65. Just a number, they say.

And sure, some mornings, I feel every bit of it in my bones. But there are just as many days I wake up with a fire in my chest, certain that “old” is something I may never truly be.

I remember a time when reaching this age meant winding down—early mornings traded for quiet ones, responsibilities folded up and packed away. Retirement was a destination. A rest stop.

But for me, on this very day I turn 65, it feels more like a new starting line.

I’m not settling into a chair—I’m stepping into purpose.

What drives me now isn’t a paycheck or a promotion—it’s passion. It’s meaning. It’s the chance to make these next years, however many I’m given, matter more than all the rest put together.

Maybe I’ve got 10 years, maybe 30. Or maybe I’ve only got tomorrow.

But whatever the number, it won’t be wasted.

Yes, my joints remind me I’ve lived. But my spirit? It’s louder than ever.

My curiosity is sharp. My ambition still kicks. And the joy of chasing something meaningful hasn’t aged a day.

That dash between my birth and the final date? It will not be empty.

It will be bold, vibrant, and full of stories worth telling.

I’m not just getting older.

I’m just getting started.

Happy Birthday to me.

#grownostr