Today, I’m thirty-four. And really? I’m practically giddy about it because at some point over the last four years I lost track of my age and for the whole of 2011 I’ve considered myself thirty-four. So–as you might imagine–having a birthday and turning not thirty-five, but thirty-four (again! still!) is not at all a bad thing.
Is thirty-four midlife? Because if so, it would make sense that during the last couple of weeks I’ve been struggling in very much a mini midlife crisis sort of way. You see, it has long been a dream of mine to see my own printed words all bound and tidy within the cover of a dreamy novel on a Borders bookshelf. Alas, that hasn’t happened yet. And–given the current state of Borders (among other things)–it’s not likely to, at least not anytime soon.
Though I’m deeply disheartened–in a very omnipresent, gray and heavy kind of way–I count myself richly blessed. And on this non-momentous, yet still celebrate-y kind of day, especially so.
I might never see my book on those shelves. True story. Even so…
Within these 34 years, I found my way through being sixteen and pregnant. And I’m all the stronger for it.
I went on to birth four absolutely breathtaking individuals. Including the one who has stretched my limits further than I ever imagined possible.
I found happiness with a man I truly believe was meant for me.
So what if Borders went out of business before I made it there.
Maybe I just wasn’t dreaming big enough.
I’ll work on it.
In the meantime…Happy birthday, dear me.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going shopping today. By myself. Gonna treat me to a Starbucks while I’m at it. Cheers, friends. Here’s to forgetting the number in March so that I’m pleasantly surprised again next year ;)