Thirty-seven. I turn thirty-seven on Friday. People say anyone over the age of twenty-one shouldn't pay attention to their birthdays. But, many of us do.
I used to hate my birthday as an adult. It was a reminder of my hourglass forever trickling sand to the bottom. Another year without a lot to show whirled by so quickly, I felt its breeze on my cheek as I blew out the candles. I wanted (and still yearn) to actually do things. I never will get 99.3% of what I desire. It bothers me often.
But, my husband was born on my birthday a thousand miles away and a bit over eight hours after me. We moved in together on our 21st birthday. He is the best present I ever received. How can I hate a day we share?
I was diagnosed with cancer at 32 and again at 33. I'm lucky in a way many aren't... I survived. I will take every candle and wrinkle the years grant me and smile.
Hope is a difficult thing for me to hold onto, but I celebrate my birthday because each new day is still a chance for something better... however slim. Worrying about the future can wait until February 19th.
~*~
Note: A friend suggested I not write about NFTs because their supporters can be volatile. So, while I have the references, the post is scrapped.
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