Feeling Wiser Not Older
What a difference a year makes
Just as the dust starts to settle from the holidays and life returns to normal, my birthday comes barreling into view.
I stopped being a fan of birthdays once I turned 30. Age might be just a number, but I dreaded it every time mine increased. It’s not that I was upset about getting older per se; it was more about my perceived lack of accomplishments. I never felt I was where I was “supposed” to be in life.
Thirty soon rolled into 40. Before I knew what was happening, 40 rolled into 50.
My big 50th birthday blowout trip was postponed while I recovered from the last vestiges of Christmas COVID.
My 51st birthday was ecstatically happy. I had a new job with more money and less stress and had reunited with my on-again/off-again love. Believing I was on the road to my happily ever after, it felt like a new beginning.
A year later, I don’t even recognize that woman.
51 was the year I found myself bored with a job that didn’t challenge me.
51 was the year I took off my rose-colored glasses and finally saw my relationship as the trauma bond it was and not the love story I wanted it to be.
