By Joan Passarelli

Blue Jeans & Jelly Beans

I had a lot of reasons to like the number 37 when I was a child. It was a three and a seven: the three wishes of a genie and seven swans in a fairy tale. It was two lucky numbers, both prime, joined to make a third prime number. It had to be magic.

I had one more reason to like 37. I once won a cake at a Halloween carnival by landing on number 37 in the cakewalk. Licking the sweet frosting from my fingers, I vowed that it was my lucky number. And, I decided, when I was 37 years old, I would have a very special, wonderful year.

Well, this year just ending was the year I was 37, and indeed it was special, but not in any way I expected back then.

I didn’t win any awards. I didn’t break any records. I didn’t become rich or famous.

Instead, this year was special because I have come to somewhere in the middle of the years I might have to live. This was the year I began to grow old.

My face shows it. I got more crow’s feet and new wrinkles on my forehead. My body does too: if I go running too many days in a row, my right hip twinges most unyouthfully. I was never that great a specimen when I was younger, but whatever advantage youth gave me is gone now.

The wonderful thing about being 37 is that it feels fine with me. While my outside ages, my inside is getting better all the time.

This year, I finally knew when to say no to things I didn’t want. I skipped parties I didn’t want to go to. Our family turned off broadcast TV this year, sticking to videos and the Internet, and we like it better.

I learned to say no to volunteer “opportunities” that didn’t feel right. It’s no longer enough that someone asked me, or that I could find the time, or even that I’d be good at the job. Instead, I wait for the jobs I really want to do, and I love them. And someone else does the other ones, and they love those.

I even learned to say no to eating so much. Since I’ve had big problems with compulsive overeating, that’s saying a lot. And it’s one I don’t get any credit for; this one is from God’s grace.

On the other hand, I finally knew when to say yes to, and make time for, the things I did want. I started scheduling important things into my calendar, like exercise, sleep, and being at home with my children in the evenings.

I took time for the precious things. I hiked in the hills with my friends. I took myself to the library. I started singing with the band in church.

I started quilting. Readers of this space may remember how drunk I was with color and design as I dived into it. I’m working on my fifth one now. This one isn’t from a pattern in a book or a class, but my own design. I feel powerful and creative as I work on it.

All of the above is not to say that I’ve got all the answers. I’ve made plenty of mistakes this year, and I’ve got a long way to go towards the wisdom I hope to have someday.

But I can still say to my younger self: you were right. Being 37 was pretty darned special, in ways you never imagined. I can hardly wait to see what 38 will teach me.

Passarelli is a mother of three and is turning 38 this week.