47 is not a milestone birthday. We didn’t have a party. I didn’t receive any extraordinary gifts. I did, however, receive a pair of the softest pajamas I’ve ever known. Our kids gave me a hairbrush-hairdryer thing that seems to work miracles. And at the last minute—due to a canceled soccer practice, due to the fact that my birthday fell on a cold, rainy, Tuesday in April—I got to share a glass of pink champagne with two dear friends.
Maybe one joy of solid middle age is taking delight in pajamas, and hairdryers, and the gifts of a rainy evening.
I have lived long enough now to have accrued a list of disappointments. Doors that have closed. Things I would do differently if I could go back. Risks I wish I had taken. Words I could have said.
But when my birthday came around, I realized that while I can name those disappointments, I am not discontented. Rather, I am filled with gratitude. Gratitude for pink tulips by the kitchen sink. Gratitude for the people around me. Gratitude that I get to write and speak and think and ask questions every day. And gratitude for a deeper and deeper awareness of Love that roots and grounds my life.
(I’m also feeling so grateful for what lies ahead, including the new things I get to try in the upcoming year. Which includes my new workshop, Reimagining Family Life with Disability. Just in case you haven’t heard about that yet!)
MORE WITH AMY JULIA:
- God Loves You
- What Happens with Three Days Away with Your Teenager
- Two-Year Anniversary of To Be Made Well
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