Yesterday, as we prepared to leave for the truly lovely birthday party my husband planned for me, he asked, “So, are we both 54?” To which I replied, “I am 53. You are 54.”
Alas, today, and for the next 3 months, we are both 54.
For the past 2 years I have been adjusting to the fact that I am in my 50’s. Because of a very traumatic event and then a few more that were almost as traumatic, about 8 years ago, I was in survival mode for the most part of seven years. I found myself growing a smidge bitter that I had mostly missed the better part of a decade getting through and not savoring much of the present.
In the past year and a half, I quit a job that I rocked, but grew to hate because the human element was slowly being taken away from what I always considered my calling, moved out of a rather large home in a small town that was very connected to aforementioned very traumatic event, and moved to my favorite city in the world (thus far). Also, my last residing child moved out, creating an empty nest, a broken/thrilled divided mama’s heart, and throwing my everything into readjustment mode.
I am moving forward in expectation. I am thankful for 54 years of life –
and even the traumatic.
I am thankful for my life.