44.

It’s my birthday. Today. Another one. Already. Huh.
Today I’m 44.
Today I desperately love K. And I’m grateful. Because I can still remember that flurry of wings at the bottom of my stomach when I first saw him, and I still know that we are good for each other.
Today I feel like a mother to my brood of 3. I struggle, worrying and slapping myself down and getting mired in details. I love them, though, and I’m grateful to know this love. It teaches me, all the time, and surprises me too.
Today I believe I am healthy and strong. Most of the time. I still have those tricky knees. And calves. My hips ache when I kick at karate. Some days my back is really funky. Some days I get that weird swollen finger thing and I can’t really use my hand. But mostly healthy.
Today I struggle with my image of myself. I wish I didn’t, and it seems like 44 years might be long enough to resolve such feelings. But I look in the mirror and I churn. Still.
Today I am happy. I feel the happiness looming, alien-like, and I throw myself in.
Today I acknowledge my loneliness. My abandonment issues threaten yet again, whilst I rally myself yet again to look at them, force myself to feel them and accept the solitude. Yet again.
Today I know I have friends, and I appreciate the heck out of them. There were too many years where my so-called friends hurt more than they helped, condemned more than they accepted, took more than they gave. I am thankful for the people who care about me, and who can tell me so.
Today I still don’t know what I want exactly, don’t know if I’ve found my place in this world, but I sense that things are getting better. Every day a little better. I feel overwhelmed and hopeful, lost and productive, tired and, well, tired. And grateful. I don’t want to forget grateful.
It’s a good day. Not free of pain, of conflict, of the contradictions that inform my days. But good. My day. A good day.