I posted these two photos on my instagram the other day. A 15 year friendship and a 15 year difference in my face. I think it was the first time I looked at a new (and old) photo and felt old. Not necessarily emotionally aged, but physically aged. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know a lot of people still assume I’m in my mid 20’s when they meet me. But this is the first time I looked at a photo and saw the age in my face. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating my aging face, just taking note of the new lines that weren’t there before.
I’m not scared of aging. I’m scared of not living.
In a few hours I’ll be 34. I didn’t even realize my birthday was so soon this week. I was reminded by my family. Another year passed and this is the first year that has felt older. I think people make a big deal of new decades past. 30 wasn’t big for me. 30 was fine. Better than fine. 30 was exciting. 34 seems like a creeping age.
Again, don’t get me wrong, I’m not hating on my creeping age. Just taking note of the changes in my life and in my face. This year feels good, no matter what age I’m at. It was an emotional start, but not in a bad way. I did some real soul-searching in the first two months of this year and I’m ready for what’s ahead.
I don’t have any big plans for tomorrow or for this week. Alex is working through my birthday. And I’m fighting off a cold he shared with me anyway (worth it). I’ll be happy just enjoying a slow and unfussy quiet morning with him, Marlowe, family, and whatever else comes tomorrow.
I may have wrinkles growing on my face and this decade may not have been the easiest one on me, but no matter what age I turn (or how many times I forgot how old I am), life is good and I am happy.
Here is to 34.