Do you know exactly how old you are? I mean, can you answer that question instantly? Because I can't. Don't quite know when it happened, but I no longer seem to keep track of my years. And have to do some quick math if I'm asked the question. Today is my birthday. I'm 45. An age I used to think was old. But I don't feel old. I feel like I'm just starting to figure some things out, and I also know that there are some lessons I've already learned. And not all of them the hard way.
I've learned that I'm not always right. Seriously.
I've learned that a true friend is much more valuable than a bunch of acquaintances.
I've learned that it's okay to say no. I can't take on every project, be on every committee, or help everybody. If I say no, it means someone else will have the opportunity to serve.
I've learned that though I'm a teacher, I'm no good with little kids. (Just ask the kids in Children's Church...)
I've learned that I need time by myself. Frequently.
I've learned that although I'm very allergic to bees, I won't die. I'll just feel like it.
I've learned that cooking is fun.
I've learned that I'll never be fashionable. I'm always going to be a jeans-and-a-t-shirt girl. And that's ok.
I've learned that I actually can garden, and growing flowers is pretty fun.
I've learned that I'm not safe with a credit card. Over and over again I've learned this.
I've learned that it won't kill me to ask for help. I can't do everything by myself, and some things I can't do at all.
I've learned that putting down what I'm doing to just really listen to my child is the most important thing I can do in a day.
...and I've learned that tall stools, a concrete floor, and klutziness are a really, really bad combination.