I get such a kick out of the phrase Who’s counting candles? You’re old! Of course, I’m allowed to have a laugh over it because at 52, I am old- at least by society’s standards. And you know how important society’s standards are to me 😛 Aside from the fact that 52 will be an extremely lucky number year for me (age- 5+2=7 birth year- 6+5=11 which means lucky 7 come 11 in the year ’17 which happens to be one of my favorite numbers) I’m blessed in that I don’t have a problem with being old. Old is just a word and just like any word, the word itself is devoid of power. Any power it generates is dependent on the energy one bestows upon it. This is probably why I am not offended by “bad” language in and of itself, so you can use the word fuck until the cows come home and the word itself is not going to phase me unless the energy behind it is unsettling. I don’t feel the word- it’s a word. I feel the energy because it has substance. It is real. So the word old to me is no different than the word fuck – hollow letters until we fill them with energy. When you hear me talk about old, you will not sense doom, despair and darkness, but wonder, excitement and anticipation because that is the energy I am filling the word with, due to my belief that rather than old being a “bad” (again, another word) thing, I view it through a lens that perceives it as a gift. And you know something I love about this gift of age? The increased ability to feel indifference towards anything that depletes my energy, such as concern over society’s standards. You are an individual. You are aging- embrace it and be ready to say “what the fuck”as you dive into your advancing years with gusto. It’s time to celebrate.