Forgetful?

I was thinking about my posts from the last days of February in previous years. 2012. 2011. 2008. Sometimes there is introspection, other times not so much. I haven't thought so much about my birthday this year. I've been preoccupied with my aunt, with travel, with not having time to exercise or go to church, with reading and with knee injuries and trying to find the perfect dress. It's been one thought after another with an avoidance of turning a year older. Something about 37 makes me forgetful. I forget if I'm turning 36 or 37 or 38 or 39. Or I confuse my age with my husband's. Or I just have to stop to count. I don't know if this is intentional or just strategic or just a distraction. It's ridiculous, really.

I think I have certain goals in mind for myself, and I find that I've made no progress toward where I want to be and what I want to have in my life and who I really am. I'm not sure if this has been much of a progressive year. I haven't set any racing records, and I haven't made any changes on the homefront or the professional front. I did go to Africa, so that is something. But I don't know much beyond that.

I leave for Austin tomorrow, and I will have a couple of days alone but surrounded and I won't have the time to think. More time to forget, really, and more time to forget turning 37. I strive to turn this into something unforgettable, really, if I can. I am happy to have had another year, and I don't take that at all for granted. There's something daunting if you don't know if you are guaranteed another birthday. Hell, none of us are owed anything. It's all day to day. Minute by minute. But some have more odds stacked against them than others.

I suppose on Monday I may have this sudden burst of introspection, and I will wake up and feel differently. But otherwise, I'll just chalk it up to another 30-something birthday, and be grateful. Just be grateful.