Once upon a time.
Back in the day.
When I was little.
I used to.
I celebrated my 37th birthday last week, and admit I felt a little tingle at the base of my skull; the hairs stood on end, excited and invigorated as I inched ever closer to 40. It's somewhat of a thrill to be so close to that magical age, for me. Even in my early thirties, that big 4-0 seemed ominous, far-off, intimidating. But now I look to some of the women I admire most in my life and they've made their 40s look so delicious I can nearly taste it. And I have to tell you that 37, though only a week old for me, is more exciting and full of promise than any year thus far. And do you know why that is?
There is something so wonderfully freeing about the ageing process for me. I'm confident in who I am, and with each passing year, I'm more secure and proud of the choices I make. There is glamour in ageing: I earned these greys, these lines and those sags. I feel beautiful and wish I'd been able to accept that two decades ago. I feel successful, regardless of what people around me are doing or thinking. I feel powerful. I finally feel able to control my body and my life, and that's something I really never felt before.
I'm happy being me; not aching to be someone else, to grow into some soft-focus version of a Future Self I've yet to define. I like this version of me, though I'm ever-changing and evolving, redefining what my successes are and how to reach the next goal, I like this journey.
There is power in reminiscing about the dreams I had as a child, a teen, even an adult and recognizing that at any time, I'm free to give them a good shake and see how they resettle.
If I could share this feeling with you, or give it as a gift, I would.
This is a good place to be. I want you to be here, too. I hope you find your way.