Yes, I’ll just put it out there.

52.

How the hell did I get here?  Wasn’t I just graduating from law school the other day?  I try really hard not to obsess about the age thing this time of year — after all, there’s nothing I can do about it and I do try my best to enjoy the ride. I especially thank my lucky stars for my health and the number of birthdays I’ve had because I have friends whose health is less than fantastic and so am reminded when I think of them, that I shouldn’t be whining at all.

My best friend in the whole world would have loved to have made it to 52.

But I don’t feel like what I think 52 is supposed to be.  Many of my good friends are a lot younger than that, even though our children are around the same age.  And when I’m surrounded by fabulous women who are still pondering their 30s and 40s, I wonder how it is that I’m still juggling the stuff I thought I’d have figured out by now — my life, my marriage, my profession.

I really freaked out when I saw a photo of another 52-year-old blogger in the New York Times recently.  I shuddered — is that what people see when they look at me?  Someone who’s trying just a little teensy bit too hard to be younger than she is?

If it works for her, hey — more power to her!  But, since I’ve got to do school pick-up with a 5th-grader and still show up at the soccer games and violin practices,  I think I need to keep it a little more toned down.

I guess it doesn’t look so bad.  And I’m sure my friends will let me know if they ever see me trying too hard!  But I am going to work harder on that whole “50 is the new 30” thing when it comes to how I feel inside!

Image of me and Viva la Feminista by PunditGirl.