Sometimes it hits me in the smallest moments.
I look at my mother and notice things I didn’t notice before—the years showing on her face, the way she moves a little differently, the realization that she’s getting older. Then I look around and see my nieces and nephews grown up, having children of their own. The kids I remember being little are now raising little ones themselves.
And then there’s the mirror.
I catch my reflection and notice another wrinkle, another change in my face, another reminder that time hasn’t stood still for me either.
That’s when I find myself wondering, where did the time go?
It feels like I was a child not that long ago. I can still remember being that young girl, looking at adults and thinking they were so old. Now I’m at an age where I could be a grandma, and my mother could be a great-grandma.
How did that happen so fast?
When we’re young, we can’t wait to get older. We want to be 15, then 18, then 21. We’re always looking forward to the next birthday, the next milestone, the next little bit of freedom.
Then suddenly, we’re in our 30s, which still sounds pretty good.
And then comes the big 4-0.
Turning 40 was hard for me. For some reason, that birthday made me feel old. In fact, turning 40 was harder for me than turning 50.
Now I realize I’m not young anymore. Inside, I still feel like me. There are days when I don’t feel much different from the woman I was years ago. But then I look in the mirror, and I can see how much I’ve aged.
My body reminds me too.
Some people seem to go through the years exercising, staying healthy, and looking almost the same as they did in their 30s.
And then there’s me.
I look my age.
For a while, that was difficult for me to accept. But when I really think about it, this body has also lived.
It has gone through childbirth. It has gone through major surgery. It has carried me through good years and difficult ones. It has been there through changes, responsibilities, happiness, heartbreak, laughter, tears, and an entire life that my younger self hadn’t experienced yet.
No, I don’t feel or look the way I did at 30.
And sometimes I miss her.
I miss the younger face. The younger body. Even the younger woman who thought she had all the time in the world.
But I also have something she didn’t have yet—all the years and stories that came after her.
And that’s what I’m beginning to understand about getting older.
Time is precious, and every age matters.
Every stage of life gives us something the one before it couldn’t. Every stage teaches us something special and important. We shouldn’t be so busy wishing for the next chapter—or wishing we could go back to an old one—that we forget to appreciate the chapter we’re living right now.
When you’re young, don’t rush to grow up.
And when you’re older, don’t spend all your time wishing you were young again.
Look around. Take it in. Love the people who are here. Take the pictures. Make the memories. Laugh at the wrinkles if you can. Be thankful for the years that brought you to this moment.
Because time keeps moving, whether we’re ready for it or not.
Enjoy the age you are today. One day, you’ll look back and realize just how precious this time was too.
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