At 42

Today I turned 42. When I was 34, it did not seem at all likely I would turn 42. I plan to have a drink to celebrate. At least one.

At 42, I know that there is no point to picking up the phone book until I've located my glasses. I also know that unless I put the remote control in the same place every time, I will be 10 minutes late to see whatever is on the T.V.

At 42, my keys are always in my pocket. Not only can I go wherever I want, whenever I want, but I know that if I set them down anywhere, I will be homebound for two days until they reappear.

At 42, it seems I always have cash. I like that part. I am never precluded from going through the Dairy Queen for lack of funding. My income exceeds my expenses at 42. That's a very nice thing = and I'm grateful for my grandpa's harping on debt.

At 42, my hair is the same color it's always been - naturally - with a side note that I was actually born a red-head with kinky, curly hair. No kidding. Only up close do the white hairs that have begun to dominate my temples betray my age.

I've learned, at 42, that I only have crow's feet when I smile. So I don't smile as much as I once did. I laugh more. I just don't smile as much. I laugh from the gut more...the kind that hurts. I tell more revealing stories about myself...I think so people will remember me. I'm usually the butt of the joke in these stories, but it makes people laugh and I admit I think they're funny, too.

I don't think I'm cut out for a lot of things at 42 that I aspired to at 24. I know my limitations more intimately now than I did then. I spend less time wanting what I don't have and wondering about what might have been. The days are too full - even if just with laundry and house cleaning - to wonder about how they might have been different. I don't covet the way I once did. I used to dwell on the fairness of life. Now I chuckle at the very notion.

At 42, I own a 2-bedroom, 1-bath bungalow in a rural Kansas "town of 3,000 people, countless animals and one grocery store known by no name that is common among civilized people". That's what it says on the big sign when you enter town.

No, it doesn't. But it would be true. At 42, I love Molly Ivins and David Sedaris where I once loved Molly Hatchet and David Cassidy. At 42, I can avoid the president (and I recommend this practice) when he's on T.V. At 14, I never imagined such a wonder. At 42, politics inflame my passions like baseball once did. I know, at 42, that everything political affects my life directly or indirectly. So at 42, I shun people who don't engage in politics, at least as interested observers.

At 42, I don't let nonsense go un-noted. I'm not immune to the nonsensical utterance myself. But I took a cue from my 82 year-old grandmother and have begun calling a spade a spade with greater frequency. I might not see 82 and I'd hate to miss my "Say Anything You Want" opportunity.

Mostly, at 42, I know who I am. The birthday emails are so thoughtful. The cards will go on top of the T.V. for a couple of weeks. I'll appreciate whatever gifts show up and my time at the pool and the celebratory cocktail(s) with my One Drunk Friend. At the end of the day, though, the greatest gift I have at 42 is knowing who I am and who I'm not.

I don't have to listen to anyone explain me to me. I can discern whether someone's evaluation of me is accurate or not. I don't allow words to be put in my mouth because I know them all and use them freely myself. I dress how I like. If I like. I speak my mind - often. Always. And without regard to my surroundings or the consequences. At 42, I am a presence where at 24 I was merely present. And that, my good friend, is a present at any age.

Especially at 42.