It's one thing to turn a year older when you're still hovering somewhere in the middle of something - i.e. your teens, twenties, thirties, forties, etc. It's quite another to cling desperately to that last twelve months of 19, 29, 39 and upwards. This my dear friends, is the gruesomest of birthdays. You smile for all the pictures pretending it's just another cake, another set of wishes you may not ever see come true. But deep down you're thinking, "Crap. Another decade down. Crap."
We've all heard the cliches meant to make us feel better about the whole situation- "Age is just a number." "You're only as old as you feel." These aren't nearly as lethal as the dreaded, "You look great for your age." Ugh.
Truth is, the clock is ticking, the sand is cascading through the hourglass and we are helpless to do anything to turn it back or even slow it down. For each decade that rushes by another waits to welcome us, to coax us into believing that this will the THE very best one yet. I still recall the 30's as they wooed me, "Come on over to our side, sweetie. We'll make you smarter than you were in your 20's. We'll teach you how to be a mommy, balance your checkbook the right way and roast the hell out of a chicken." Tempting? Perhaps. But why fight it? There's really no refusing anyway.
Naturally this whole topic comes up because I'm about to celebrate the anniversary of the day my Mama had her first child. I'm being forced to say goodbye to a decade that promised it wouldn't break the sound barrier as it sped past.
Guess what? It lied.
So...how old is this blogger, you may ponder? Well, Robert Frost said it best...
"Time and Tide wait for no man, but time always stands still for a woman of thirty."