35

My birthday is this week.  Every year I before my birthday I feel a little blue, not because I am getting older.  Getting older doesn’t bother me as far as the aging process aging goes.  I’ve acquired some lines around my eyes, and my knees don't work the way I'd like them to but I can live with those ailments.  While some wrinkles are appearing on my face, I have the added bonus of adult acne to keep me young.  I swear I am the only woman approaching 35 who still has to buy the same face wash she did when she was 16.  So I may not look young, but in many ways I am still purchasing young.

Aside from some misplaced acne, what bothers me about aging is simply the swift passage of time.  Each year I look back and I think, “Am I doing enough with my life?  Am I on the right path?  Are those big dreams I held so dear now out of reach?  Are they even still on my radar?”  My aspirations over the years haven’t changed much, but my commitment to them has spiked and plummeted more times than I care to admit.  Maybe the ups and downs are a necessary adjustment, or maybe they prove a lack of follow through.  On a good day, I refer to the various fluctuations as a sign of flexibility.  On a bad day I scoff and call myself a wimp.  On my birthday I hope to just call it even.   I’d like to look at myself and say, “Okay, so you are now 35.  You’ve done many of the things you set out to do.  Have a good day today.  Enjoy the family and friends you have.  Drink something stronger than a Diet Coke, eat a piece of cake and meet me in the morning ready to work.”