“What do you want for your birthday?”
Nothing.
(I don’t say this to my mother, because she’s my mother and she wants to buy me a birthday present, which is lovely.)
“Um… earrings, I guess. I can always use more earrings.”
Which is true because I have an earring addiction. And I’m okay with that. I no longer justify it or try to explain to people why I love big dangly earrings. Yes, they often get caught in my giant mass of hair. Yes, They even hit my shoulders sometimes because I’m a short type of person, so my neck is the opposite of swan-like. But I like them, and I will always enjoy getting more.
Not justifying why I like things is only part of the reason I love being 36 today.
YES, I just told you how old I am. I’m not vaguely in my thirties or having my twenty-ninth birthday for the seventh time. (haha) I’m 36, and I’m doing pretty well. I need to lose some weight. (Partly because I’m a writer who sits on my butt all day, and partly because I love good food. And wine.) I have little wrinkles around my eyes and my mouth, which the girl who does my facials calls “expression lines.” (That’s good. I like having expressions.) And I still have stretch marks from carrying that gorgeous child who makes me laugh.
I’m 36 today, and that makes me smile. Because for thirty-six years, I have lived on this planet, in a family that loves me, having adventures and learning new things. Traveling and exploring. Making new friends and cherishing old ones.
Don’t ask me to give away any of those years.
They’re thirty-six years of triumphs and challenges. Heartache and love. Each year and milestone brought me a little closer to the person I am now, and each contributes to the ongoing work in progress that I am.
I’m not finished yet, but I know who I am. I’m a daughter and a mom. A writer and a publisher. I like big earrings and nice handbags. Walking in beautiful gardens that I don’t have to tend and swimming laps because it is so, so quiet. I like writing about love and mystery and fantasy. I like creating worlds for people to fall into and forget themselves, but hopefully find themselves, too.
What do I want for my birthday?
Nothing.
Not because I don’t want to celebrate my birthday (trust me, celebrating is going to happen), but because I am at a place in my life where I am very content. My son gave me a card this morning. He picked it out himself, probably because it has birds on it and a lot of my art features birds in flight, and there was a quote inside:
“No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.”—William Blake
Ah, that wise little boy. I’m soaring on my own wings now, so I’m just going to keep flapping and see where I end up at when I’m 37. And 38. And all those numbers after that the world tells us we should be scared of.
I am not scared. I’m excited.
What do I want for my birthday?
Nothing except new adventures and the occasional pair of big earrings.
And maybe a new tattoo.
(Okay, definitely a new tattoo.)




