By Erica 

I just had a significant birthday. It was celebrated exactly as I wanted. Family and best friends. Informal. Beach. Hanging out. Ribs and corn. A spa day, breakfast and lunch and flowers courtesy of my daughter. A promise of a trip courtesy of my husband. A crystal reminder of our Dad courtesy of my siblings. Perfection. 

I have not yet fully sorted my feelings about reaching this milestone and the unalterable fact of getting older. Obviously, I am ecstatic to be fully engaged, with myself and my family in relative good health and happy. I look at my daughter and feel immense satisfaction and pride and contentment. I do not shy away from the notion of regrets. I have them. Ranging from exercises and eating habits that I wish I had started decades earlier, to cigarettes and glasses of wine I did not need but had nonetheless, to more profound decisions about many things, including more time I wish I had spent with those now gone. I forgive myself for things I wish I had done differently or not at all and, at the same time, try to learn and do at least some things better.

I am content with the human I have become. What I had thought maturity looks like will clearly pass me by. I am OK with that. I have lovely pictures in my head of what the future will hold for me and for those I love. And I am planning on seeing them come to life. I am surrounded by family and friends, and nothing at all is better than that.

Maybe I have sorted my feelings out after all.  I am grateful to be who and where I am, to have done what I did, and to have what I have. I am hopeful and looking forward. I have much yet to do. And I am laughing out loud as much and as often as I can.