I turned 36 this year, and I told my friend Autumn that I’ve been surprised by how much I’ve liked getting older. To be quite frank about it, I feel like I’ve only gotten more awesome the older I’ve gotten, and I fully expect that trajectory to continue to until I hopefully die at the age of 104, the most kick-ass broad in the whole damn nursing home. The world will not be capable of withstanding the force of just how kick-ass I will be.
This was not how I expected to approach my 30s. Like a lot of women I approached growing older with trepidation, having internalized the idea that my value as a human being would begin plummeting once I was no longer in my youthful, dewy 20s.
But then I got older, as one does, and I realized that, hey, it’s not so bad! In fact, this…
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