This week I turned 35.
And I am so glad. For some reason 35 feels so good. Like finally I am an adult.
I know that 1 marriage, 2 kids, 2 mortgages, 2 dogs, too much debt and several “careers” should have solidified that in me, but no, I needed a number. I needed a title, a label, a whatever.
And 35 is the one.
I like getting older. I like my laugh lines, I like the few grey hairs I have found, I like that I no longer know what is “hip” and have to ask my sister or my students to find out. I like it when my students laugh at me when I use one of their slang words because it sounds so ridiculous.
I like sitting around the table with my friends, trying to decide how close we are to menopause and if the weird changes in our bodies is normal or not.
So this week I celebrated 35 with gusto! I found myself, happily & unexpectedly (by a random role of the scheduling dice) in a Gilmore-esque birthday week of celebrations. 7 days of wonderful, simple and delightful gatherings of friends, family, food and favors.
I can honestly say that I have never felt more loved or celebrated.