What's in a Number?

My daughter turned ten today.  My hubby turns...another decade year...tomorrow.  It's the year of the decades.

In less than an hour, I'll be married to a 40-yr old.  This doesn't really phase me, because I'm a few years behind him, but it does remind me that our lives are, statistically speaking, about half over.  Crazy.

Lately I've wondered why we put so much stock in our age.  I used to think it was so strange that in some countries, people cannot tell you how old they are, or even on what day they were born.  Now I think maybe they have it right.  We place such importance in that number, and yet, what does it really tell us?

It doesn't tell us how we feel.  I don't feel much older than 23.  Half the time, I don't even know how old I am without consciously thinking about it.  Maybe that's the old age setting in...

It doesn't let anyone know what we have accomplished, other than surviving for a certain period of time.  The number doesn't tell anyone if we have squandered those years or used them wisely.

It doesn't dictate our physical capabilities.  I'm certainly in better shape than I was when I was 23, though not nearly as good as I was at 29.  I'm just leaving room for improvement.  ;)  I know people who have had PBs in their 50s, and it's not like they weren't in good shape to begin with.

It doesn't inform us of how much longer we have on this earth.  Sure, it lets us know that we have fewer days than we did even a day ago, but we still don't know if we have minutes or decades left.

So I'm not going to worry about any number.  Tomorrow we will celebrate the fact that my hubby has survived for four decades.  Then I'm going to enjoy how ever many days I have ahead of me, and hope that most, if not all, of them are spent with the love of my life.  And I'm certainly not going to let some number get me down.