Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday dear Nicolaaaa, Happy Birthday to me!!!
Yup, it’s my birthday today. I’m 34 years old. I don’t normally pay much attention to the passing of time and I definitely didn’t think that 34 would be an age that affected me but I had a bit of a wobble last week. I’m 34. I’m middle aged. Maybe I should stop having hair like a My Little Pony, having bits of metal shoved through my face and body, stop getting tattooed and dressing ‘alternatively’. Maybe I should stop trying to write, stop knocking on agent’s doors, stop being the way that I am and start acting my age.
But then I had a thought…
What if I did? What if I died my hair to it’s natural colour (whatever that is!), started to dress demurely and packed my notebooks and manuscripts away. How would I feel about that when I was 80? I don’t want to look back and wonder what I could have done. I don’t want to regret the times I didn’t dance in the rain, or the times I didn’t feel like me in my quest to please others, I don’t want to wake up and think about the stories I never wrote or the stories I wrote that I never shared. I want silliness. I want creativity. I want to not worry about looks in the streets or whispers I might hear.
So Happy Birthday To Me. May I carry on ageing not disgracefully but with the grace to just be happy being me.