cold comfort for change

It's my birthday this Friday. I am always moderately amused that it is also Bosses Day.

Why does this not officially make me The Boss?

I'm going to be 39 this year.

I'll be honest. I actually can't wait to see the last of my 30s.

Some amazing things happened in my 30s, true. Some truly incredible things. I met my husband. I gave birth to two beautiful little girls. I watched my art start finding its way into the world and take me around with it. Italy will be with me forever. I sold stories for the first time. The kindness of my extended family was brought home to me in ways that still move me to tears. Through the bitterest gift, I found my painting again.

No, those things, I will never leave behind.

But in this last year of 39, I only want to take those good things with me in to 40. Leave behind all the dross. Keep the lessons. Hard lessons learned. But the rest?

Well, let it rest.

I still don't see the years in my face and I don't even feel them in my bones. The idea that I've been here this many years still leaves me a bit stunned. I honestly didn't think I would make it at times. I was reckless as all hell when I was a teenager. Just as reckless in my 20s. I'm proof that my Goddess favors fools, sailors and small children and the occasional itinerant artist.

As Adam would sing, hope you're conscious now well aware just how lucky you are

I am.  Lucky.  So very, very lucky.