55 And loving it
I HAVE NEVER BEEN ONE TO CARE ABOUT birthdays; to me this annual celebration was always something that should be left to kids, and should certainly not be celebrated after the age of thirty. After that, it’s just silly. You’re now beginning the count-down to old age, hardly cause for celebration.
But nosey ones I had a change of heart when I reached the big five-0 and actually appreciated reaching that milestone. Now I’m even more excited at the thought that, in August I reach 55. Yes, I plan to celebrate.
Oh yeah, I am over the moon about this birthday. And why shouldn’t I feel good? After all, I walk a lot (well, too often I am forced to walk, since the bakkie always has one problem or another and always at times when I don’t have the moola to fix it immediately). I also exercise regularly, follow a good diet, etc. Alright, I am not perfect: I really must dig deep and fight this smoking thing, quit.
But, nosey ones, truth be said my happiness at reaching 55 has more to do with having been spared some of the pitfalls of life that have seen many 50-plussers, even the odd 40-plusser, smacked by what is commonly described as a midlife crisis.
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