I am celebrating another trip around the sun soon. It will be my 60-eve birthday in a little over a week. I'm not sure how I feel about it because, well, it's just weird.

When I look at my own picture, which isn’t often, I notice dramatic changes. I have no eyebrows anymore. Where the hell did they go? I have an insane configuration of crows feet around my eyes. I didn’t know it was possible for skin to fold itself accordion-style so...enthusiastically. And my hair is somehow thinner and yet even more difficult to manage. How can I have less hair and still have more of it in my face? The one thing I didn’t see in my selfie was my fabulous sagging neck, but only because I averted my eyes quickly.

This is aging. Or at least , some aspects of it. Like I said, it's weird.

I had no idea that when I hit my 50s I wouldn't feel 50...ever. I just vacillate between feeling too young to be in my 50s or just way, way too old. I mean, how can I be old? I still use hip language like hip, dude, and totally.

Actually, scratch that last one. I've never been a valley girl. Oh hell, do young people even know what a valley girl is anymore? Or did that go extinct with my youth? <Sigh>

So where was I? Oh yeah, I was saying I never feel like I am in my 50s. When I’m not still preening like an adolescent peacock, I am in pain. I don’t mean chronic illness pain that so many suffer, and I am grateful for that. No, no. I am complaining about aches and pains that mysteriously come and go for no reason whatsoever. For instance, why is there suddenly a sharp shooting pain that blasts my hand and then disappears? How can my hip tolerate a mile hike up a hill and back but then grind like a busted clutch when I am lying on my side in bed? Why do those rough patches on my feet now burn and ache when I wear shoes that are pretty but not comfie? When the hell did I get corns on my feet, anyway?? And when did my digestion become as creaky and noisy as a farmhouse toilet with lousy plumbing? (Oh yeah, you have a lot to look forward to.)

Here’s the part of aging I find most baffling. The passage of time has become strangely fluid and confusing. When I talk about 20 years ago, I am thinking of the 1980s. That’s not just a meme on social media. This is a daily fact of my life.

When someone asks me challenging questions like, "I haven't seen Marge in ages. When did you talk to her last?" Or worse,"Do you remember when we went on vacation to Playa del Carmen? When was that?" My answer has nothing to do with actual time. I might say it was a couple of weeks ago, but now that could mean two weeks, two months or or two years. Anymore, I use my Facebook timeline to look up dates of past events. Who knew my social media habits would become such useful data? Oh. That's right, Facebook did. But that's another chat for another time.

So now I have a real yen to offer some parting advice. (Yen. That’s an old lady word, isn’t it?) I have a really annoying habit of doing that, giving advice. That’s not an old lady trait. I have always done that. But honestly, the only advice I’m truly qualified to give is this: I always lived my best life when I lived it with gratitude.

And that is true at every age.