I’ve never been the type of woman who hides her age or shaves 5 years off the real number. Likely because for the last 30 years I’ve continued to feel like I’m still 16 — just ask anyone who knows me — so the real number really never bothered me.
Well that’s not exactly true. Thirty rocked me a bit — but I quickly got over it. Forty was a breeze! After all, 40 was the new 30, and I had already been there done that, so I just celebrated my way through 40.
Today I turn 46, and a couple of days ago it hit me: I’m on the other side of 45 now. I’m only four years away from 50!
How the fuck did that shit happen? I have to admit, I kinda freaked out, and not just a little.
If I’m going to be 50, shouldn’t I already have a substantial list of things I’ve conquered and accomplished? Where is my Oprah-like confidence? Surely the beautiful Ms. O is not still afraid of the dark? Shouldn’t I have more experiences at 50? Do I really have a right to still feel 16 when clearly … I’m not?
Am I still allowed to wear my Converse shoes or do I suddenly have to start paying attention to all those “What a Woman Should Wear at 30, 40, 50” articles that I always skipped by? Should I really have just spent all that money on crayons and colouring books? Oh, and the beads for the bracelets I’ve been making for the people I love. You know, the ones that are essentially friendship bracelets from when I was — you guessed it — sixteen?
Was it wise to donate all of my grey, blue, and black corporate suits and then splurge on that cute new pair of jeans that makes my butt look good??? That doesn’t sound very 50-like to me!
OH GOD!?! Do I have to get rid of the sparkles? The ones on my shoes, my clothes, in my makeup? NO! Absolutely not! Life is not worth living if I have to live it sparkle-free!
After a couple of hours of this wayward thinking, I realized: wait a minute — who the fuck cares? Three months ago I got carded at the liquor store and at the Metro while buying a lottery ticket! A freaking lottery ticket!
The only thing I am accomplishing with this line of thinking is to make myself feel withered and old. Who the hell wants to feel like that? Not me friend! I’m going to celebrate the hell out of my birthday while still allowing my mind and heart to believe I’m whatever age I feel like in that particular moment.
So my lovelies, if you see a sparkly gal walking down the street while rocking her new Converse shoes and belting out “It’s My Life” by Bon Jovi, don’t fret. It’s just me celebrating being 16 (again!)