Bring it, Father Time!: Musings of a Birthday Girl

It's my birthday!

Today begins the last year in my third decade of life, and can I tell you something strange? I'm actually excited about that. Why is it strange to be excited about your birthday? You aren't asking that if you're an almost or over forty year old woman. We commonly react to birthdays as if they are postcards from the Grim Reaper, evidence that our prettiest and most oblivious years are behind us.


But, as far as I can tell, this whole life we get is a big chance to learn as much as we can for as long as we're here. Why would I want to freeze it in the middle, when I only knew what I knew then? She was nice and all, but I have no interest in being this girl again.

She had no blog, and would have laughed at the sound of that word.

Sure, she could brag that she was merely twenty something, but she couldn't play the accordion, or go a few hours without smoking a cigarette, or talk civilly to someone who angered her. She also hadn't met her four most favorite people in the world, poor girl.

Now is where it's at for me, and I get a feeling I'll still see things the same way if I am lucky enough to get really and truly elderly. This clock goes one way, not backward, not forward, but inward. Living is about mastering the moment right before me, as me; a skill honed with time. There is no shortcut to this vista, it's enjoyed only by those who have done the climbing.

So, welcome, wrinkles and gray hair! Have a cup of tea, random shooting pains and disconcerting skin discolorations! I am ready for you. You are evidence that I am still here, part of the scene, the old lady in the back of the room, with a lot to say.

And scary lipstick.

Because when you're old, nobody will tell you your lipstick looks scary. So many unforeseen benefits to this gig, I tell you.