By Michele D. Baker
On August first I will celebrate a milestone birthday: 55 trips around the sun. It’s funny, but I don’t really feel older than 35. My hair is still 99% dark – we Leos are very proud of our manes – and I still have a (relatively) youthful look about me. When I see people I know are about my age in the grocery store or nail salon my first thought is usually, “Wow, that lady sure is old!”
That can’t possibly be me, so I think perhaps the calendar is wrong – maybe some of the pages got stuck together?
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At the same time, I’m discovering some little things that point towards 55 being an accurate number. For example, I can no longer read anything without holding it at arm’s length and/or wearing drugstore cheaters. There are actual medicines in my medicine cabinet now, where there used to be only Band-Aids and dental floss. I got annoyed the other day at a person my mind insisted was “a young whippersnapper.” (Later I discovered the woman was 38, and I still have no idea where the “whippersnapper” came from.)
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There are some good things about getting older, though. I no longer care what other people think of my life choices. I speak my mind more easily and more completely than ever before. I am willing to go to the grocery store with no makeup, in the middle of the day, when I “should be working.” Best of all, I’ve learned my worth as a woman and as a human being.
I am grateful for a lot more, now, too – a soft bed, a purring cat who loves to snuggle, and a whole closet full of clean clothes. I give thanks for my mother and aunt, both of whom are still alive to give me good advice (and which I will take now that I’m old enough to understand). My house is paid for. Despite the stock market insanity, my portfolio is doing well.
I guess after all, 55 is just a number. So, happy birthday to me and to all Leos everywhere!
