Birthday ruminations.

Yes, it is my birthday. My 48th, actually, and I’m not sure how I feel about that yet. Give me a year, and I’ll probably love my 48th.

The last few birthdays have been odd. The numbers don’t always sit well with me. I thought it might be cathartic to write a little piece about my birthday feelings.

I should start out by saying I do appreciate all the kind wishes that have come my way. You’ve all been wonderful.

I know I should be embracing each stage. I know this in my heart of hearts. Numbers are just numbers. I should be welcoming in this new year with zest and exuberance.

However, I can’t help regarding my birthday with a good helping of suspicion. I’m on the way to fifty, guys. 5-0.  Now what?

It’s very easy to sit back and start counting all the ways one has failed. I won’t lie. Last night, while falling asleep, I did torture myself with those types of feelings.

“Not good enough.”

“Not successful enough.”

“Not selling enough books.”

“What’s with those wrinkles, dude?”

“Time to dye your hair again.”

For a few short moments, I allowed myself to wallow. And you know what? That’s okay. I accept some wallowing now and then. I think we need to wallow a bit to emerge on the other side. If we don’t acknowledge our emotions, how are we supposed to get past them?

A kind colleague and friend (that’s you, Emily!) noticed my state of mind yesterday. As she pointed out, I’ve done far more than I give myself credit for. Along with my husband, I’ve raised two beautiful young men. I’m so proud of them. I’ve found a way to juggle two careers. I’m surrounded by people who care for me. And, for the most part, I try very hard to send positive vibes into the universe and toward the people I love.

It’s everyday stuff. It’s easy to forget, but I sometimes also forget the impact on others. And I’d like to think I’ve had a good impact on people. I try, anyway.

So, here I stand, in the middle of another birthday, approaching even bigger numbers. As we all celebrate birthdays, no matter the time of year, let us all try to remember a few key things. We’ve earned our wrinkles. Books sales don’t guarantee happiness.

And we are good, possibly better than we think.

I am 48 today, bitches.