45

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The first person to wish me a happy birthday was the tech at the lab. I was headed out the door when she called my name. I assumed she wanted more blood or I’d neglected to sign a form. It was a nice surprise.

And. . . here I am at 45. I don’t feel 45. I’ve been told I don’t look 45, but honestly, I’m not sure what 45 looks or feels like.

It feels easier. There are stumbling blocks, but I seem to think I can still leap over them.

It feels peaceful. There are the moments that includes sheer and utter distress, but those are far and few between, thankfully. The peaceful times are more prevalent, more present and more welcomed.

It feels comfortable. I remember looking at my grandmother (I was in my 20s) and thinking that getting older would be cool. She was so comfortable in her own skin, in her own ways and in who she is. I think I’m getting there.

It feels natural. I think I’m starting to fight my body less, accept my own nature and realize it’s all just part of my path.

It feels hopeful. I’m not sure why, but it seems like big stuff, like big stuff is to come. And that the big stuff is all good stuff.

Hello, 45. I have big plans for you.

 

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