Yesterday, I turned 28. That means I’m in my late twenties. At 27, I could squeak by with pulling off the mid-twenties. But at 28, there’s no escaping it – I’m a stone (or two stones – really, let’s not get crazy) throw away from 30.
Bring it. I don’t look a day over 20. Which is proven each time I try to buy alcohol.
And even if I did look every day of my 28 (+1 day) years, it wouldn’t matter. Age is just something that exists, it doesn’t define who we are, what we do, or how we act. (Unless we are in a bar and under 21. That’s a problem. Or at the polls while under 18. Moving on.) And as I
start continue finding little lines around my eyes and mouth and those lines have the audacity to exist even when I’m not smiling, I’ll remember that they are there because I have been blessed to spend the majority of my life laughing and forming those marks of a life well spent.
After all, as some unknown source has so eloquently stated, “Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.”
Here’s to you – last year, this year, next year.
Is there some future (or past) age that scared you? An age that you thought would be a defining time in your life? An age by which you thought you’d have life all figured out and under control?