When I was in middle school, I shared most classes with a girl who thought anyone older than her - even by a single day - was old. I tried to wrap my mind around that, but I couldn't. I tried to convince her that our parents weren't actually old, but that didn't work either. She was kinda funny in her views back then and I wonder how they've evolved as we're all well into adulthood now. She was also older than me, so I let her know that by her own standard she was old. (Gifted kids can be total know-it-all brats to each other.)
Age has always been just a number to me. It doesn't say anything about me other than how long I've existed. It's not a reflection of who I am or what I'm capable of doing.
Today I turn 39 and begin my fortieth year of living. I've been thinking about this particular birthday for months because my hopes and dreams and goals for the next couple of years are pretty big.
I'm rekindling my interest in and love for various types of artistic expression. (Not paint nites, though. Those don't interest me at all.)
I'm overflowing with ideas and though I can't do them all (not at once, anyway), picking through them is gratifying and fun.
When I look back on this year in 365 days, I want to be able to say I lived.
- That I pursued the interests that fulfill me - regularly and passionately.
- That I loved my family vigorously.
- That I worked hard for those who depend on me.
- That I made changes to be a better person than I am today.
- That I sing and make music, even if it's only in my head.
- That I have done my part to make the world/my community a better place.
None of us knows how much time we get to spend on this rock. We just have to make the most of each day we're given. Carpe diem.