Well, it's my birthday, too.
Really, it is.
Today I am 35. On 1/11/11. I find I am very satisfied by that number sequence for some reason. (Probably because I am a weirdo who just likes seeing numbers do cool things like that. I'll have to say some special prayers at 1:11 today.)
I've had friends tell me that 35 was a hard age for them, but I have yet to hit an age that I find difficult to digest. I'm sure it's coming, but I feel relieved that it's not here yet.
To be honest, I have felt like I was 35 for the last 15 years or so. I have always felt older than my chronological age, all my friends have been older than me, and as a child I always related well to adults.
My mother likes to say that I was born an old soul, mature and responsible. Let's put it this way: I like to have fun, but let's not get crazy, because chances are I'll be the one cleaning it all up.
(Mostly kidding about that. I'm just really good at cleaning.)
But the funny thing is that the older I get, the younger I sometimes feel. Maybe it's just the natural progression of my age catching up to my mental state, but I feel more comfortable the older I get.
That's a pretty swell gift, in my opinion.
Well, that and a huge slab of ice cream cake, of course.
PS: In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that I had a . . . moment . . . when I learned that my new doctor is younger than me. Then it passed.