“When he turned 34, but who’s counting?
He couldn’t find anyone who wanted to party…”
Last week, I turned 34 years old. When someone asked me if it bothered me, getting older, I thought for a moment and said, “I’m lucky to be here and to be able to get older.”
It’s true—while I’m not thrilled about the silver hairs that break through my red hair dye every five weeks, and while I can’t help to be slightly dismayed how fucking fast ten years can pass, I’m not exactly crying the blues to now be in my mid-thirties. Of course I can say that now, when I am still unafflicted by arthritis and failing livers and god knows what else, but since now is all I know I have, I may as well just fucking revel in it.
I don’t necessarily live each day with a grand purpose or even an overwhelming sense of profundity, but I do try to go about my business with some purpose. That’s where my planner and my endless lists come in. I don’t care if it makes me seem anal or OCD—if adhering to lists keeps me paying my bills on time and getting my books read and getting creative projects done, then at least I won’t be likely to wake up on my 40th birthday saying, “What the fuck have I been doing with my life?”
That’s what this boils down to: I do know what I’ve been doing with my life. I’ve gotten a master’s degree and spent the last eight years becoming more comfortable in my profession. I’ve been trying to learn how to let things go and to not judge too much. I’ve been writing fanfic and scrapbooking and getting more comfortable with admitting to both. I’ve read about 250 books in the last two years alone. I’ve consciously been pondering topics of sexuality and fidelity. I’ve done a modest amount of traveling. I’ve tried to make people laugh and I’ve tried to come to terms with people and I’ve tried to balance Living Out Loud with Minding My Own Fucking Business. I’ve been trying to learn about the mercy of the fallen. I’ve tried to establish friendships and relationships, with family old and new, with colleagues and supervisors, with friends in real life and online. All of these are major accomplishments, at least to me, and by god I will own them. That’s my gift to me, as I turn 34.
Happy birthday to me.