So. Turned 62. Funny thing is, I’ve been telling people I am 62 for the past 9 months or more. Not sure if I was rounding up or what, but only a month or so ago, Bradley finally corrected me on it.
Brad: You know you’re only 61, right?
Me: What? That can’t be. Lemme see…1955, 2017…holy shit! I just gained a year! Or lost it. How did I screw that up? Am I going senile?
Brad: I thought it was weird. But at one point I figured you did it intentionally.
Me: You figured? And you never once thought you might MENTION this in passing?
Brad: I’m mentioning it now?
Me: This is so crazy. I seriously convinced myself I was 62. Now it’s like I’m not really going to have a birthday at all.
Color me gobstruck.
My actual 62nd birthday turned out to be one of my favorites. Very pleasant. Top to bottom. This one truly felt like a get-out-of-fail-free card. I was feeling love all over the place. Phone calls. Text messages. Facebook salutations. Old photographs. Music videos. Poems…
There once was a lady named ame
Humor was her claim to fame
She wrote from her home
None as good as my poem
But still such a funny old dame
~Elicia M Viola
Looking at my life and the friends who have made it livable and glorious, I realized in the most peaceful way…it’s been a life well-lived. The best part being, I look forward to keeping that standard going until it’s over.
(Friends who don’t know me at all. In Italy. Mr.Unibrow is the real MVP.)
I can’t predict how long this sense of satisfaction, dare I say, “pride” may last, but what a relief today was from never being enough. That daily internal dialogue saying I failed at reaching some impossible standard put upon myself like a weighted diving suit.
Today, I rose to the surface, buoyed by loved ones, and gasped with awe at where I had come from and where there is yet to go. Full blown gratitude.
You can’t get a better gift than that. Thank you everyone who has touched my life in positive, unconditional ways. And thank you for your kind and funny posts on my wall. [The only wall I am in favor of, btw.]
Christ I hate mushy sentimentality. Is it time to go towards the light?
Not a fucking chance. Unless that light is neon and blinking, “Food.”
So thanks for the feels everybody. I’ll leave you with this question: Will you still love me, will you please tell me, when I’m 63? Seriously, tell me.
Checking for a pulse?
Inspiration found at a TJMaxx…
…I don’t pay for shitty clichés, btw.
That’s all folks!