Yesterday was my birthday, and I've reached the great mid age of 45. It's been an amazing weekend of celebration with friends and family, and a honestly a true joy. Yes, it was technically a Tuesday, yes, it rained, and yes I worked all day—but I chose for it to be a wonderful day, and somehow that makes all the difference.

My mom asked me this weekend if hitting 45 felt different, and the first and unchecked answer was no. Turning 45 doesn't affect my psyche, I still feel young(ish), healthy, and the same old me! But, there are a few things stirring underneath. I've always compared my age to my older brother, who died a long time ago. If I'm 45, then he would have been 47. For some reason, THAT bothered me. I'm approaching the age where I will have lived longer without him in my life, then with him. That is hard for my brain to comprehend. He never met my husband, my beautiful children, or got to the amazing life I've built. He was 25 when he died, and I was 23. Absolute babies. It is downright tragic.