This month, I turned another year awesome (never older, just awesome.)

What does it mean to be 39 years old?

To be honest, I have no idea.

Most people my age, are married, divorced, shacked up, whatever. Some are with kids, some without. Some are drowning themselves in booze, pills, porn, whatever that “happiness” fix is for them.

But for me…39 is just a number. Not where I’m suppose to be in my life. Not how I’m suppose to act or be.

Once, when I was younger I wanted a house with white picket fence with the 2.5 kids and such, but I got real smart and grew out of that. (Admit it gals, we all had -some still do- that goal of at this age, I must be this and that, have this and that, with this and that.)

That life is meant for some.

That life is not meant for me.

My ovaries do not ache for babies. I do not ache to settle down and stay in one place for near damn forever with or without someone. I don’t need to own a sprawling mansion or bungalow to define who I am.

At 39 years awesome, I do know the following:
– I am more comfortable in my skin and with myself
– I am comfortable in saying I do not have a desire for kids. I am complete without them
– I am comfortable with my sexual needs/sexuality to say I desire a no strings attached sexual relationship
– I am comfortable being single and knowing what I want in my life and in the man or men I choose to have be in it
– I am comfortable being vocal about who I am, what I am, where I am, what I want, what I want, etc
– I am comfortable with my confidence (it only too me 30 plus years to find it), my courage, my sense of self, my desires, my wants, my needs, and what makes me tick.

I’ll continue to be who am without any regard to the number that’s branded on me.