And thus I begin the last year of my thirties. I’m thirty-nine years old.
I feel like I should be full of some sort of wisdom or something. Like 39 is the magic age of maturity and grownuphood. But then I thought that about 30 too and I was wrong.
This morning I was talking to my FFJ on the phone. She turned 40 on Friday.
“So how does it feel?” I asked.
“A lot like being 39,” she said. “The only thing that changes is I have to mark a different box now and I think I have to renew my license.”
“Ha!” I laughed.
“So the next time I fill out a form I might have a break down, but for now I’m good.”
I made a decision tonight, driving home from dinner with 3/5ths of the Chicken Fingers (and special guest stars Angela and Rockstar Baby Byron) that for now I’m good too. I’ve spent a lot of time frozen with fear and paralyzed by insecurity. It has suuuu-ccckkked.
As you know, faith is not my strong suit and when you couple that with my utter lack of patience, well I’ve been pretty much a wreck for weeks. But I am stopping all that now. I will have faith that work will come in and that freelancing remains the right choice.
Also, I will make George Michael’s “Faith” my theme song and will take to wearing one, gaudy cross earring. Grownuphood is going to look so good on me.
happy birthday!
“the magic age of maturity and grownuphood” – this is always /next/ year.
Happy birthday and best of luck going forward–from a fellow impatient person.
I turn 37 next month. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the exact same thing as turning 39 as they both round up to forty. I stopped giving a crap a long time ago, though.
I hope someone gives you something nice for your birthday and that you get a pie or a brownie. (I can never remember which one you prefer.)
@M—–l, The only two birthdays that really bothered me were 26 (for reasons I cannot explain) and 35 (because as a woman you’re told repeatedly by the media that you become a dried-up prune on your 35th birthday and your uterus falls out).
@M—–l, I’ve been saying ever since I turned 36 that I’m almost 40.
Happy birthday, young whippersnapper. One day you too shall know the wisdom of age. (Okay, so I’m really only a few years older than you. JUST LET ME HAVE MY MOMENT.)