In a little over 3 weeks I turn 38 years old. I generally view birthdays with a great deal of enthusiasm, often starting the countdown sometime in February. I didn’t this year because my focus has been on becoming more healthy and changing my life instead of just getting older.
I always thought I would be taller at 38. My mom seemed fairly tall when she was this age, though I was shorter. I’m still shorter – a full inch shorter than her lofty 5’4.
I like to think I look younger at 38 than she did. Most people guess I’m in my late 20s. I think it’s the lack of children that keeps me young, though that sounds a bit weird. I don’t worry as much as a parent would, I don’t have the same responsibilities.
I thought I would have children by now. The grand plan was to be married by 28 and have my first child by 30. Perfect. Except I didn’t get married until I was 34, and children are probably not going to happen. Five years of trying (and yes, we tried while we were dating/engaged) with not even a false alarm is a pretty good indication.
Well, that and a battery of really humiliating and painful tests.
I think I have pretty good genes, aside from the nearsightedness. I’m smart, I’m talented, I’m charming, and I get cuter every day. Not to mention more humble.
Someone told me once that women really hit their stride in their 30s. Having spent nearly 8 years in the decade I can say, with certainty, that this is absolutely true. I feel much more sure of myself and much less afraid of the future than I ever have.
No matter what happens next, I’m the captain of this ship. That feels really good.