Every decade has brought a new complaint from me, a new hurdle to get over. The year before I turned thirty was one of my worst. There were milestones missed, intended accomplishments that never came to fruition. Wow, was I hard on myself. And then the physical signs of aging reared their ugly head.
My husband tells me that I approach aging with the wrong attitude. There should be joy in making it to the next decade. He doesn't understand my angst. I'm ecstatic to make it through every year. It's the physical aging part that has always made me...hmmm...angry, I guess.
I actually didn't mind turning forty. But then the forties started disappearing. Time sped forward and I went kicking and screaming toward the next decade. I dared anyone to acknowledge my fiftieth birthday. FDW warned a good friend
|One month from 40|
And the years passed. I didn't know the meaning of the term "aging gracefully." The hurdle of acceptance was taller than Mount Everest. I quit wearing a swimsuit. The next thing to go
|51st birthday party|
Last week, that gigantic hurdle crumbled. There was no big ceremony, no
|Well into my 50s|
|Thanks to this little girl|