There’s nothing quite like being carded on the eve of your 39th birthday. The champagne on the counter stood at attention as I announced the year of my birth: 1977! I handed over my id to the cashier gleefully. She seemed only mildly amused and reminded me that I should live it up while I still can.
I’m not usually one to get hung up on age, but 39 feels…different. Definite. Definitely older. Older in a “yes, you really are an adult now” kind of way.
Am I an adult?
Yes, but adults like me know that the word “adult” never actually turns out to mean what you thought it meant when you were, say, 20. How do you even fathom being 39 when you are 20? You don’t. You just don’t. And why would you?
Lest I give the impression that I am unhappy about getting older, let me just say that I am more confident, more comfortable in my own skin, more assertive, more creative and more fulfilled than I ever was when I was younger. I could still use a little improvement, no doubt, but I have developed a compassion and warmth towards myself that I didn’t know existed. The older I get the more I listen to my heart and the less I listen to fear.
I’m one incredibly lucky 39 year old.
(What I'm watching right now: Shandi Kano // Be Bold)