A few weeks ago I celebrated my 50th birthday. My friends took me out and spent the night making feel loved and appreciated, the way good friends do. And they plied me with candy and strong sugar-rimmed lemon drops, which are a sure way to my heart.
50 doesn’t feel any different (not that any birthday does). I guess I’m less willing to waste my time on projects I’d rather not do, and I’m very comfortable saying no. I can look around me while keeping my judgment on a leash and I care less about what people think. You know, the normal stuff of growing up.