass if I still have to train people twelve years from now.
Surprisingly, though, there are some good things about getting older.
I have more patience. I go with the flow. Nothing that happens in the world is earth-shattering. Even the earth-shattering things aren't earth-shattering. One makes do. There are very few things I can think of that would cause me to descend into an irreversible funk. I'm much more even-keeled than I ever was for most of my life.
I'm not very material-minded. "Things" take up a lot of space. I don't have any more room for "things"; and I pretty much like the things I have. I don't feel the need to switch them out for new things.
I finally have the confidence to pursue writing. Throughout my life, people would say to me, "You're a really good writer"; yet, I hardly ever wrote enough to justify those opinions. And I wasn't a good writer. I was a neophyte writer. I've now finally settled into my own voice; and I don't frankly care if it's not someone's cup of tea. It is what it is.
I love a nice spring morning; with the sun bathing my face; taking Josie out for an early-morning walk. I notice the early birds singing. I think about them. What kind of birds are they? I don't know if I ever even heard the birds when I was younger.
I have let go of a lot of stuff. I've always been the kind of person who had to pick at a sore. I couldn't leave it alone. Any slight; any cross look; depressed me; reminded me that I was a loser at life. Now I know that people are just people. I don't have to internalize everything. People act a certain way for their own reasons; ninety-nine per cent of those reasons have absolutely nothing to do with me.
I guess, overall, I've just grown comfortable with me. So, fifty-eight isn't so bad.
Oh, one more thing: If you don't appreciate my fondness for old country music, that's okay. I still think it rocks. Sort of like this:
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