“I’m getting old,” I hear people sigh — sometimes dramatically, sometimes laughing at themselves — usually while standing up, sitting down, or doing something their body no longer agrees with.
My usual answer? “I hope so. There are very few alternatives” It’s meant as a joke. But also not. Because I genuinely mean it.
Age comes up, people are curious, and every time it does, I have to do the math again: “Wait, how old am I actually?” But truthfully? I don’t care much about the number. Not because I’m trying to deny it or make it smaller but because age, to me, just means: a phase.
A season. A chapter. A rhythm. Here’s what mine looks like right now:
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I’m no longer just starting out.
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I remember life before social media.
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And I’m nowhere near retirement.
And maybe — just maybe — that makes this moment kind of perfect. Because honestly?
Now is pretty fantastic.
Not because it’s easy or shiny or figured out but because it’s now and we never really know what tomorrow will bring. Time is the most precious thing you’ll ever own and you will never again be younger than you are right now.
So here’s to this moment. To the ache in your knees and the wisdom in your eyes.
To the freedom you didn’t have at 25, and the softness you’re still learning at 41.
Here’s to standing up a little slower.
But rising more fully.
Here’s to aging not as decline,
but as becoming.
If you needed a little nudge today:
You’re not running out of time.
You’re in time.
Right on it.
Thanks for reading,
see you in the next letter.
💛 Jolanda
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