Here is the thing about having a birthday. It makes you re-evaluate yourself on the most basic level and contemplate the way you exist. Well, maybe not for a 5-year-old, but certainly for my now-29-year-old-self. I’ve been looking forward to this number for a long time. When I was little I used to ask my grandmother how old she was, and she would always answer with 29. No matter how old she was, or when I asked, her answer was…
Last week was my birthday. I love birthdays. It is a chance to celebrate someone when, so often, we fail to do so. To be honest my husband and I don’t celebrate birthdays much. We say that we celebrate each other all the time, so there is no real need. But nonetheless, I love birthdays because of how reflective they make us. We think about our lives in terms of years, and we often find a way to define a…
The age old question of how old someone is has always seemed to be a driving force in how we judge someone. If they are young, they have an excuse; If they are old, they do not. If they are young, they are marvelous for doing something with their life. If they are old, they are expected to have already done something with their life. If someone is old, they are wise, and if someone is young, they have much…