Happy Birthday to Me!
In honor of my upcoming birthday, I’ve decided to publish a short piece while I continue to plug away on my book. (It’s really coming along – almost at 200 pages!!)
My birthday is coming up! It’s this weekend actually. I’m a big fan of birthdays. Especially when they’re mine! I love when my family makes a big deal over me (which they never really do) and I love LOVE LOVE presents (probably because my husband never gives me any)! As I head into each and every birthday, I hope with renewed vigor that both of these things will occur. And really, very little thrills me more than having an entire restaurant sing happy birthday to me!
But I have to say, I’m sorry to see 53 go. I’ve enjoyed being 53 more than I’ve enjoyed any other age in recent memory. I got my second wind this year, and I enjoy torturing my kids by saying that’s a sign that I’ve reached the middle of my life. Literal midlife. It makes Sarah cringe at the thought of having to put up with me for another 53 years. The second half will undoubtedly be less fun for the both of us than the first half. But in the meantime, I’m enjoying every minute of my middle age.
53 for me started off just as the world was emerging from the Omicron outbreak. And I personally emerged from years of recovering from ‘stuff.’ I haven’t felt this healthy and vibrant in years. And then a month in, my husband and I took the trip of a lifetime up the Danube on our first Viking Cruise, which you already know all about. Almost nothing excites me more than a great trip (other than my birthday), and this was one for the books. I can’t help but see this trip as life-changing because it made me a writer. I had decided beforehand that I was going to start publishing articles about my fabulous travels and this would be the first in a long series. Two articles later, I was plumb out of material. But since I was already spending a lot of time at my computer, I decided to keep writing about the fun nonsense and emotional nostalgia that goes along with being a middle-aged mom and wife. Encouraged by all of your wonderful support, my aspirations continued to grow and, two months ago, I decided to sit down to start the novel I’d been half-joking about writing for years. My very biggest dream is to see it published this year. (Well, my VERY biggest dream is to have it picked up by Read With Jenna and Reese Witherspoon’s Book Club, but I’m getting ahead of myself.) And while all of this writing was going on, both Jake and Sarah moved into apartments in Chicago, which was a huge move for both of them and for me as a mom. See? When I tell you 53 was a big year, I’m not kidding.
Sure, certain things have changed since I was in my mid-30s. I no longer am surrounded by the sheer joy that was my little kids. But I’m very happy in a quieter house where I can read and write to my heart’s content. Plus, I still have Matthew around so I’m not empty nesting just yet. I no longer have to race around town, worried that if I get stopped by one too many red lights I’ll be late getting to where I’m going. Now, I can cruise around town at no more than five miles above the posted speed limit because I’m in no rush to be anywhere. I no longer make dinner reservations at the hottest restaurants in the city at 8:00. Really, who can sleep after eating that late? Now, I’d much prefer to dine at those restaurants at 5:30 and be home and in my pajamas by 8:00. I no longer worry about everything I eat because I’ve come to realize that baby weight isn’t going anywhere. I’d much rather spend my energy these days doing something fabulous, like writing a book.
My aspirations as a newly minted 54-year-old far outreach those of my much younger self when my primary goal was to get to the end of each day intact. I wasn’t kidding when I called it my second wind. I may have a wrinkle or two on my face, a few gray hairs on my head and a couple on my chin, and some body aches all around. But I am so much wiser and more interesting now than I was at 34. And happier too.
The sky’s the limit. I can write just one book to prove to myself that I can do it. Or I can write one a year if I choose. My kids are grown up and doing great without my constant attention. So, at 54, I can spend all (or most of) my attention doing the things I want to do. To round myself out (no, I’m not referring to the baby weight) after spending decades making sure everyone else was well-rounded.
So, although I’ve always relished my birthdays, this year I predict that I’ll find extra joy in the day. Because the way I see it, it’s the first day of the rest of my life. And my second act looks promising.
To your birthday, and more travel!!
Yes!! Thanks! 😘