It’s My Birthday

After 50, birthdays are not as welcome or eagerly anticipated.
Maybe because they no longer symbolize beginning—they feel more like markers of what’s already passed.

I’m in the era of searching for the fountain of youth.
Not in fairy tales or myths—just in small hopes, routines, supplements, & habits.

I want to live to be 100, but sometimes my body tells me it’s not so sure it will.
And on those days, it feels like I’m negotiating with time.

50 is the halfway point, and 57 is past the halfway point.
It depends on the lens: optimism or realism. I’ve already stepped beyond that imagined middle.

I’m still quite a way from 100, but as the years go by faster and faster with each birthday, it doesn’t feel like it’s only 43 years away.
Time feels slippery now, like it’s speeding up while I’m slowing down.

And see that little word “only” — 43 is less than 50, and 43 is too soon.
It used to sound like a lifetime. Now it sounds like a countdown.

They say to live every life like it is your last, and live each day like it is your last.
A noble idea. But who can actually do that, every day?

I definitely couldn’t do all the things I’ve wanted to do in life in 1 day.
I couldn’t fit it into this one day.
Dreams take decades. Some never arrive. Some arrive too late.

But I could treat people and anyone I came across as I would if today were “it.”
I could. I can be the best version of myself TODAY.
And maybe that’s more powerful than any bucket list.