Happy Birthday to Me

Today is my 44th birthday. If you read women’s magazines or watch Hollywood movies, you know that means that I should be depressed about this reminder that I am getting older. As we all know, the only thing left for women to do once they’ve outlived their sexy youth (which as far as I can tell ends somewhere around 23 or so. Hell, this year’s Miss America is SEVENTEEN. Craziness.) is to fight aging as much as possible.

Sorry, but I didn’t get that memo. Sure, I’ve noticed over the last few years that I’v got more gray hair (between dye jobs anyway :-), wrinkles, and pounds than I had 20 years ago(although I have thankfully ditched the blonde dye and the bad perm), but I also have more wisdom, a wonderful husband whose birthday presents included the roses and birthday cake pictured in this post, a job (or better said jobs) that I love and am pretty good at it. But the best thing about getting older (as I’ve said before) is finally freeing oneself from worrying about what other people think. I just don’t care anymore — as I get closer to middle age, I feel much more confident in my own skin and decisions and other people’s opinions don’t matter as much. This doesn’t mean not asking for advice or listening when friends or family let you know you’re doing something wrong. Rather, it’s losing the constant worrying about what other people are thinking about you that I find so liberating. There is no way I want to go back to my anxiety-filled 20s. So, bring on the birthdays — I’ll happily welcome them!

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