Birthday Posthaste

“A bad day’s when I lie in bed and think of things that might have been.” - Slip Slidin’ Away, Paul Simon

Sunday afternoon. Slip slidin’ away into a lazy day.  Another birthday come and gone yesterday. Early 30s has slipped away. Mid-30s has snuck up on me like a sidewinder. Not fast and furious, but a sleek and seductive primal force sidling into my life. I’m starting to think that my thirties are all about moving slower and sensory reflection, taking the time to think about what I want the rest of my life to be, settling in and being content.  Overall, age at this point can best be described as both irrelevant and obnoxious.  A birthday is only a day on the calendar to mark the passing of time, which is obnoxiously showing its power in the number of gray hairs on my head.

I never dwell on age, except for that one day of year on which everyone wishes me well, the day that I eat cake without guilt, and have both dinner made AND dishes done for me. That’s the only day that I dwell on the fact that another year has passed by and left its mark on my body.

Someday I will look back on being thirtysomething and laugh my ass off at the fact that I dwelled for even one second on getting older at this age. But I’m allowed an occasional moment of self indulgence too. I think I’ve earned that. And if my older self disagrees, well, I guess I’ll just chalk it up to immaturity. And that’s allowed once in a damn while too.

“The only time you really live fully is from thirty to sixty. The young are slaves to dreams; the old servants of regrets. Only the middle-aged have all their five senses in the keeping of their wits.”  - Hervey Allen