Age is Just a Number

Today, I turn 34. I’ve heard from a couple of close friends that I should at least write something about this very occasion or even myself (Perish the thought!) . I’ve never been comfortable with self-promotion, so I’ll conveniently divert the topic towards humanity’s preoccupation with age, and time in general.

We give these numbers too much power over our lives.

The years we’ve existed on this earth. The days that lie between a long day and the weekend. The hours we spent waiting for someone to show up. The minutes we wasted nervously pacing in worry over the most inconsequential things. And I could go on and on about how an arbitrary measure of a moment’s passing has taken over the way we live.

I’m not saying that numbers aren’t important. In fact, they are one of the most important tools that have been made available to us. But, they are just that — tools. And in that perspective, we are letting a tool dictate the run of our day.

And all too often we end up waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right moment. We then conveniently cocoon ourselves in the comfort of old reasons and rationalizations. We wait for the New Year to resolve our issues. We wait for the right time to talk to someone. We wait for our next birthday to finally do something about our dreams. The years go by in a blink and we’re still waiting.

I fall into the same trap over and over (as do nearly all of us), but I’ve learned to cope with it by convincing myself that there is no such thing as perfect timing. There is no meter that runs down, reminding us of how long we have left. We jump from one fleeting moment to the next, hoping that we land on our feet. The life that we’ve so neatly measured in occasions and events could very well end in an instant. And just so I don’t forget, I woke up today telling myself —

Happy birthday, Jo. Today a helicopter could fall on your head while you think of how many minutes it might take for the rain to fall. Make the most out of it.