As a kid, my aunt loved to throw parties. There was a party for every occasion, and often, no occasion at all.
She made us call her “cool aunt Lori”.
And there was a period where every other party was an “over-the-hill” party.
I can’t be the only one to remember those.
The decor was aways death-core: all black, head stones, “old as dirt” on everything, nursing home paraphernalia.
And I remember thinking, “This is correct and appropriate, this person IS really old. Just look at them.”
But now looking back, I realized…
These were 40th birthday parties.
FORTY.
Now, at 32, I cannot fathom thinking that 40 is old. To me, 40 is just barely not an infant anymore.
But if you do believe that 40 is old, then you’re correct. Because what ever you believe to be true, is. Reality is only constructed from the stories we hold and beliefs that come out of them.
Allow me to s…
