Fifty-seven was good. Fifty-eight sucked. Let’s try fifty-nine on for size.

How the heck did I get to be this old? I don’t feel 59. I’ve never had a problem with my age. Whenever anyone asked me how old I was, I always told them. I’ve never been vain enough to lie. That seems stupid to me. “Thirty-nine and holding”. Yeah, in your dreams, Grandma. Everyone ages. That’s one thing we all have in common.

We all get old, we all get wrinkled. Our skin sags, our hair falls out or goes gray, and our teeth turn yellow or disappear altogether. Celebrities with their Botox, their surgeries and their fake blindingly white teeth aren’t kidding anyone. They’re old, and they need to get over themselves.

I have jokingly used the phrase, “I’m old” since I was in my 30’s. I have a cute video of my 27-year old son when he was just a little guy (maybe 3 or 4) telling our daycare provider, “My Mommy’s old” as if it was some scandalous secret. It was something he’d heard me say all the time. Looking back now, I realize I was in the best shape of my life at that time. I was just too dumb to realize it.

Now I really am old or at least getting closer to it. I have more years behind me than I do in front of me. I try not to focus on that. The mirror does show me that I’m no longer a fresh-faced innocent. I see age and experience looking back at me. I feel pretty good. Some days are better than others. Some days I feel prettier than others.

I’m still breathing. I’m still on the right side of the dirt. I can still rock a tight pair of leggings and my favorite band t-shirt. I listen to loud music and still enjoy the hell out of it. I ain’t complaining.

This is what 59 looks like.

First thing today – unadorned and unmade-up.

Out and about today – getting second pair of glasses adjusted.

Wearing my second pair of glasses. I think I like the plainer pair better now. I got used to them.

Getting my oil changed at Valvoline.

Back at home again.

As I kick off this last year of my sixth decade I hope for a year of continued health and happiness. Life is good. I have three good men sharing it with me. No, I’m definitely not complaining.