I’m almost 37. Here’s why it’s great.

Here’s something fun I recently learned: I’m not yet at the age where I feel embarrassed to tell people my age. I’m not sure what that means for me, but here’s what it means for YOU. (I’m going to blog about my age.)

Magic wands

Crow’s feet begone!

In just a handful of days, I’ll no longer be 36. I’ll be 37. Maybe one of the reasons I’m so cheerfully announcing my late-mid-thirties (it’s a thing) is because 36 was borderline hard. So…

Here’s what I like about being almost 37.

My friends are a wonderful group of people who pick up the ever-changing slack as easily as breathing. I’ve never before in my life had so many Hot Mess Moments, nor have I ever been surrounded by folks who don’t bat an eye. I’ve also never had the amount of humility and knowledge of my own limitations to ask for help like I’m really just starting to now. Isn’t it weird that something so seemingly lowering would actually be such a gift?

Maybe it was the fact that I had West Nile in August (it was), or maybe it was the fact that I had arthritic flare-ups all through the Fall and Winter (I did), but this Spring feels like, well, Spring Break. And since the warm weather lands on the cusp of my 37th birthday, it’s gonna get all the credit. (Drugs help, too.) Feeling good is something I’ll never again take for granted. Harsh life lesson, but there you go.

Speaking of which, I’m almost, so close, reallyreally about to be off of my prescriptions for inflammation and cray cray pain. Is this the year I get to become one of those “oh, I barely take a baby Tyenol” people?” (Is 37 the year where I actually acknowledge that what you put in your body affects your entire life and livelihood?)

And I’m sure this is one hundred percent correlated to the “couldn’t stand upright in February” thing, but since I’ve been able to work out and dance and yogify again recently– I’ve started to notice that perhaps I’m in the best shape of my thirties. (I will never again be the kind of IN SHAPE I was when I donned a bikini onstage or when I took nothing but abs classes before our wedding, but maybe a big part of late-mid-thirties is a healthy dose of self-awareness. Doesn’t mean I don’t weep when I see those pictures, but still.)

Even though I may not always enjoy it, I think I’m getting better at adulthood. I reroute packages, take that damn phone call, schedule the vaccinations, and have contractors look me in the eye (…as they ask if they can speak to P.J.).

I know for a fact that my boyfriend- er, husband– likes me every bit as much as he did when I was in my early-mid-twenties. (Sigh.) And seeing as how he knew me during both the “bikini onstage” phase as well as the abtacular wedding prep, that’s saying something.

We’re out of the baby stage. And while I’ll always jealously smell the heads of infants (after asking, of course), there’s something SO FUN about being in the decidedly Kid stage. The gear is smaller, the prep has lessened, and the card games have gotten intricate. Whether I’ve leveled up or let go, it’s really, really gratifying.

I’ve become a pretty great cook. Now, I know for a fact that’s a “live and learn” thing that can seriously only come with time, so I’m cheerfully acknowledging that I’ve earned that one. (And the fact that 100% of my diet is gluten-free– and my family’s is not— I’m extra proud of this skill set.)

I like what I do. And I really like the projects that are coming up this summer. And while I’m nowhere near approaching Malcolm Gladwell’s 10k hours of mastery on any particular subject, I think writing most every day since 2004 (for varying degrees of paycheck and/or professionalism) has given me a nice bit of confidence. I mean, I still start emails with an apology (sorry) and occasionally feel the need to over-explain why I’ve been invited to an event (they’re probably just being nice), but I’ve started downright liking how I tell a story.

Eat your heart out, Bikini Keely.




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