I lost track of how old I was when I turned 25.
I'm not sure what it was, exactly. But it happened. (Tom can attest. I'm always asking him, "How old are we again???)
(Me turning 12. Trust me. I knew exactly how old I was then!)
Maybe . . . it was just that I realized that no "big" birthdays (13, 16, 18, 21) were left for me to celebrate. By 25, I had Achieved Adulthood (at least in terms of years) -- and the only thing looming on the horizon was . . . 30!
So, at 25, I started thinking about my age as "almost 30."
When anyone asked me how old I was, I answered . . . "almost 30."
For five years.
And, then, when I really DID turn 30? No big deal! Because, well. I'd already been "almost 30" for five whole years!
The same thing happened when I turned 35. (Almost 40.)
And 45. (Almost 50.)
Those "milestone birthdays" - when they actually rolled around - were never traumatic for me. Because . . . already there. (At least in my mind!)
All this is just to say . . . it's my birthday today. And, for a while, I couldn't remember how old I am.
Until Tom reminded me.