I'm HOW old?

JillWelllington via Pixabay

Yesterday morning, I got up early. Roofers were coming to work on our house and I wanted to be decent and ready to start the day before they started their work. Now, mind you, I’m a night owl so early to me and early to you are probably not the same thing. To me, anything before 8 AM is indecent but that’s because I usually go to bed somewhere around two.

As is often the case when I get up early because I have to (because I no longer get up early for any other reason), at some point in the day I find myself wondering why I don’t do this more often. Getting an earlier start seems to make my day more productive and I marvel at the additional things that get finished. I sleep well too, mostly because I’m exhausted, and I get up early the next morning to start fresh.

Except that I don’t. Sometimes, I get up even later than usual. It’s as though my body thinks I’ve played some sort of cruel trick and it wants to show me who’s really boss.

On another note (one that's related, I promise), I'm celebrating a milestone birthday next month and, to be honest, I’m having some trouble with it. Yesterday, a friend reminded me that it's just a number, which is my usual outlook on age. Yet, for some reason, this number bothers me more than any other that's come before (though, to be fair, forty was a comeuppance).

Then, this morning, I stopped and looked around – literally. Despite the warm weather (not my favorite thing) I wanted to start today out on our patio. Enclosed by a screened canopy, it's a teaser for the room we’ll be building in the fall. Even though it was late morning when I sat down under the canopy, the neighborhood was quiet, except for the birds who had quite a lot to say. The trees in our yard, so small when we bought the house are now (thanks to my husband’s TLC) bigger than we could have imagined. Butterfly bushes we planted years ago are now taller than I am and my favorite little hedge beside our patio is not so little anymore, giving us the sense of privacy we need on days like today, when we want to start the day out on the patio before we're appropriately dressed and coiffed. 

It's a pretty good life. But how does all of this connect?

Age is a number, but, as such, it's representational. Whether from my perch on the patio, the desk in my office or my place center stage (that's how I see it) running a classroom, I really can't complain. I mean, I can (and I do) but, if I take a step back and look at the big picture, what's missing? What is it that I wanted to do that I haven't done? More important, is there any answer to that question that's so substantial that it's worth clouding the picture and wasting time fretting over a number I can't change? 

No. There is not.

Sure, I could wish for a beach house and thick, lustrous hair and maybe even to be a morning person (but probably not that last one). Or maybe even the PhD I used to aspire to. Or I can enjoy what's right in front of me, own this number (that, quite frankly, I still don't like very much) and, in true Jersey girl style, decide what I want the next decade (or, God willing, several decades) to look like. 

So, here it goes.

Next month, I will turn the number below (I planned to just move right into the acrostic but, frankly, typing the number hurt a little bit). Here's how I plan to make it look:

  Sassy

  Intelligent

eXcellent (but not perfect)

 Teaching, theatrical & text-producing

 Youthful in outlook (The youthful appearance ship has already sailed).

JillWellington via Pixabay

In other words, the best of what I've spent decades (literally) honing. I don't need to be a morning person and I won't be a commercial for Botox. But I want to be wise enough to know that what I've built  to this point in my life is worth celebrating -- and building on -- because I'm not finished yet. In the end, that's a lot more fun than mourning some digits which, for the record, don't change until more than a month from now.

Just sayin'.

I'm okay with it. Really.

Or I will be, anyway.