I’m finishing my birthday week, although my husband would tell you I extend my birthday for the entire month. That maybe, indeed, be close to the truth but why should a birthday be confined to a single day?

The reality is that I am not overly thrilled about birthdays. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love the celebrations and my inner 3-year-old, never that far from the surface, delights in every single gift and card that comes my way. I’ve just reached a point where the number of years is not in sync with who I think I am and how I see myself and my life.

In January, I mentioned to someone that it was my oldest son’s birthday that day. She asked, as one would, “How old is he?” I didn’t even take me a moment of conscious thought to respond “Older than me!”

I can’t correlate the number I know to be my age with the way I feel. My “energizer bunny” energy is the same as it has always been, my desire to do “the next thing” has not diminished and my willingness to say “why not” to the next adventure continues without pause.

In my work with older adults I often say that “age is just a number.” But I have come to realize that age is irrelevant. If we are healthy and strong and engaged and active, the number is meaningless. If we are diminished and compromised and frail, the number is also meaningless. We don’t always have control over what life hands us or what changes our body and mind undergo. But we do have control over our state of mind and how we face whatever it is we have to face.

So “birthday” now means to me a celebration of the fact that each of us was born, that each of us has the opportunity to live our life and to squeeze all the joy we can from it. Birthday month? Why not? Maybe every day should be a celebration of what we have, who we are, what we can do and how we can contribute. How grateful I am to have the life I have, how grateful I am for every day, how grateful I am to have the ability to work to fill my full heart.