Today, my first thought of the morning — well other than the standard “man, I’m tired” — was of Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. There is a scene where she’s sobbing to Billy Crystal’s character, “And I’m gonna be 40!” He asks her when and she replies, “Someday,” to which he responds, “in like 8 years,” the ridiculousness of it all evident in his voice.
Well, I don’t have 8 years and I’m not sobbing either. I’m not necessarily dreading 40 any more than just the average “getting older sucks” funk that I’ve fallen into lately. And I’m certainly not conceding that 40 is old. It just goes back to the whole “no more firsts” thing I’ve already whined about. But 40 is the next milestone.
See, yesterday was my 39th birthday. Since I’m only teaching on-campus 3 days a week this semester, I technically didn’t have anywhere to be. So I spent the morning in glorious solitude on the tractor, satisfying my OCD by cutting the pastures in boxed sectioms and singing along with my music at the top of my lungs with no one to judge my lack of vocal talent but the critters and trees. Living in the country has its perks, y’all.
It was spectacular … other than the part where I backed into (and destroyed) the pond fence. Perhaps it was the brisk morning air or the bright warming sun, but even that didn’t get me down. I just kept on singing.
Then, I managed an afternoon nap before the kids got out of school and a dinner that I neither had to cook nor clean up after. All in all, it was a good birthday. What more could I ask for? Maybe I’m still high on sunshine, but I’m choosing to not answer that today.