Today marks the last day that I will be in my fifties. It seems so weird to me to think that tomorrow I will a 60-year-old woman.
Those who truly know me (I say “truly” because many who think they know me, do not have a clue who I really am) will tell you that there is not much “old” about me. Age in years, perhaps, but far from old. And wisdom, sans judgement.
Recently, I facilitated a workshop of mostly Millennials. One, in particular, said: “Thank you for the life’s lessons you taught me. You are one of the ‘coolest’ people I have known. You do not think or act like most people your age.”
Never have I received a nicer, or more genuine, compliment. Especially from a 20-something. I will take them where I can get them!
But, here I am on the eve of my 60th birthday. And, by some standards, it is old. Let me say this: I feel very fortunate to still be alive today to be old.
Three years ago today, I felt lucky to be celebrating my 57th birthday. I thought it would be my last, and the following day I had a birthday party, where close to 50 people showed up to have dinner with me.
Tomorrow, I have no plans. It looks as if it will be just another day. I am not throwing a party, nor do I have any knowledge of one that is planned for me.
But, just another day? For some, perhaps.
For me, it is another day to celebrate the gift of life. And each day that I wake up is another “birth” day. Tomorrow will just mark 60 years of them.